Page 52 of Fractured Allegiance
He smiles at that. A crooked tilt of the mouth that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Exactly. This one”—he gestures to the man now sweating onto the plush carpet—“refused to correct a lie. Which makes him just as guilty as the ones who told it.”
The man shakes his head. “I didn’t—”
Dom presses the toe of a boot to his throat. Not enough to choke. Just enough to prove a point.
“No one asked you,” he says flatly.
He glances at me again. This time, his gaze hardens. “Put on your gloves.”
I reach into my inner coat pocket and take out the pair I brought. Thin leather, black. Supple enough for grip, clean enough for posturing.
I slip them on slowly, knowing he’s watching.
This is the test. Again. Not if I can hurt someone. He knows I can. But if I’ll do it without needing a reason.
Drazen’s favorite games always circle back to obedience.
Dom gestures once. A small, flicking motion.
I step forward.
The man on the floor trembles, but doesn’t run. That’s what tells me he’s already broken. He’s just waiting to see which piece of him we’ll take first.
I crouch beside him, one hand at the base of his neck.
“You lied?” I ask, voice calm. Too calm.
He shakes his head violently.
“Then you let someone else lie for you?”
No answer.
I press my thumb just beneath his jaw, finding the pressure point that forces the eyes to go glassy.
“Dom doesn’t care about the crime. He cares about the pattern.”
That’s all I say.
Then I pull his arm behind his back and dislocate the shoulder in one movement.
He screams. Folds in on himself like wet paper.
Dom doesn’t flinch. Just sips from a crystal tumbler like he’s watching a play he’s seen before.
I stand.
The man slumps, cradling his arm.
“Enough?” I ask.
Dom considers it. Tilts his head.
“For now.”
He gestures, and one of his guards steps in to drag the man away like trash already sorted.
