Page 62 of The Tallest Tower (Underbelly Enchanted)

“I-I meant no disrespect, Mr. Malone.” His face is already puffy. His left eye, swollen shut. Blood dribbles along his cheekbone, and his wrists are raw from the way he fights his restraints. “I swear, I just need more time.”

“You’ve had time!” I strike out, slamming the back of my hand across the side of his face. “Your bill was due three months ago!”

“My debt was to your father,” he whimpers, his face twitching from pain. “I-I was in a business relationship withhim. N-not you.”

I swing again and smack his face until the chair groans and the man cries. “Your debt was to my family. If you wish to part ways and call this done, then you have every right to do so. Which is generous of me,” I add.

Taking the square of fabric from my pocket and using it to wipe his blood from my knuckles, I muse, “My father wouldn’t have allowed you to walk. But see, I’m the new generation of business, Mr. Jameson. I believe in enjoying one’s work, and working only with those whose affection is mutual. So if you wish to walk, you have my blessing. I won’t shoot you on the way out the door.”

“W—”

“But you will pay your debts first.” I grab his thumb and fold it back until he screams. “My question now is…why, Mr. Jameson? What was going through your dumb fucking skull to make you think that stealing three million dollars from me was a good idea?”

“I’m sorry!” He thrashes his head around and tries to kick out, but his ankles, too, are bound. “I’m sorry, Mr. Malone. I didn’t mean to?—”

“Youdidmean to.” I give his thumb one last shove, snapping the bone with a sickeningcrackthat echoes off the walls and bounces back to torture the man who thought he could cross me.

Releasing him, I straighten out and go back to pacing. “You had a debt due, Clarke. To my father, to me… It’s all the fuckin same. You took out a loan, you made a commitment to pay it back. And when the time came to honor your promise, you made a choice not to do what was expected of you.”

“Lix?”

“Yeah?” I turn to find Micah two feet from where I stand, his hand outstretched, and a pair of pliers laying in the center of his palm.

His offering makes me smile, so I snatch up the tool and turn back to the stupidest motherfucker I’ve spoken to this week. “You made those choices, Clarke. You chose to borrow. You agreed to the terms. Then you chose to fuck me up the ass without even offering lube?” I come closer and crouch down, forcing him to look into my eyes. “That was disrespectful of you.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, his focus dropping to the pliers in my hand. “I’ll have your money next week. I swear.”

“Yes,” I agree. “You will. But that doesn’t mean this conversation is over.” I open the pliers and nestle his left pointer finger between the teeth. “Disrespect is not something a man like me can tolerate, Clarke.”

“Please don’t.” Snot bubbles burst from his nostrils, soaking his top lip and mixing with the blood already there to make his face that much uglier. “Please, Mr. Malone. Don’t?—”

“Who made you brave enough to fuck with me?”

“Please don’t?—”

“Whomade you brave enough?” I squeeze the pliers until he lets out an ear-piercing scream and throws his head back in agony. “You’re not this stupid, Clarke. You knew the rules.”

“Stop! Stop?—”

“Who told you to stiff us?”

“Stop—”

“Who?!”

“Emilio Pastore! He promised me protection.”

I release his fingers instantly and push up to stand. “Emilio Pastore.” I stroke my jaw and mull that over. “He said he would pay on your behalf?”

“No,” Clarke cries. He tries desperately to free his hands. To link them together and cradle his injury. “He just said protection.”

“So he knew he was fucking with us.” I turn to Micah and look down at his still-healing hand. His missing digit. The fucking trauma inflicted upon him for no reason except that Emilio Pastore is an asshat. “You approached him for assistance?”

“He approached me. He knew I was in debt to your family, that you would come looking to collect. So he told me he’d deal with it himself and that I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Because he would protect you?” I repeat. “And you just… thought it was that easy? Jump out of bed with one motherfucker, and jump into bed with another. You figured there’d be no blowback, or that I wouldn’t come looking for my money?”

“I took Mr. Pastore’s word for it.” His voice slurs, his eyes rollingfrom the pain in his hand. “He assured me I would be fine. That’s all I had to know.”

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