Page 28 of City of Salvation

DEX

PENT UP RAGE? TRY STABBING SOMEONE. (THIS IS NOT REPUTABLE THERAPEUTIC ADVICE)

My skin itched,the rage bubbling beneath the surface like a physical demon trying to claw its way out of my solar plexus. If Mario wasn’t already dead, I’d kill the fucker slowly and painfully. Howdarehe try and sell a woman, period—but to sell Nikki…

Chunks of cinder block scattered across the hall as I slammed the heavy metal door into the wall. Torque quirked a brow at the outburst, but otherwise remained silent. He knew better than to provoke me further. Smart man.

“He give you any trouble?” I asked as I entered the shed.

Calling it a shed was actually pretty deceiving. It was a concrete bunker big enough to fit all the brothers and their Old Ladies if needed. But there was one special wing where I did some of my best work.

The harsh, fluorescent lights bounced off white tiles that covered most surfaces, save for the special addition I’d wanted. Three-quarters of one wall consisted of a one-way mirror, allowing Pres to observe the interviews. But for the assholes who found themselves in my domain, it served a more macabre purpose. Who wouldn’t want to look over andsee the bloody fucking mess I’d made of them? It was my way of reminding them they had entered the darkest depths of hell.

The prick we’d taken from the Reapers’ club was suspended from the hook in the ceiling. Jardani, according to Nikki. His shoulders were up by his ears, and the leather loafers he wore dangled a few inches above the floor. This was not going to be pleasant for him, especially if he was in the business of selling skin.

A small pool of blood had formed beneath him, the crimson liquid running down the side of his bare body. The image of Nikki using her stiletto to knock the man unconscious brought a smile to my face. There was no denying that she was a fierce and cunning woman, a deadly combination that made her a force to be reckoned with.

Upstairs, I knew the change in her demeanor wasn’t because she wanted me. At least, that wasn’t the sole motivation. Still, I’d allowed for a few blissful moments of her body against mine.

Torque’s voice shook me out of my thoughts. “Naw. Nikki put him out cold. He woke up when I poured some cheap vodka over the gash, but the pain knocked him back out. She say anything about how she knew he was after her?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to piece together the puzzle. “Yeah, she said that some people Mario promised her to are after her.”

“How did she know that? And how did she even find this guy?”

Both of those were good fucking questions. Ones I hadn’t thought to ask, too busy being distracted by her perfect tits and how her nipples nearly popped out from the top of the cups. I sighed, realizing there were still many unanswered questions.

“I don’t know,” I bit out. “But Nikki’s a resourceful woman. She must have her ways. We need to get more out of her when the time’s right. Until then, let’s focus on this asshole.”

If Torque judged me for the misstep, he didn’t let it show. He moved beside me, his eyes not moving from the unconscious body. Not everyone could handle torturing another human. It didn’t make someone weak because they couldn’t stomach the idea of blocking out the screams or the pleas for mercy. Honestly, Torque’s reaction was a sign that he was more mentally stable than I was.

“You don’t need to be in here, Torque,” I said, moving toward the metal cabinet in the corner by the mirror. I’d left my cut back in the room. Blood managed to spray out in patterns and distances you weren’t expecting. Spent a fucking fortune replacing clothes that got ruined in here. I reached back and gripped the collar of my shirt, pulling it off with one quick yank, revealing the tattooed canvas underneath.

“I need you to show me how to do that shit. Women love that trick.” Torque’s comment had me smirking. “And I’ve got to get used to this shit at some point, right?” He didn’t sound overly confident about it.

The worn leather of my boots was soft against my callouses as I pulled them off before shucking off my jeans and placing everything on their designated shelf.

Torque let out a choked laugh. “Crocs? Seriously, Dex? And how the fuck did you find one of those dumbass sticker things in the shape of a bloody knife?”

I shot him a deadpan look. “First of all, they are called Jibbitz, you uncultured swine, and I ordered them special. Duh.” In my peripherals, I caught the way Torque shook his head. Whether it was in approval or not, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter because no one could tell me shit about mychoice of footwear. “If these bad boys are good enough for doctors, then they sure as fuck are good enough for me.”

A pained groan interrupted the conversation. Our guest was starting to stir.

“I’ve got a speaker for them coming too,” I tacked on, winking at my brother as I moved toward my workbench. I kept this space neat and organized, like my room. The chaos in my brain and life was more than enough—I didn’t need it reflected in other areas.

“Whatever you say.” Torque’s shoulder brushed against mine. His face seemed a few shades paler than normal, and we hadn’t even started yet.

“You sure you wanna be here for this?” I asked, concern in my voice.

A curt nod was all I received as a response. I wasn’t the kid’s mom, so if he wanted to stick around and risk blowing chunks all over, I wasn’t going to stop him. I winced a little at the thought of the nightmares he was likely to have. The first one I’d watched still haunted my dreams.

Before I could slip into the memories of that desert hovel, I turned toward my subject, blanking my mind. When I was in this room, I was methodical and precise. The jokester everyone knew was shoved aside for the cold and calculated man who always lurked right under the surface.

“Find anything helpful on him?” I asked, noting the inky black art peppering his body. We had stripped him of his suit and tie, leaving him with nothing more than a pair of briefs. Some of the writing looked suspiciously like Cyrillic. The wolf tattooed on his neck triggered a distant memory just out of my reach. Under the unforgiving glare of the fluorescent lights, it became clear that he was likely in his thirties.

“He had a wallet. The name was different than the one Nikki gave you, so either it’s fake, or he lied to her,” Torquereported, crossing his arms as he joined me. I nodded in acknowledgment, circling around the man and noting several scars that looked suspiciously like knife wounds.

“No, she knows him. I don’t know what the connection is, but I could tell from her expressions that there’s a pile of shit she’s not saying,” I replied, my unease matching Torque’s.

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