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She’s dressed in a simple blouse and straight-leg pants, but I can’t stop thinking about the way her lush body looked in that little black nightgown. I can’t stop thinking about how her breasts felt pressed up against my hard chest.

“Do the kids know?” she asks.

“Again, none of your concern,” I say.

“I just think?—”

I take an involuntary step toward her. “Do you need me to remind you again of where you stand in this house?”

She holds her chin high. She looks at me like she can see straight through me, all the way down to my rotten soul.

“I just asked a simple question,” she says, pursing her lips. “You don’t have to be so rude all the time.”

I don’t know how it happens, but our bodies are closer together than they were a few seconds ago.

“Tell the kids I said goodbye,” I say.

And before I do something I can’t undo, I walk away from her.

24

KLAUS

The New York gangster was released from prison only six months ago. Apparently, he learned nothing in his incarcerated time because he’s doing worse shit than he was before.

He’s sitting in a metal chair now with his wrists shackled behind him.

I sit across from him, sharpening my knife.

I haven’t said a single word, but he’s already shitting bricks.

It’s one of the intimidation techniques I learned in the military. During an interrogation, the aim isn’t to get answers from a person. It’s to break them down until they become your puppet.

“What do you want from me?” he says, disrupting the silence.

I don’t even make eye contact with him.

“Who are you, man?” he asks, shifting in his seat.

I look at Alaric. He’s leaning against the wall with a box of Junior Mints in his hand. He doesn’t interfere with my techniques, but I can tell from the bored look on his face that he was expecting to be entertained more.

“I swear I don’t know anything,” the criminal says. “Just let me go.”

I cut my gaze to him.

He’s still a kid, probably in his mid-twenties. It’s obvious he’s scared shitless, but I know about the things he’s done. I know what he’s responsible for.

He’s trembling from head to toe. I don’t know if it’s from fear or a drug habit. Probably both.

Something becomes very obvious to me in this moment.

This kid may be a gang member, but he’s not the brains behind the operation.

“I heard that you’re dabbling in a new hobby.” I stand. “Do you care to tell us about it?”

He flinches as I move closer toward him.

“Please, just let me go,” he begs. “I don’t even know who you are.”