Page 126 of Desperate Games

I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall.

Dust rains from the ceiling, plaster cracking.

“The fuck you say? Nah. You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to breathe the same air as her,” I hiss.

His pulse pounds under my fingers, erratic, weak.

“You’re done.”

Behind me, I hear Liam murmur something about “quick and clean,” but I’m not in the mood for clean.

I want messy.

I want him to remember me in his last fucking second of consciousness.

“Please—” Julio chokes, eyes bulging. “We—we can make a deal. Come to an agreement.”

“No deals. No fucking agreements.”

I slam him again, harder.

The blade presses to his ribs, right under his heart. He freezes, the reality of what’s coming sinking in.

“Who’s the motherfucker you threatened to introduce Callie to. The one you said would be her special friend?” I ask and hear the growls of the men I brought with me echo in the filthy little room.

“T-Thomas Gerrison.”

“Where does he live?”

“I can show you?—”

“Where?” I stick the blade in a little deeper, just enough to scare him.

“We—Weehawken. I’ll leave. I’ll go to Mexico. You’ll never see me again.”

“That’s something we can agree on. But Julio, no one is ever gonna see you again,” I rumble, my voice deep and full of hate and gravel.

His eyes are wide as he frantically mumbles and grabs at the hand holding him captive by the neck.

I lean my head back so I can watch him as I sink my knives into his flesh.

“This is for the dead flowers you sent my wife.”

I drag the blade across his side—shallow but agonizing.

He howls.

“This is for the bracelet you sent my little girl.”

I punch him, knuckles cracking bone.

He sags against me, wheezing.

“And this?” My blade lifts, my lips curl back in a snarl. “This is for thinking you could ever take what’s mine.”

One brutal plunge.

The steel sinks home, right between his ribs.