Page 115 of Hurt

Grant had never even looked at the man.

“Congratulations, you’re now on the starting lineup. There will be no substitutions,” Grant said as the man to his right choked in his own blood.

“I’m only going to say this once, so I would appreciate your undivided attention.” He spoke as if he were lecturing a class on how to fill in the bubbles on a scantron test sheet.

“Your bosses have caused the Weavers significant damage. As you can imagine, this upsets me deeply. Now, you have two options: You can tell me where your bosses are so I can vent out my anger appropriately, or I can use you as a substitute.”

Lighting quick, he yanked the gag out of the Vega Cabal's mouth. Stuffing his hand in its place, he grunted in pain as the man bit down. Spreading his jaws, Grant levered the bloody knife into the Cabal member’s mouth. Maneuvering the stiletto blade back, he pressed in until the man screamed. Blood and spittle flew from his open mouth as Grant cut the poisonous capsule from him.

Retracting his hand, Grant held the fake tooth up to his eye. Blood dripped down his hand, but whether it was from the extracted tooth or from the bite wounds on his hand, Elijah wasn’t sure.

Flicking the cyanide capsule to the ground, he returned his attention to the man. He was slumped over while blood poured from his parted lips. Grant grabbed his hair and jerked his eyes up.

“I am angry.” Grant loomed over the Vega. “I want you to look into my eyes and see just what that anger looks like.”

His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it. Sharper than the blade in his hand. Like a droplet of blood sliding across polished steel, it was smooth as it was hypnotic.

The prisoner gurgled on his blood as he looked up into Grant’s eyes. He shuddered.

“Do you see my rage? It’s a living thing. Screaming for retribution that can only be paid in blood and suffering.”

His wrist flicked, and that thin blade whipped up, slicing cleanly through the man’s left ear. The concrete walls muted his screams. He struggled in Grant’s grip, but the tall man didn’t waver.

He held the ear out in front of the man, making him look at the chunk of flesh that used to be attached to him.

“Are you willing to pay the Vegas’ debt?”

Grant didn’t flinch when the man wailed—an inhuman shriek that made Elijah’s toes curl.

“I don’t know where they are,” he spluttered through the blood.

The blade caught the light from the bare bulb screwed into the ceiling. It sliced off the other ear with ease.

“Ignorance will not save you.” Grant dropped the blobs of bloody flesh and cartilage onto the floor with a wet plop.

“You…you’re just a goddamn pencil pusher,” he whimpered.

Grant’s smile was terrifying. “You’re right.”

Elijah’s heart was racing. He had never seen Grant like this before.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not a killer.” Grant slapped the man’s face with the flat of his blade. “It just means I’m efficient when I kill.”

Ten minutes later, Grant was wiping his hands off on the only scrap of clean clothing the man had. His knife was returned to its resting place on his thigh, and the bloody mess behind him was rasping. Elijah was familiar with agonal breathing—a death rattle.

“Have Owen look into that address he gave us.”

Jamie looked pale, but he nodded. “It’s not the Vegas.”

“No,” Grant admitted ruefully. “Tony is close enough.”

“How are we going to get close enough to him to drop a tracker? He knows our faces.”

Grant pushed some hair out of his face, leaving a streak of blood on his sculpted cheek. “I have an idea.”

Fucking Weavers.

Owen pulled his hood up and fiddled with the strings. He was having unpleasant thoughts about his employers as he trudged down the street. Computers. His thing was computers. Dark rooms well stocked with Cheetos far away from the action. That’s what he signed up for.