Page 23 of Madness & Mercy (Deadly Sins #1)

He freezes mid-step, tension rippling through his frame.

“You mean… you’re letting me come with you?”

I nod once. “Don’t make me regret it.”

That sobers him up fast. He heads to the closet, rifling through my suits like he’s looking for armor instead of fabric.

“What’s the plan?”

“You and I hit the basement first. See if you can squeeze a location out of Braga’s guy. Then we meet Luca and Enzo outside.”

He pauses at the window, his eyes catching on the red Maserati parked out front.

“Is that—?”

“Yours,” I say, leaning in the doorway. “But I’m driving this time.”

He frowns. “I can drive.”

I raise a brow. “Not while we’re hunting a body. You want to test-drive it, earn it. After.”

He rolls his eyes, pulling on a jacket. “Fine.”

“Got anything else to say?”

Julian pauses, meets my gaze with a half-scowl, half-smirk.

“You’re batshit crazy, you know that?”

I grin. “You want the car, or not?”

His mouth twitches, just the faintest smile, but it hits me like a bullet to the gut.

“Yeah… thanks,” he mutters.

“You can thank me when we’re both still alive by the end of the day.”

The basement is colder than usual. Concrete, steel, blood-soaked silence. I lead Julian down the stairs without a word, his footsteps falling just behind mine.

When we reach the bottom, the smell of blood and sweat hits first. Our hostage is still alive, barely. Bruised, gagged, wrists zip-tied to the back of a steel chair.

Julian exhales.

“Go ahead,” I mutter, stepping aside. “He might talk to you.”

He hesitates, just for a second. Then he steps forward, rolling his shoulders back like he’s slipping into character.

“You sure about this?” he asks under his breath.

“You said you had intel. Time to prove it.”

He gives me a look, then crouches in front of the guy. Rips the gag down in one sharp motion.

“Morning,” Julian says coolly. “Sleep well?”

The guy coughs, bloodied lips twitching into something between a snarl and a grin. “Fuck you.”

Julian smiles back, sweet as cyanide. “That’s the spirit. Now tell me where Braga is.”

The man glares up at him defiantly. “Why the hell should I?”

Julian leans in, his voice dropping. “Because the only reason you’re still breathing is because I asked him not to kill you yet.”

I fold my arms and watch. I’m studying both of them. One I already know is a liar. The other… well… he’s a mystery I plan to solve with my bare hands if I have to.

“You know me,” Julian says coldly. “You know what I used to do for Braga. You really think I give a shit about what happens to you?”

Those words land heavy: what I used to do for Braga.

I study his face for a crack, a twitch, anything that gives it away. Was it killing? Torture? Drugs? Or all of it wrapped in that beautiful, broken package?

The hostage flinches.

Julian notices. His smirk sharpens. He steps in, crouching to eye level with him like a wolf studying its prey.

“I used to be like you, strung out and desperate. A junkie doing whatever Braga told me, just for a taste of poison. But I crawled out of that pit, and now?” He leans in, his voice low and vicious. “Now I want Braga’s head on a fucking spike.”

“You’re lying,” the guy rasps, a flash of fear in his eyes. “You always were.”

Julian tilts his head before standing upright.

He paces once, then stops.

“What’s your name?”

The man glares up at him, then spits on the floor between them.

“I’m not telling you shit.”

Julian clicks his tongue, sighing.

“Then you die nameless. Braga’s nameless bitch.”

He lunges forward, seizing the guy by the throat with one hand, pushing him back against the chair until the legs scrape across the floor.

“You wanna die protecting a man who treats you like garbage? Fine by me. But if you’ve got a shred of self-preservation left in that cracked skull, you’ll give us something. A location. A time. A fucking name. Help us bury Braga, and maybe we’ll let you crawl away from this with your life.”

The guy wheezes, face red, eyes watering. Julian doesn’t let go. He holds him there until his legs start twitching.

“Alright!” the man gasps. “Alright, just—let go.”

Julian releases him with a shove, and he collapses forward, coughing.

“He’s running product through a shop on the west side,” the man chokes out. “Auto body place off Delano. He’s not always there, but his crew is. Next shipment’s moving this afternoon.”

I step closer, arms folded. Calm, but sharp.

“That’s a start. What else?”

The man swallows hard. “That’s all I’ve got. Swear to God.”

I exchange a look with Julian.

“You believe him?” I ask.

Julian shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. We check it out. If he’s lying, we burn the place to the ground.”

I grin. “Sounds like a plan.”

I glance down at the hostage. “We’ll deal with you later.”

He spits blood at my feet. “You’re both fucked. Braga will kill you.”

I lean in close, smiling cold.

“He can try.”

Then I turn to Julian, keeping my voice low.

“Gear up. We’ve got a body to hunt.”

We leave the basement in silence. The hostage’s ragged breathing fades behind us, replaced by the sound of boots against concrete. Julian doesn’t say a word, but his shoulders are squared, his eyes focused and deadly.

I like him like this.

We reach the front hall where Luca’s already waiting by the Maserati, helmet in hand. Enzo’s standing at the hood of the Benz, a cigarette burning low between two fingers. He clocks us with a nod, but I wave him off. Not yet.

Julian heads for the stairs, peeling off the jacket he’d worn in the basement. I follow.

“Good work in there,” I say.

He pauses halfway up the steps, giving me a look over his shoulder. “Wasn’t for you. It was for Braga.”

“Still.” I climb the last few steps until we’re level. “You knew exactly how to push him. Where to hit. How to bait the fear.”

He stays quiet, walking into my bedroom, heading toward the closet like it’s second nature now.

I lean against the doorframe, watching him pull on one of my black dress shirts and roll the sleeves to his elbows.

“You ever work as a cop?” I ask casually.

He goes still.

“No,” he says quickly. “What are you getting at?”

I shrug, grabbing my jacket off the chair and sliding it on. “Nothing. Just that your interrogation style was a little advanced for a private investigator.”

He turns around, a scowl twisting his face.

“I’m not a fucking cop. Or a detective. So just drop it, alright?”

I raise both hands, placating.

“Alright. Touchy.”

His glare lingers for a moment longer than necessary. Then he snatches a gun holster from the closet shelf and clips it around his waist like he’s done it a thousand times.

Because he has.

Whatever the hell Julian Cross is, he’s not just some P.I And he’s definitely not someone Braga expected to turn against him.

Fine by me.

“Let’s go,” I mutter, grabbing the spare glock from the bedside drawer and tucking it into my coat. “The bastard’s expecting a quiet afternoon. Let’s ruin it.”

We move through the house fast, Enzo trailing behind, Luca already on his bike, revving the engine.

Julian’s eyes catch on the Maserati again.

I grin. “Still want that test drive?”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “I want Braga’s head first.”

“Good. Then get in. Let’s go hunting.”

The Maserati growls beneath us as we speed down Delano, slick red and hungry for blood. Julian rides shotgun, arms crossed, a storm building behind his eyes.

“Say it,” he mutters, not even looking at me.

I glance over, arching a brow. “Say what?”

“You’re pissed at me.”

I smirk. “I’m always pissed at you.”

“Yeah, but this time it’s different. You’re quiet.”

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m focused.”

“That so?”

“You said you wanted Braga’s head. I’m making that happen.”

He goes silent for a beat. Then, “So you believe me now? About everything that happened?”

“I believe you want him dead,” I say. “That’s enough for now.”

Julian exhales, the tension between us getting tighter with every passing block. The Maserati turns a corner, and the auto body shop appears like a greasy wound in the concrete. Nothing flashy. Just a rusted sign, flickering light, and an open bay door.

But I already know this isn’t a shop.

It’s a fucking front.

I park across the street, glancing in the mirror to see Enzo pull up behind us in the Benz. Luca’s already circling on the bike, scoping exits.

Julian shifts beside me, hand already on his gun.

“You ready?” I ask.

He smirks without humor. “I’ve been ready.”

Inside the body shop, it smells like oil and cheap cologne. Half-naked cars are lined up under hanging lights, but there’s no sound of wrenches. Just silence.

Then a door slams somewhere in back.

Luca moves fast, grabbing the first guy he sees by the collar and slamming him against a stack of tires. “Where is he?” he snarls.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Enzo kicks open another door, dragging out a second guy. “Lying little fucks.”

Julian and I move deeper into the shop, following the hallway behind the garage. There’s a steel door half open. I push it wider, and what I see makes my blood run colder than it should.

Three heavy suitcases. Two stacked with cash. One full of neatly packed kilos of coke, sealed and glinting under the dim light.

Julian freezes.

His eyes aren’t on the money—they’re locked on the cocaine.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

My jaw tightens.

“Absolutely fucking not,” I growl, stepping between him and the table, grabbing his wrist hard.

“Jesus Christ, let go of me!” he snaps, trying to twist away.

I drag him into the dark corner of the back office, out of sight. He stumbles a bit, but I don’t let go.

I look him dead in the eye. “That shit about you being an addict, about Braga drugging you. That was all true, wasn’t it?”

He bites his lip, and without saying a word, I already know the answer

“I’ll kill these motherfuckers.”

I turn to leave, rage already in my blood, but he catches my arm.