Page 1 of Silent Schemes

CHAPTER ONE

Varrick

The trick to breaking a man isn’t the tools.

It’s the timing.

I lean against a steel support beam, arms folded, letting the cold eat through the linen of my shirt.

The warehouse is an old ruined cathedral—stained glass long replaced with sheet metal, the only light is a work lamp swinging from a pipe.

Its bulb flickers, stuttering, casting the man hanging before me into shadows of light.

He’s tied by his ankles, shirtless, wrists bound behind his back.

Cheap rope, but effective for a pig this size.

The blood’s pooled in his face, turning it a swollen red that hides half his bruises.

Sweat runs from his scalp and gathers at his hairline, then it drips, each drop smacking the concrete with pathetic consistency.

His name is irrelevant.

So is whatever he did for the Bane syndicate before today.

Now he’s just meat, swinging slowly in the cold.

I check my watch.

Five minutes since the last question.

Two since his last breathless sob.

Most men would be screaming by now.

This one’s got some backbone, or maybe he’s just too dumb to process fear at this angle.

I walk closer.

The soles of my shoes are soft rubber, silent.

His head tilts up, eyes darting, trying to focus.

He’s expecting threats, maybe a knife or a hammer.

All the classics.

I squat next to his head, roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt.

The tattoos on my forearms draw his attention for a second—black ink, script, and sigils, each one a lesson.

He tries to read them, a desperate brain reaching for any distraction.

“You know who I am,” I say.

Voice low. I don’t need to raise it.

Not in this place.