Page 76 of The Collector

Maybe he was more like his father than he thought. Maybe it took losing someone you cared about to unleash the violence that being a Capo required entirely. He couldn't ask his father, but he had noticed a change in him since his mother passed away.

The flickering of buzzing lights overhead cast jagged shadows along the corridor walls as he made his way to the Stallions.Behind that door, the truth sat waiting for him to find—coiled in memory and wrapped in silence behind the men's lips. Raven didn't know who would talk first. He only knew that someone would. The only question now was how much pain he would need to administer to them to find it.

Luckily for him, pain was his native tongue— he spoke it fluently and without hesitation.

"Are they in there—?" Raven asked the men stationed by the door as he removed his coat and cufflinks. They were his father's cufflinks—he saw his reflection in them as he held them in his hand. These were the ones he'd given him on the day he became a man. Grief washed over him momentarily before he carefully set them down in a neat pile on the coat by the door. Rolling up his sleeves, he took a deep breath and faced the men as he waited for a response to the question that he already knew the answer to.

Slowly—methodically—he would obtain the names of everyone involved. Raven prepared a mental checklist. After all, this was no longer a negotiation; it was about to become an all-out war.

"They're in there. We strung them up all pretty for you, boss. They're waiting-- to be dealt with however you see fit," the man replied, sweat beading at his temple and beginning to drip down his face while he spoke. But he stood rigid as he answered, as if afraid Raven's wrath might land on him if he moved.

Raven didn't blame him. Even the full force of all the legions of Hell didn't have enough power to restrain him in this moment.

"If you need any help, I'd be glad to assist you in doling out some punishment, boss," the bolder of the two men added, popping his knuckles in preparation for being used as a weapon in Raven's capable hands.

"There's no need. I got this—. If ever there was a time I wanted to bathe in the blood of my enemies, today would be that time.Right now, I want them alone. No distractions. They're about to learn what it feels like to be cracked open and left in pieces. And depending on the information they give, they may have even more pain in their futures."

"As it should be," the man said. "I'll send Stoker in when he arrives. Is there anything else we can do for you while you are indisposed?"

"Just make sure I'm not disturbed. And inform me immediately if Dr. Emily figures out what caused my father's death."

"You got it, boss."

From the moment Raven stepped into the room, he could see the fear etched on two of the men's faces. The room reeked of their sweat and desperation. All three men were strung up like slabs of meat—shirtless, bruised, their heads hanging like wilted flowers. They looked up at him as he entered, waiting to hear what he would say— see what he would do. But he wouldn't make it easy for them.

Raul watched Raven approach, his apparent defiance flickering beneath bloodshot eyes. His arrogance still clung to him like his dried sweat—habitual and unearned.

It wouldn't survive the hour.

Raven's gaze slid to the countertop by the door and around the room's interior. He stepped into the room and scanned the shelves. Every bottle, every file, every weapon sat exactly where it belonged. Shelby had stocked it with intention. Nothing here happened by accident. These tools weren't symbols. They were solutions to problems. Every gouge in the floor was a reminder of a problem that had found its solution here. Every stain he created today would tell a story the walls would never repeat. She would ensure that too.

He picked up the tin snips, weighing them in his hand—not testing, but appreciating. Every tool had its reason, its purpose. These spoke of the first bit of agony he would administer.

"You ever see what happens to a hand when the knuckles are split in two, Raul?" Raven asked nonchalantly. "First, the tendon goes slack. Then the whole thing forgets how to grip. It's really quite painful."

Raul spat at his feet, his voice cracking as he answered. "You think those make you powerful, you little shit? I hope you realize what you're about to do here—the war you're about to unleash on yourself and your people. If you think I won't demolish you all— one by one— you're wrong. If you put a finger on me or my men, it's war. I'll say this only once—I had nothing to do with your father's death, and neither did the Stallions. It's not too late to admit your mistake here and let us go. Bruised pride is a lot easier to forgive than a mistake that could take everything from you. You'd do well to remember that— before you take this too far."

He watched Raul's spit land near his boot. Raven didn't flinch. He didn't even look away. The threats bounced off him like dust—acknowledged, but irrelevant.

Raven didn't blink. "Powerful? No. But pain's an excellent interrogator. Don't you think? We've already taken this too far, Raul. Don't play dumb with me. You and I both know that."

With that said, he walked over—casual, deliberately—and gripped Raul's hand without warning. The clean, brutal snip of metal meeting bone was crisp and final as he severed two of Raul's fingers at the knuckle. Raul erupted in a slurry of curses, half-formed as his body bowed and writhed under the sudden gravity of pain. Inspecting the severed nubs of flesh he held in his hand, Raven walked over to the toilet in the corner of the room, tossing the wrinkled nubs into the bowl and flushing.

"That was for the disrespect. But just to remind you for the future I'm a busy man, Raul. If I wanted to hear your threats, I would have brought in a chair and sat down for story time."

Raul's howls of pain continued, but Raven watched in amusement. Pulling a cigar from his shirt pocket, he lit it. Smoke curled toward the ceiling like incense, like a final prayer for the men—thin, wasted, rising into silence. Raven took a few pulls until he was satisfied it burned evenly, then spoke again. He stepped forward, slowly enough for dread to catch up to them as he approached.

"Now that we've established I'm not fucking around— let's get down to business. Only one of you will be leaving here today," Raven said. "I'll let you decide who. The other two will leave piece by piece." He let the words settle in the room like the ash falling from his cigar, then added, "The first one to tell me what happened gets the honor of surviving." Raven didn't care who spoke—only that someone did—before the monster within him ran out of patience.

No one moved. No one spoke. Even their pain paused to listen.

Grabbing Raul's hand once more, Raven seared the bleeding wounds closed with the tip of his cigar, sealing his words into the man's flesh. Only the hiss of flesh and his screams laced the air in the room. No one still spoke. Raven waited a beat and then turned to the next man, pointing to the one on the far left whose chest was heaving, his face pale with fear.

"Speak."

The man's voice trembled, cracking as he replied, "I—I don't know anything, I swear. Hector's death? We saw it just like everyone else. Same as you. I have no fucking clue what's going on here. I was just sent for backup tonight. If the Stallions had anything to do with his death, I had no knowledge of it."

Raven's gaze shifted to the second man hanging behind Raul. "And you? Is that the same bullshit lie you want to cling to? Or do you have something else to tell me? Something useful—?"