Page 3 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

ASHER

A nthony Fucking Cole is going to die. Slowly. Painfully. I’ll make sure of it.

I hated him before—more than any other person I have ever known. But now, the hate in my soul has found a new level.

Dahlia.

I should have seen it. I should have known.

Spencer isn’t a trained CIA operative. No matter how hard she tries to keep the attention off herself, there’s no way for her to go unnoticed in a crowded room.

Anthony was bound to find her, and the fact that she remained hidden from him for almost three years is either a testament to her vigilance or his stupidity.

With how busy Anthony is, of course he planted someone in Spencer’s life to watch her. But from what I could tell, there was no malice to be found in Dahlia’s friendship with Spencer. Even now . . . She knew what would happen when she didn’t follow Anthony’s unspoken orders.

She passed out from the pain just moments after the last man left.

Anthony watches her unconscious body with a triumphant glee. When he turns to me, his face changes instantly. Revulsion takes over his features.

“Your turn.”

I shrug. “Sorry. I don’t think I’m their type.”

Anthony’s eyes narrow to slits. “If that’s how you want to play it.

” He snaps his fingers, and two more of his men approach me.

They use a couple of pocket knives to cut the tape binding me to the chair, then secure my wrists together with more tape.

I let them because I know what’s coming next. I need my strength.

“What are you doing to him? Leave him alone! Don’t touch him!” Spencer thrashes in her chair next to me. The tape digs into her skin—her precious skin.

“Shut up!” Anthony backhands her.

She better not have scars after this—she doesn’t need the reminder. And if she does, I’ll have to figure out how to bring Anthony back from the dead so I can kill him all over again.

My wrists are lifted above my head and attached to a hook, just like the one Dahlia is hanging from.

One man tugs on a chain a few feet away, and I’m lifted up from the chair.

The man has to give the chain another tug to make it so I’m dangling with the tips of my shoes hovering just above the cold floor.

The pressure around my wrists is uncomfortable but bearable.

It’s the searing pain that radiates from my shoulder that makes me almost black out.

The bleeding has stopped, but the movement causes a fresh gush of blood to pour from my wound.

The recovery from this shit isn’t going to be fun, but I’ll manage.

I imagine pulling the pain from my body and shoving it into a box. I lock the lid, throw away the key, and the box gets stored in the back of my mind.

It’d be nice if Rio and Zane would hurry the fuck up.

“Stop it!”

Tilting my head back, I turn to her. “It’s all right, Princess. I’m fine.” My voice is more strained than I intend.

Anthony pulls out a set of brass knuckles and places them on his right hand. I see the blow to my ribs coming a mile away. I harden my abs to lessen the damage, but the impact still stings. I can’t stop the grunt that makes its way past my lips. “Like butterfly kisses,” I mutter.

“Don’t make me tell you again. Don’t talk to her! She’s not your Princess; she’s not your anything !”

I chuckle, knowing my lack of cowering is only going to enrage him further. But the more his attention is on me, the less it’ll be on her.

“Getting started without me?” Pierce strolls in through the metal door and stops when he’s shoulder to shoulder with Anthony. The hurt on his face is genuine, as if he actually feels left out.

Fucking psychopaths.

“We need answers,” Anthony says without remorse.

“Then allow me to help.” Pierce pulls out his own set of brass knuckles.

Anthony gestures to my vulnerable frame. “Be my guest.”

“Leave him alone! Please!” Spencer’s terror is palpable and fills the room. I need her to remain calm, but I can’t give her the cue now. Drawing attention to herself is only going to cause her pain.

Anthony sneers at Spencer. “You need to learn what happens when you fool around with trash, Flower.”

Pierce’s jabs and punches to my torso make me feel like I’ve gone twelve rounds with Muhammed Ali, but I try to keep the groans and hisses to a minimum because each one causes Spencer to flinch. Somewhere along the way, I think he fractures a rib.

“That’s enough, Pierce.” Anthony’s tone has an air of finality, but Pierce keeps punishing my torso with his blows. “I said, that’s enough!” Anthony grips Pierce by the shoulder and yanks. Pierce turns with his fist raised.

“I wasn’t done,” Pierce says through panting breaths.

Anthony’s glower says he isn’t too happy at being defied in front of others. “We need him to talk. He can’t do that if you beat the shit out of him.” He snaps his fingers again.

I’m getting really tired of his air of entitlement with those finger snaps.

A man with a rolling metal table comes forward from the shadows.

On the table is an array of knives. I think the move is supposed to scare me, but I’ve been friends with Rio for over ten years.

Rio’s creativity with a blade is intimidating.

A couple of rich boys who grew up with a silver spoon won’t make me sweat.

My head hangs forward as I chuckle.

Pierce jerks my head up by my hair. “You won’t be laughing much longer.” My neck strains, but I keep laughing.

Anthony throws another punch at my midsection, effectively putting a stop to my laughter. “Now that that’s over, tell me something: What does the FBI know about our operations?”

My breathing is labored. They may not scare me, but, shit, I’m fucking sore. “Which operations would that be?”

“We both know the FBI sent Dustin to Euphoria wearing a wire. Tell me what else you know.”

Wow. He really is a dumbass.

If the FBI had the recording, he would have been taken into custody already. Considering the shit he revealed about stalking Spencer and admitting to blackmailing two NYPD officers, he would’ve been collared right away.

“A wire?”

The more I get him to admit to me, the deeper the hole he digs for himself.

I can’t use the recording from Euphoria, because proving that Dustin consented to the recording will be difficult since he’s dead.

With New York being a single-party consent state, if Rio would’ve gotten his head out of his ass and had Dustin sign a damn piece of paper, I could have taken that recording right to the FBI.

But now, even if I could trust everyone in my office, the recording would be inadmissible.

“The wire Dustin wore into Euphoria!”

“He’s not going to talk,” Pierce mutters.

Anthony picks up one of the knives, but his grip on the handle is all wrong. I let my head fall forward, and I smirk.

Just like I thought. A couple of rich men playing at torture experts.

Anthony slashes at my arm with the knife, leaving behind a shallow cut. My sweat trickles into the open graze. The burn is inconvenient, but I barely notice it.

“Tell me! What does the FBI know about our trafficking operation?” He’s losing his patience, which is just what I need. I will happily play the part of the FBI idiot to get him talking.

“Weapons trafficking?” Another cut stings on my arm.

“Human! Human trafficking! Your two little roommates have been fucking things up for us for years! They’ve raided my parties in Bushwick and Hoboken.”

Pierce rests a hand on the metal table and leans. “It’s a good thing they haven’t found the prep houses on Long Island.”

“Shut up, Pierce!” Anthony turns back to me. His eyes are deranged; he’s quickly losing control. “Tell me what the FBI knows.” He rests the blade on my arm and applies pressure, but he doesn’t break the skin. It’s a threat—a horrible threat, but a threat, nonetheless.

“What kind of details are you looking for?” I put a little quiver in my voice. Spencer whimpers and calls out for me again, but I ignore her. Anthony is so focused on me that he doesn’t hear her either.

“Do they know about the prep houses on Long Island? Do they know about the officials we have under our thumb? Do they know about the list? Has Spencer given them the list?”

Here goes a shot in the dark.

“Your client list?”

“Yes!” His face blazes with barely restrained rage.

Definitely an idiot and losing control. He’s given me more information in the last few minutes than we’ve learned in the last few years.

I change the subject. “The news is calling you ‘The Bride Butcher.’”

“Stupid name. I should professionally crucify whoever came up with it,” he sneers.

Pushing the subject further, I give him more of what we know. “You’ve murdered five women from the east to the west coast. Selling women isn’t enough for you? You have to murder them too?”

His eyes glaze over as he gets caught up in his memories. “Actually, it’s seven, and I was just trying to find Spencer! Every state I visited, every city, I looked for her. It took me over two years to find her. There were times I thought I spotted her, but it always turned out to be another.”

“You killed women because you couldn’t find me? That’s your excuse?” Spencer chimes in.

“You shouldn’t have run!” Spittle flies from his mouth as his attention and wrath turn to her.

Not good.

“I gave you everything. Everything! You wanted for nothing! And you decided to test me by forcing me to play this ridiculous cat-and-mouse game!” His ire is thrown at Spencer like a spear. He means to cut her to the quick, but his delusion doesn’t account for the fact that she doesn’t love him.

“So, you killed them and put them in my wedding dress? You apparently love me so much that you killed and raped them?”

“Spencer,” I warn. She’s entering dangerous territory. If his fantasy shatters, Anthony will lose all sense of control and lash out at the object of his affection.

Her.

Spencer’s eyes are wide with shock as she ignores me. “You’re insane,” she whispers.

Anthony raises his hand to strike, but I yell out before he can strike.

“Do you really think I’d tell you anything? Anthony Cole. Orphan. University of Texas graduate. Rich from Mommy and Daddy’s money. You think that just because you have money and privilege, you can fucking sell people.”

Anthony’s eyes darken, and a knowing smirk grazes his lips. He shows no remorse for any of his actions. “And what about you, FBI Agent Asher Wolfgang Dawson? Your mother was nothing more than a two-dollar whore, pimped out by your father.”

I grind my teeth together to prevent myself from giving him the reaction he wants.

“And then there’s your college sweetheart.

Rachel? You shared her with your dirty friends, too, just like you tried sharing my Flower.

Is that why she killed herself? She couldn’t stand the thought of spreading her legs for someone who was practically born in the gutter and couldn’t provide the lifestyle she was accustomed to living? ”

My gut clenches as I recall finding her lifeless body with one of my belts wrapped around her neck.

Condescension oozes from his voice. “Or was it because of the assault from the football captain? Poor little Asher couldn’t save Rachel from her own mind after that. And Rachel couldn’t handle the stain on her reputation it brought, could she?”

My breath billows from my teeth, and my knuckles turn white.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But I do, don’t I?”

My eyes subtly slide to Spencer. I don’t want to know what she thinks of my upbringing; I wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection from my partner again. But I can’t help myself.

When our gazes meet, she looks at me with the same look from the other night. Sympathy.

Anthony moves closer towards my dangling body. He brandishes the knife again so he can intimidate the answers out of me.

That’s not going to work.

When he’s close enough, I tighten my abs and grip the hook. A set of feet come into my line of sight. Ignoring the agonizing burn in my shoulder, I kick out with my right leg. My foot connects with Anthony’s torso. A grunt is forced from his lips, and he doubles over.

Pierce lunges forward and aims his armored fist at my bullet wound.

The sound that bursts from my mouth is full of agony.

I’ve been ignoring the fire burning in my shoulder until now.

The box of pain has been forcefully opened, and I’m struggling to close the lid again.

More blood streams down from my open wound.

“No! Stop! Please! I’ll do anything! Just stop hurting him!”

No one gives Spencer’s pleas recognition. Anthony and Pierce are too focused on me.

Just how I want them to be.

Anthony stands. His hair is disheveled and there’s a distinct, muddy boot print on his shirt. He lands a few blows of his own straight to my stomach in retaliation. It’s becoming more difficult to keep my torso tight so as to not allow serious damage.

When Anthony finally stops, he straightens and smooths his hair. My shirt is soaked in sweat and blood.

“Come, Pierce. Let’s give Agent Dawson some time to think over his answers.” He slips the brass knuckles into his pocket and saunters out of the warehouse. Pierce’s wandering eyes linger on Spencer, dipping to the cleavage her dress reveals.

He’s going to regret his ogling. Even if Spencer doesn’t want me after we get out here, and after learning about my history, I’ll still protect her from the Anthony’s and Pierce’s of the world. Men like that think they can take just because they want.

“Asher,” Spencer whispers. “Asher, please, stay awake.”

But my eyes droop closed. The box is spilling over with pain now—it’s becoming impossible to keep the lid locked in place.

“I’ll be back for you, my Lily.” Pierce’s promise is spoken low so only Spencer and me are able to hear him. Forcing my eyes to remain open, I watch Spencer’s frame shake as she swallows a gulp of fear. Pierce smiles at her reaction and finally stalks out after Anthony.

With the immediate threat gone, pain finally claims my consciousness.