Page 56 of With A Little Luck

Chapter Forty-Six

Trigg

B eing willing to kill does not mean someone will be adept at torture. Much like Hartley learned what he was capable of when Quincy was in danger, many humans would be surprised at what they would be willing to do to protect someone they love.

Some of us have an innate understanding of who we are from a young age, while others hone the skill through military service or just a hard life in general.

Perhaps when I get home, I’ll have another conversation with Hartley about the difference between cold-blooded murder and self-defense.

After all, we’re friends now, and I don’t want him needlessly feeling guilty.

Even if he had killed the assailant when he threw that brick, it would have qualified as self-defense.

I can’t imagine anyone losing sleep over protecting themselves or someone they love. The type of agony that I’m currently inflicting is a very different story. Even those who are comfortable committing murder do not necessarily have the constitution required for hours of torture.

It’s a bloody, smelly, thankless job.

Although many of us, I would imagine, have done our time in a basement here or there. It was one of the first requirements my mentor imposed, but that goes back to the boss ordering around their minions.

Why do the dirty work yourself if you can delegate it to your underlings?

“You’re going to kill him if you’re not careful,” Easton says, sounding especially unbothered by the prospect. He came in an hour ago, but up until this point, he’s stayed silent, simply monitoring my progress.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not an amateur.”

The muffled screaming is beginning to give me a tension headache.

I’d love to be able to push my glasses up, but my hands are bloody, and it would be an ordeal anyway.

The safety goggles ensure my glasses won’t fall off and land in a puddle of bodily fluids.

They also catch any spray that may land on my face, but I would have to remove them completely to adjust my glasses.

Perhaps I should do a little searching for a pair that can accommodate those of us without perfect vision.

If Ridge were here, I would ask him for an assist. That, or allow him to take over while I situated my glasses.

This was supposed to be a bonding opportunity .

He’s now permanently connected to my soulmate, and I thought it would be an olive branch to invite him to watch while I worked. However, he scoffed at the prospect and chose to nap instead.

This is why I don’t bother trying to make connections with people. It’s like I’m back in elementary school when no one wanted to let me sit at their lunch table. There’s no point in making friends.

I’ll simply keep Ridge alive because of his connection to Quincy. He and I can be packmates, but that doesn’t mean we have to be friends.

My annoyance causes me to push a little too firmly, and the drill goes through David’s forearm.

“Not an amateur, but entirely too emotionally involved to be here right now.” Easton shoves off the wall, coming closer.

“Take another step closer, and I will bury this drill bit in your eye.” I frown.

That was a bit extreme.

Perhaps Ridge did hurt my feelings by refusing my offer.

Refocusing on my prisoner, I reverse the setting to pull the machine from his arm. “Costa isn’t on his way to save you. You’re going to die here either way. Wouldn’t you rather put a quick end to the suffering?”

Rather than nod his agreement, David continues to wail.

My patience has disintegrated.

Placing the drill down on the table next to the chair David is strapped to, I peruse my options.

“You’re rushing things because you don’t want to be here in the first place.” Easton moves closer. “Breaking someone’s will to live takes time.”

I do, in fact, know all of that.

David still has some delusional level of hope that Costa will magically care about his survival and come to his rescue. Or he believes that we’ll fuck up, leaving him the perfect opportunity to escape.

Killing hope takes longer than it does to destroy a body. Hurrying through the process could put him into shock. He could die prematurely, but I’m not convinced he knows anything all that helpful to begin with.

Calder has already checked over the electronics that came from the house Easton, Valor, and I hit. If there was no communication trail indicating where Costa is, I doubt he shared that knowledge with this waste of space in person.

“Keir and I will handle this.” Easton claps me on the shoulder, and the annoying surgical gown crinkles.

“You’ve been here for hours. Go home and spend some time with Quincy.

Focus on learning how to exist with your new packmates.

If we learn anything actionable…” He chuckles darkly.

“I won’t even lie and say I’ll call you because I probably won’t.

Believe it or not, I have an entire company full of capable employees. ”

“You called me here for a reason,” I growl, shoving his arm away and stepping back.

“I thought you might like to burn off some of your frustration related to Quincy and Ridge bonding. However, your job is to keep Ridge alive. Having you here means I have to have another team watching his house,” Easton says calmly.

“He warned me Costa would be a problem if we didn’t take him out simultaneously with his twin.

I was stubborn. This entire situation could have been avoided if I had listened. ”

Perhaps I should pull out my phone and record this for Ridge. I’m fairly sure it’s the only way he’ll ever get to hear Easton admit that he was wrong.

“Take the listing for the higher bounty if you haven’t?—”

“I have,” I say, cutting him off. “But there’s been no communication.”

“Well, all we can do is wait and see when Costa pops his head out next,” Easton says, pointing at the door. “Get out. You have mere weeks before Quincy will give birth, and if you’re serious about sticking around?—”

“I am,” I growl, cutting him off again.

“Then, might I suggest you invest some time building relationships with the people you intend to spend the rest of your life with.”

My eyes narrow, and I exhale heavily.

Everyone is pushing the limits of my kindness today.

Goddammit.

David is lucky Easton intervened.

I really need to kill someone.

How Easton thought it would be a good idea to offer up Shaw as my driver is a mystery to me. At least the man can follow instructions, even if he’s obnoxiously chatty.

It’s fully dark when he parks near the back gate. Quincy’s backyard has very little lighting. It’s one of the features that I used to my advantage when sneaking in, but my companion trips over a rock and barely makes it up the back steps without face-planting.

We enter Quincy’s house, and luckily Shaw branches off.

Quincy was rushed due to the circumstances of Ridge being shot, and my goal is to grab additional items to help her feel more at home.

Costa knows where her house is located, so we stay on alert, but according to the security feeds, no one has been inside since we were last here.

The faint scent of pee draws me toward the downstairs bathroom, and I frown.

In the heat of the moment, I tossed several towels over the puddle and found Quincy alternate clothing and a washcloth to do the bare minimum for cleaning up.

It was the best I could offer in triage mode, but she’ll be embarrassed if she comes back to find this mess.

I sigh, strip off my gloves, shove them into my pocket, and go in search of bleach or some type of tile cleaner. I’m not sure what Shaw does as I clean, but he doesn’t hover, and that’s good enough for me.

It’s not glamorous work.

The bleach, even diluted, burns my overly sensitive nose. I’ve always had an acute sense of smell. Growing up, I seemed to notice scents no one else picked up on.

Bleach and commercial-grade cleaners are not my favorite smells, but they’re not more offensive than the blood and urine from the prisoner I tortured for close to eight hours.

“For being an absolute psychopath, you’re not a bad boyfriend,” Shaw says, startling me as I rinse the floor with another towel that will also need to be thrown away.

Am I only her boyfriend ? She’s my soulmate. I also intend to ask her to marry me, but I suppose she hasn’t technically said yes yet. She will. Then she’ll be my fiancée.

Shoving the towel into the garbage bag, I smile at him over my shoulder. “Thank you. I didn’t want her to be embarrassed the next time we came into the house. It wasn’t her fault. That series of unpleasant events lies on Costa’s shoulders.”

“You shouldn’t be afraid to show a more caring side of yourself,” Shaw says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Ridge is solid. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s the kind of guy you want in your corner.

He’ll be a good packmate to you if you put in the effort.

I know the two of you have been at each other’s throats. ..”

My eyes widen.

Is that what it looks like to others?

We bicker, but I wouldn’t have moved so swiftly to staunch the bleeding if I wanted him dead.

“I mean, that’s what it seems like looking in, but if you want to be part of a pack, you have to find some common ground with your packmates. Otherwise, you’ll make Quincy’s life a living hell.”

It would be convenient if all of Ridge’s friends would stop piling on with the pep talks. They could even have a discussion to select which topic they would each like to champion. At least that would offer a bit of variety.

I’m legitimately incapable of forgetting details, even things I would prefer not to carry around, making these repeated conversations tedious and unnecessary.

Unless they feel they have to pound the point through my skull because none of them believe I’m listening in the first place.

However, it would only be more embarrassing to admit that I attempted to find some common ground with Ridge this afternoon.

Hence my hurt feelings.