“Maybe he remembered the contract from last year,” Jerry said. “You are a rare beauty, Clover.”
The sneaky compliment triggered so much fury in Clover that he rushed up to him and punched him straight in the face, surprised at his own strength when Jerry’s head bounced back, and blood drizzled from his nose.
The punch also hurt Clover’s knuckles, but no one needed to know that.
“Seriously?” he yelled. “You think you’re gonna flatter your way out of this? I worked hard for you. I thought we were friends, and you literally sold me. Did it not matter to you if I’d be raped or eaten by some perv?”
The sweat on Jerry’s face was now obvious.
“They told me you’d be fine.”
“Shut up,” hissed Drake, and something about the hollow, cold quality of his voice had ants crawling up Clover’s back.
“You literally asked me a question!”
“Who is looking for him?” Drake asked, clutching at Jerry’s longish hair with a gloved hand.
“I told you that guy’s dead. I don’t have any more leads. If you saw Pete’s message, then you must know I never answered him, okay?”
Clover clenched his fists, seething on the inside. He knew Jerry. The fucker always had cards up his sleeve, and right now, he hadn’t even reached for them. He was bluffing.
“No. You know something,” Drake said, leaning over Jerry like Death himself, about to strike his victim down with a scythe.
“We only have so much patience,” Tank added in a somber tone, but he stayed behind and let Drake do his job.
“Clover. Please. I was there for you all those years ago. I made a mistake getting in with those people, okay?” Jerry looked past Drake, still thinking that he could sink his hooks into Clover to save himself. Made sense. A drowning man would even grab a straight razor to pull himself out.
Clover watched Drake’s body language, wishing to mimic it himself. “No, it’s not okay. You are an opportunist, and I don’t believe it was your first time selling someone.”
Jerry lost his cool and growled. “So that’s what we’re going on here? The kid’s intuition about me?”
Boar shrugged from a far-off spot on the sofa. “He’s not a kid, he’s twenty.”
Drake slapped Jerry’s head. “I think we’re done playing nice. What do you think, Clover?” he asked and dove his hand into his pocket, producing a ball gag.
Jerry’s eyes almost popped out of his head, but Drake stuffed the rubber ball into his mouth the moment the bastard tried to scream. It seemed so effortless for him that Clover wanted to clap despite the discomfort this whole situation caused him.
“I think he knows far more than he’s telling us.” Clover glanced at Tank, but the man just watched with his arms crossed, so Clover turned back to Jerry. “I also think he’s a piece of shit who doesn’t understand loyalty, so with enough push, he will talk.”
Drake nodded and pulled out a medium-sized knife. The thing wasn’t big, but Clover knew it was sharp enough to easily cut through skin. “So, Jerry… Yes, we will go with Clover’s intuition, which is too bad for you. And since he’s only an inexperienced kid, things might get out of hand, because, you see, he’s only learning the trade.”
Jerry froze, his gaze pointing straight at Clover. He shook his head and thrashed in the chair without much effect.
“Are you sure?” Boar whispered, but Clover already stepped closer, accepting the knife with his latex-clad hand, mesmerized by Drake’s aura.
Clover nodded without looking back at Boar. His world was shrinking down to Jerry and Drake. Blood throbbed even in his eyelids as he held the sharp tool in his hand. Jerry would regret what he’d done.
“I’m not the same boy you sold, asshole,” he said, surprised himself by the raspiness in his voice. And yet, talking meant hesitation. Or was he just waiting for Drake to guide him? He wasn’t sure anymore.
Drake’s elegant hands held Jerry’s forearm down, pressing it to the armrest and focusing Clover’s attention on that bit of skin. It made things easier, even if he wasn’t sure what was asked of him. When he glanced at Drake, his man offered him a soft smile of encouragement. “Can you push just the tip through skin?”
Clover found himself nodding despite Jerry’s thrashing. The forearm remained immobile, and Clover leaned down, placing the sharp edge against skin covered by graying hair. How old was Jerry anyway? He seemed like the kind of guy who looked forty since his early adulthood up until his seventies, but he yelped in pain like any other man once Clover fought through his initial queasiness and drove the knife into flesh.
“Good. Now pull it across the forearm without pushing the blade any deeper,” Drake instructed. His calm, warm voice was a torch for Clover to follow as he made longer cuts along the arm next to create an incomplete rectangle.