Envy (Criminal Sins 1)

“You’re sure it was these guys?” I ask, pushing my way into the creaky warehouse.

My most trusted advisor just nods. “We called in a few favors from our people at the phone company. They were able to trace all recent calls going in and out of the two newspaper offices. We found hundreds of matches, a handful of which looked awfully suspicious... and familiar. Turns out, some of the calls were coming from our own properties. Safehouses and apartment buildings where we strategically place our own men.”

“Have they confessed yet?” I ask. Three burly figures appear in the distance. They’re all on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, surrounded by a circle of my most loyal men.

“No. They’ve been awfully silent, but they’re clearly scared. I wouldn’t be surprised if we could get one of them to break before sunrise.”

I push my way into the circle. Our hostages don’t look up. “Who’s going to break first?” I ask, pulling up the cuffs on my jacket.

No response.

I study my prey intently. They’re all older than I expected them to be. Middle-aged men with thin hair and thick scars who have served me for years. Usually, snitches are younger guys who want to fast track their road to the big bucks. They either get paid a whole lot to snitch or they figure that the chaos that might ensue could make it easier for them to climb the internal ladder.

Of course, there are those who snitch because they’re facing serious jail time, but these three fuckers in front of me weren’t talking to detectives or lawyers, they were talking to the press. None of them betrayed me to save their own skin, they just wanted to profit from my downfall.

Cowards.

“You,” I point to the biggest of the three men. He doesn’t budge. The middle-aged brute looks oddly familiar. I’ve probably given him my share

of orders in the past, but I have so many employees that I can’t remember all of them all of the time.

When he doesn’t budge, I gesture for two of my armed guards to lift him to his feet. “What is your name?” I ask. As mad as I am, a small smirk crawls over my lips at the size of the goon. He’s big and burly, which means he’s going to make a hell of a punching bag. These other two might just get a bullet, but I’ll give this one a chance to fight for his life; I could use the workout.

“Brutus,” the man grumbles. I can’t help but laugh.

“How fitting. How long have you worked for me Brutus?”

“Long enough,” he grunts.

“Long enough for what?”

No response. A fire flickers behind my chest. I don’t like his tone. There are scars on the brute’s arms and a tinge of white to his hair. He couldn’t be older than 45, but he’s seen a lot in his life—so, why throw it all away to fuck me over?

“This is Brutus Rodriguez,” Juan pipes up. “He called the Cali Gazette from our safehouse in San Fernando. Twice.”

“And what did you tell them?” I ask, stepping forward. Brutus is even taller and thicker than me. For a split-second, I almost reconsider my initial instinct to let him out of his restraints so that we can fight this shit out, but when he finally raises his head and looks me in the eyes, I wipe that hesitation from my mind.

There’s no fear in the goon. He doesn’t respect me.

That’s his mistake.

I crack my knuckles and glare down my silent opponent. “If you tell me what you did, I’ll untie you. If you tell me why you did it, I’ll let you fight for your life.”

Hesitation darts across the weathered man’s face. I wonder how many people he has killed before? How many souls has he ruptured? More than me?

“You’ll let me fight you for my freedom?” A glint of hope flashes across the goon’s cold dead eyes. He’s obviously experienced enough to know how these things usually go. I’m sure he was expecting a bullet in the back of the head before he even got a chance to speak, but I’m giving him a life line—or so he thinks.

“What did you do?” I ask sternly.

Brutus takes a deep shameful breath. He knows what he did was wrong, I’m surprised someone with his experience would even consider betraying me. It’s the ultimate disrespect, but I’m keeping my fire bottled for now. Something tells me I’m going to have a chance to explode very soon.

“I called the editor at the Gazette and told them what I knew about you.”

The bottle filled with my fire cracks, but doesn’t splinter. Something feels off.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you that after you untie me.”