“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I smile down at him. “Next.” I set the pliers on an electric hob and crack my knuckles. “How long have you been working with Hector and his men?”
Braden holds his breath in anticipation of what comes next.
“You have ten seconds before I need an answer.” His head wobbles, and my reward is to punch him in the fucking face as I count out the seconds.
“One.” His head slings to the side. “Two.” Then the other side. “Three. Four,” I count and hit him with two jabs that crack his head back and send blood flowing from his nose. “Five.” Gut shot. “Six. Seven. Eight.” Rib shot. Jab. Uppercut. “Nine.” Cross hit to the jaw. “Nine,” I repeat with a smile and hit his nose again just because the fucker put Letty in harm’s way. “Ten.”
“Damn, Shades, leave some for the rest of us.”
“A woman,” Braden shouts, barely able to breathe with the blood pouring from his likely broken nose. He spits out a mouthful of blood and shakes his head. “I have a…a woman, outside of my marriage, and she has a daughter. She’s troubled. Drugs, alcohol. The Iron Kings supply me drugs, so the kid doesn’t have to go out and get them. Maintaining a second household isn’t cheap.”
A woman? “You betrayed us over a woman? You’re not a fucking priest!” I punch him again because his answer pisses me off.
“I needed the money,” he insists. “Your club pays well, but they pay more, and forgive me, Lord, but I need it.”
“You’re the pastor of the richest church in Angel Harbor, and you sell drugs? To your kid? You’re fucking pathetic,” I spit at his feet.
Braden nods. “I’m sorry! I’m not perfect. I’m just trying to—”
“Shut up!” I growl and nod to Preacher.
He walks around the chair and over to the table of tools in complete silence. His face is a blank expression as he puts on a pair of thick cloth gloves and picks up the now hot pliers.
“What else?” I bark at Braden.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They don’t tell me anything I don’t need to know!”
“How much are you into them for?”
His shoulders fall. “Nothing. I always pay my debts. I am at your mercy.”
“Mercy,” I snort and shake my head. “We’re fresh out of that here,” I tell him and nod at Preacher, who goes to the other hand and slowly, methodically pulls his thumbnail straight off.
“Ahh, no! Please!” He’s writhing in pain, face twists in agony and fear. Panic. “So hot. It hurts.” He’s breathing too quickly, shallow breaths threatening unconsciousness. “Please.”
“What have the Iron Kings promised you?”
“Nothing,” he pants and shakes his head. “Nothing, just that I won’t pay the price for working with you guys.”
“What are they planning next?”
“I don’t know,” he shouts quickly as if that’s going to stop us.
“Try again,” I growl. “Try the truth this time, Pastor.”
He nods furiously, and his eyes dart around the room, a sure fucking sign that he’s lying. “All I know is Hector is determined to get what you have, all of it.”
Preacher picks up the hammer and smacks the blunt end to the center of his hand.
“Whatever it takes…ow! Son of a…forgive me, Lord, for I am a sinner!”
Preacher rears his hand back and cracks the hammer on his right hand again, the sickening sound of bones crunching under the solid metal of the hammer.
“Want to try again?”
“Stop!” he shouts. “Hector wants the port! He’s obsessed. He hates your club and wants you to suffer! Now, please, stop hurting me. I’ve told you everything I know!”
Preacher slams the hammer down again.