“That traitor piece of shit,” Gian said. “Let me go right now. I’ll end this right this second.”
I waved him off. “Can’t do that,” I said. “We don’t have proof yet, and even if we did, there’d still be a war about it. We need to be smart.”
Mags slumped against the wall and let out a soft groan. I ran to her and half knelt down, looking into her face.
Tears welled up in her eyes. They fell down her cheeks, fat and heavy.
“He’s my uncle,” she whispered.
“We don’t know he did it yet,” I said, and glanced at Gian, who only shook his head.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to talk to that Healy asshole in the basement,” I said. “And you’re going to wait here.”
She straightened up suddenly, and I stepped back as she shook her head, eyes sharp and angry. “No way,” she said. “Uncle Roy wants me dead too. I’m not getting left behind.”
Gian laughed sharply. “She’s got a point, Dean. She’s in this too.”
“I don’t want you to see what I’m going to do to that guy,” I said softly. “You already think I’m a monster.”
“Monsters kill their family,” she said. “You try to save them. There’s a difference.”
I held her gaze for another few seconds. She was right about that—no matter how bad I got, I didn’t kill my own. I wouldn’t hurt my flesh and blood, no matter how distantly related. Roy was a monster, truly a power-hungry animal, and he would do anything to get what he wanted.
That bastard. That sick bastard.
“Come on then,” I said and walked to the basement door. Gian followed with Mags bringing up the rear. I snapped on the light and the three of us descended down the rickety wooden stairs.
Philly basements were all alike. Damp, moldy, rat-infested. This one was waterproofed at some point, and everything was painted a slick gray. A water heater sat in one corner, and a single small window looked out to the street.
In the center of the space was a man. He was tied to a simple wooden chair taken from the table upstairs. A sock was shoved in his mouth and held in place with duct tape. He breathed big, ragged breaths through his nose, and he struggled as I walked toward him.
I ripped off the tape. He spit the sock out with a moan, then spit a few more times.
“Get him water,” I said to Gian, who disappeared back upstairs.
The Healy guy was young, twenties at most, with dark copper hair and a square jaw. His brown eyes squinted at me and I saw the fear there.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” the guy said.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Connor,” he said.
“All right, Connor.” I paced in front of him. “I don’t need to murder you. Frankly, I’d rather not. It’s a pain to get rid of bodies and this basement’s clean. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“What do you want from me then?” His eyes flipped to Mags, who stood near the stairs.
“Don’t look at her,” I said, bending over in front of him to look directly in his face. “It’s just me and you.”
Gian returned with water. I took the glass and poured some into Connor’s mouth. He sputtered and spat, then drank a little more.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Now, let’s chat.” I put the glass down. “Who sent you?”
“You know who,” he said.
“I want to hear it from you.”
His expression slacked as he stared down at the floor. “Colm Healy,” he said.
“And how would Colm Healy know about this place?” I asked.
“I’m a soldier,” Connor said. “I do what I’m ordered to do.”
I glanced at Gian, who only stared with his arms crossed.
“Listen, Connor, I’ll play this straight with you. I think your boss got some information from my crew. I think you know something, but you’re not telling me.” I got right in his face, inches away. “This can be easy if you skip all the dramatic parts.”
“I’m a soldier,” Connor said. “I don’t know a goddamn thing.”
I leaned my head back then rammed it into his nose. His skull snapped back and blood spurted out into his face and mouth. He sputtered and coughed, groaning and struggling against his bonds. I straightened and walked away a few paces, sighing as I wiped his blood off my face with my sleeve.
“Try again,” I said, and snapped my fingers. Gian took a large knife from his pocket. I unfolded it and held the blade up in front of Connor’s face.
His eyes went wide. “Please,” he said. “I don’t know.”
I jammed the tip into his thigh then slowly pushed down. He groaned, then screamed when I turned the blade and rotated it around.
“I want to know,” I growled in his face. “How did you know about this place?”