There were bigger ones—ones that would do the job quicker.
But I wanted to take my time.
I ran the blade down his side, hard enough for him to feel its sharpness, but not enough to puncture skin. “Does it get you and your tiny prick off to stab them because you can’t get inside them any other way?”
“We’ve got no beef with you, Black,” he gritted out, his body tense and his breathing shallow so the blade wouldn’t cut.
Keeping it pressed tight, I rounded him so I could see his face. His jaw was tight, fury warring with fear.
“But I’ve got a lot of fucking beef with you,” I said, my tone cold and impassive. My expression was blank as I stabbed him, just above his hip.
Right where he’d stabbed Juliet.
“Fucking shit! What the hell? Fuck!”
“Does it feel like I’m letting you off easy?”
“What’re you talking about?” His body shook as he fought to stay still so he didn’t make the pain worse.
He didn’t have to worry, I’d take care of that for him.
Sliding the knife free, I pressed the tip to the same spot above his other hip. “Shamus McMillon.”
He shook his head rapidly, confusion tightening his features. “We cut ties with Shamus over a year ago. Before he took off. We’ve got no clue where he is. If he owes you money, try Carmichael—they were tight.”
“But he owed you?”
“The Sullivans. But he squared up his last debt a couple weeks before he took off.”
I stabbed hard enough to puncture the skin before slowing down so the blade inched in.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, his eyes dazed at the pain.
“Shamus owed. Shamus. Yet you stuck your knife in his daughter.” I buried mine to the hilt. “You couldn’t take an old man so you went after a teenager?”
“What’s she have to do with you?” he asked before he gave a weak smile. “You nailing the frigid bitch? I’m sure that uptight, barely legal cunt is worth a lot, but is it worth going against the Sullivans?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“You gonna dump me at the bar as a warning? A declaration of war?” There was more than a hint of hope in his pale face, and, fuck me, I loved crushing it.
“No. I’m going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully. I just wanted to make sure you went to hell knowing why.”
“The Sullivans will come after you.”
I smirked. “Who do you think told us where to find you?”
I’d been prepared to go to war, but when I’d gone to their bar, Patrick had eagerly turned on Jack Murphy. Unlike their watered-down drinks, Jack paired up with a different kind of coke, and he’d been dipping into their supply. They were happy to have their headache gone.
And I was happy to accommodate.
Murphy’s mouth opened and closed—betrayal and anger mixed with pain in his expression before it grew frantic. He tried to throw his boss under the bus. “Patrick’s the one who sent me after her.”
Patrick said he’d sent Murphy to give Juliet a verbal message to pass to Shamus. He’d wanted Shamus to know he could reach her but had sworn it’d been an empty threat.
Murphy’s knife work had come after Juliet had rejected him in a loud, insulting, and embarrassing way.
That was my ballsy girl.
Before I’d left the bar, I’d made it clear to Patrick and his brothers that Juliet was off-limits. If having Juliet’s ass on my lap at the fight hadn’t spread that message, Patrick Sullivan’s big mouth would.
“I can get you information,” Murphy tried. “An in with the Sullivans. Loans, drugs, enforcers.”
I looked back at Ash. “Why does every shithead think I want that garbage in my resorts?”
Ash scowled at Murphy. “And why the hell is he trying to outsource my job?” He scoffed. “I’m sitting here reading NFL trade rumors and he’s hanging from the ceiling. You tell me who the better enforcer is.”
Done talking, I sliced across the shitty Clip-Art tattoo that covered Murphy’s gut. I moved to his back, carefully carving before grabbing the container of salt behind me. Scooping a handful, I pressed it against the bloody wounds that made up the abstract dove.
It wasn’t perfect since my canvas pissed himself and kept choking on his own vomit, but I knew what it was supposed to be.
I methodically sliced. I stabbed. I carved. I gave him breaks, ensuring he didn’t pass out from the pain or bleed out, only to start again.
After what likely felt like an eternity to Jack Murphy, I was done.
I buried