“Who do you work for?”
“Fuck you.”
He cut the remaining bit of her pinky off.
She screamed.
“Who do you work for?”
“The Spiders,” she sobbed. “The fucking Spiders.”
“How did they know about that whorehouse?”
She shook her head. “Go to hell, you fucking sick bastards. You rapists. You sick fucking rapists.”
He took her ring finger. He repeated the procedure until her ring finger was gone.
“How did they know?” he asked, starting on the middle finger.
“A journalist,” she sobbed. “A girl named Cassidy. Oh god, please, leave her out of this.”
Lonnie nodded to Ernesto.
“First good bit of information,” Ernesto said.
“You believe her? Look at the fucking girl.”
“Lonnie believes her. I do too then.” Ernesto looked at me. “Go follow up on this.”
“We only have a first name.”
Lonnie looked at Dasha. “Where does she live?”
“I only have a phone number.”
“Give it to me.”
She recited it. Ernesto shrugged and looked at me. “Is that enough?”
“That’s enough.”
“Take care of this journalist. Find out what she knows and then kill her.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Go.”
I quickly left the room. Dasha’s eyes followed me as I went, and I knew she was in for a lot more pain before the night was through.
I got out my phone and called Vince. He answered right away.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Brutal,” I said.
“What’s she like?”
“She’s just a fucking girl. Strong and stubborn, but Lonnie is breaking her.”
“She picked the wrong business, Rafa. Don’t forget what they’ve done to our people.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” I knew men the Spiders had killed, men who weren’t bad guys.
“What’s happening now?”
“Ernesto got a lead he wants me to follow up on.”
“Worth doing?”
“Yeah. I need a number ran.”
“Fine.” I recited him the number.
“Got it.”
“That’s some journalist who gave the Spiders the location of our whorehouse, apparently.”
“All right. I’ll text you the name and address in a few minutes.”
“Got it.”
I hung up the phone and headed back out of the warehouse. Ryan stood tough as I walked passed, but I wasn’t in the mood for a pissing contest. I pushed out into the night and walked over to my car, leaning up against the hood.
That woman’s screams echoed in my mind. I was a violent thug. I killed men, I hurt men, I did things normal people wouldn’t be too happy about. This was my job, though. This was what I was. Violence and destruction was how I lived.
But torturing a fucking girl was not my idea of fun. I was glad to be out of there. I could have stood in there and toughed it out, because I wasn’t weak. Given the choice, though, I wouldn’t want to watch someone get their fingers cut off bit by bit.
Finally, my phone buzzed with an address. Cassidy Andrews lived downtown. I got into my car and headed over, speeding through the streets.
I shot Ernesto a message. “Got the address. Visiting the girl.” He answered a few minutes later. “Good. Spider is breaking. Dumb bitch.”
I frowned and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.
I had no clue what I was going to do with this journalist, but I had to check into it. I figured I’d be able to intimidate her into talking, and if she really knew too much, I was going to have to kill her.
Although I didn’t want to do that. I might be able to buy her silence, or maybe extort something out of her to use as blackmail. There were a lot of ways to keep someone in line, and killing wasn’t my preferred method.
I pulled up outside her apartment building and got out of my car. It was the kind of place where you needed to be buzzed up, so I just hung around and waited for someone to come in or out. Ten minutes dripped by until finally an older woman came toward the door, unlocking it. Acting as a polite, helpful gentleman, I pulled the door open for her, smiling, and followed her in.
I headed up the stairs. Cassidy lived on the third floor. I walked down her hall and stopped in front of her door.
I didn’t feel nervous. I never felt nervous. I felt excited, elated. I lived for this sort of thing. I didn’t feel great threatening women, but I liked doing my job and was fucking good at it.
I knocked. I knocked again. Finally, the door opened up, the chain still connected.
I nearly fell over when she looked out at me.
It was her. It was Jessica. I knew she’d been lying about some things, but holy fucking shit.