"I ain't kidding. Get out of here."
"What do you know about this, Dan? It's very important to me."
He leaned closer. "Don't go around asking folks about that symbol unless you want to get yourself killed. That's all I'll say."
I stared hard at him for a second and then nodded once. "Thanks, Dan."
He nodded back and walked away. I finished my beer and left the place.
What a damn strange interaction. I figured Dan might have some passing knowledge, maybe had seen it on someone's riding leathers or something like that, but his reaction was of a very different order of magnitude. Whoever these people were, they were not to be fucked with. And Dan the barman definitely knew exactly who they were.
As I sat down on a bench outside the bar, I knew I had a conundrum on my hands. Based on the way Dan had reacted, any local that knew about the group wasn't going to say a word to an outsider. Whether it was out of fear or something else, I wasn't sure. Dan seemed afraid, but also a little angry that I was even mentioning it.
The solution to my problem came to me pretty quickly. It wasn't ideal, or really even something that I particularly wanted to do, but I knew that it would be effective.
I made up my mind. I couldn't fuck around with this and half-ass the mission. The safety of Claire was potentially at risk. If there was something going on with this crew or gang or whatever they were, I needed to find out who they were and learn what I was dealing with as quickly as possible.
I wasn't about to let some asshole thugs threaten me and mine. They'd already ruined one day. That was enough to really piss me off.
It was late, the sun having set hours ago. I was crouched in some bushes, my breathing steady, everything about me Zen as fuck. It was my combat training, of course, that let me be so calm.
The bandana I had bought with cash at some tourist trap was pulled up over my face like an Old West robber. I didn't think it was going to do much to hide my identity, but it could help. I fingered the knife in its holster, fresh from the kill just a day earlier.
The drunks and the regulars were stumbling out of the bar. I checked my watch: nearly three in the morning. There weren't many streetlights around, and those that were nearby shone a weak, yellow blur, which meant it was the perfect spot to play the waiting game.
It didn't take too long after that. Once the people had filtered out, maybe ten minutes later Dan the barman made his appearance.
I watched as he locked the door to the bar. Okay, Nathan, don't fuck this shit up, I thought to myself.
I was out of the bushes and crossing the space between him and me within seconds. He had no clue I was there until he felt the steel of my blade pressed up against his throat.
"Don't move or I kill you," I whispered.
"Oh fuck," he said. "Take what you want. Don't hurt me."
"Open the door."
He unlocked it and pushed it inward. I kept my blade firmly against his neck, careful not to cut the skin. It took skill to keep such a sharp blade as mine from opening him up as he moved around, but I was good with it.
We moved inside and I shut the door behind us.
"Money is in the drawer," he said. "Behind the bar. Take it all. Please, God, don't hurt me. Please."
"Shut up," I growled.
"I have kids." He was practically pissing himself.
"Listen to me," I said. "I need information."
"Information?" he sputtered.
"Yes. You're going to tell me what I want to know, or you will die right here in this bar. See the gloves I'm wearing? Nobody will know. Not a shred of DNA."
He glanced down at my hands, covered in some cheap leather things I'd found in another shop.
"Okay," he said. "What do you want to know?"
"A man was in here earlier. Showed you a symbol. Remember?"
He paused and then nodded.
"Speak. Don't nod. I might cut you open if you move too fast," I whispered.
He whimpered like a little bitch. I couldn't believe he was being such a pussy. All men die sooner or later.
"I remember," he said.
"Who are they?"
"I can't say."
He was on the verge of crying.
"You don't seem to understand what's happening here, Dan." I spoke slowly and menacingly, hoping he understood. "If you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to murder you right now. Do you think the kind of person looking for men like them wouldn't?"
"If I tell you, they'll kill me."
"That's not my problem. But at least in that case, you can get a running head start."
He whimpered again as I pressed the knife harder against his skin, nicking him ever so slightly.
"Okay, okay. Please don't kill me," he groaned. "I'll tell you."
"Start talking."
"They're like a gang, old blood, been around this area for a long, long time. They have a hand in everything that happens around here, from business to politics and everything in between."
"The mob?"
"Worse. More like a cult. They practice some freaky Voodoo shit. They're going to know I talked." He began to cry.
I couldn't believe how afraid he was of them, almost more afraid of them than he was of my knife against his throat. That was some serious mojo, and it proved that these people were not to be fucked with.
"What are they called?" I asked.
"Don't make me say it."
"Say it or die."
He sighed. "They're called the Broken Hearts."
I let that sound linger. "Where do they meet?"
"Nobody knows that. I swear I don't know."
"Give me a name now."
"I can't. I don't know any."
"They're a local institution, right? You know everything about this area, right? You know a name."
"Please. I've told you too much."
"One name and you don't have to die tonight."
"This is all I know. I can't run away."
"I'm losing patience, Dan."
I could feel him trembling as he began to internally war with himself. He was clearly thinking that if he gave up a name, he really would have to leave town, and for good. He couldn't decide if that was worse than dying.
I decided to help him along. I kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. I grabbed his hair, pulling his chin back, exposing his throat. I kept the knife right against his jugular, ready to bleed him like an animal.
"Eli Reddington," he said quickly.
"Thank you, Dan."
I released his hair and he tumbled forward. Before he could even turn around, I was back out the door, disappearing into the shadows.
As I moved away, jogging at a good clip to give myself some space to maneuver in case Dan decided to call the cops, I had a bad taste in my mouth. It was unpleasant to bully a perfectly decent person, or at least a normal person. I didn't actually want to hurt Dan, and likely wouldn't have, but I needed him to think I was going to.
But now I had my name. Eli Reddington, member of the Broken Hearts. Apparently they were some scary, small-town cult of powerful community leaders. Scary enough for Dan the barman to fear them more than his impending and immediate demise.
As I climbed back into my car, parked well away from the bar, I realized I had more questions than answers. For example, what was a local outfit like them doing running a pirate operation? It seemed highly unlikely that they would rob a local tourist company. Unless they were specifically targeting Jonathan's boats, but even that seemed far-fetched. They couldn't have known that the boat was empty of tourists, and there was no way they'd attack a local boat full of tourists and risk the bad press. They didn't want to lose the tourist dollars.
It just made no sense. Why would Dan be so afraid of them if they were so clearly amateurs? The Broken Hearts probably had years of mythology behind them, to the point where the local idiots mistook community power and influence for real power and ability.
My mind was spinning as I drove home, wondering what the next move was. The name "Eli Reddington" was my lead, but I needed to do some more digging before I could move on him.
Plus, there was the problem of Claire. All through that interrogation, I kept thinking about her sweet little pussy. She was my motivation to push this mystery further, to find out who the Broken Hearts were. I was beginning to worry she was in real danger from them, whoever they were.
I couldn't let that happen. As much as I hated to admit it, Claire had somehow wormed her way into my brain and had lodged herself there. I kept thinking about her laugh, her smile, her perfect fucking tits, those lips wrapped around my cock, and the sweet release of coming in her tight-as-fuck cunt. I wanted to fuck her deep and sweet again and again, even though that wasn't normally my style.
I had been looking forward to some relaxing R&R, not some bullshit local cult mystery, let alone getting addicted to my stepsister's incredible pussy.
Then again, I was a fucking SEAL. What other men saw as a problem, I saw as a fucking challenge. I lived to do shit like that, to take care of lesser assholes and to protect people that needed protecting.