Page 8 of Chasing Kit

WARRICK “WAR” BRIGGS

Killing a man was easy.

I’d learned to disassociate a long time ago on foreign soil during a war where death either came to me or my enemy. In the end, I killed without remorse. Everyone who died by my hand had made the wrong choices. I was merely a grim reaper, taking what was owed.

Lonnie Montrose was another victim of his own actions, a man who’d messed with the devil and dared to run. Or try.

Derek stood in front of Lonnie, arms crossed. Lonnie wasn’t going anywhere. His arms and legs were tied to a heavy chair, body bruised and bleeding from Nitro’s handiwork. He was another soldier I’d pulled from the wreckage of civilian life, just as Derek had done for me, and he was under my supervision.

Lonnie trembled, mouth wobbling as deep red blood dripped onto his chin from a cut in his bottom lip. He’d once been a handsome young man with the kind of face girls swooned over. Lonnie was from a rich family, so it should have been easy for him to pay his debts, but his socialite mother had finally cut him off, leaving him penniless. I didn’t think she knew what kind of trouble her son was in. She’d probably report him missing in a few days.

“I gave you a month, Lonnie. You promised me money. When you couldn’t pay, I was a lot nicer than I should’ve been because I know your mother, so I gave you another month. And still, I saw no money.” Derek clicked his tongue and crouched, his suit pants pulling around his muscular thighs.

Derek’s calculated pressure on Lonnie reminded me of how different his son was. Kit had a softness I’d never seen in his father, an innocence that was a liability in this world. The kid stared at me sometimes, and I knew what those longing looks meant. But Kit deserved someone whole, not a shattered man who would inevitably break him, too.

“Do you know how disappointing this is?” Derek patted Lonnie’s thigh.

Lonnie grimaced.

“What do you have to say for yourself, hmm?” Derek asked.

Lonnie finally raised his head to meet Derek’s gaze. His right eye was swollen, a dark bruise marring the skin around his once-pretty gray iris. His eyes leaked, and he was doing a good impression of a carcass. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

Derek made a sound of disappointment. “Not enough. I don’t want apologies. I want answers.”

I smirked at Nitro, and he returned it. We knew what happened in these situations. Either the person in the chair was honest with Derek, and he gave them another chance at life through one of his fun little death games, or they kept lying and apologizing, and Derek finally gave us the finger wave to kill the pest. We’d experienced both kinds of people lately, with more and more deciding to borrow money or favors from Derek.

Lonnie’s eyelids slid shut, and Derek slapped him hard across the cheek, successfully smacking reality back into him. Lonnie jerked upward and blinked at Derek like he was drugged. He was fighting unconsciousness. “Uh.”

“Tell me what I want to know,” Derek whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge that made me tense. Of everyone I’d met, Derek was the only one I truly feared. I’d witnessed him do things I never could. While he typically delegated to his men, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands bloody when necessary. What he’d done to his own cousin, though—the memory of that still made my gut churn.

“I pissed it away,” Lonnie finally muttered, his body swaying forward. “I pissed it all away on drinking, gambling, and pretty men. Now I have nothing. Mommy won’t give me any more. I . . . I thought she would.”

Derek stared for a long moment before an abrupt laugh escaped him. He glanced at me and Nitro, amusement dancing in his eyes. “His mommy won’t give him more cash.”

Nitro and I chuckled along with our boss.

He gripped Lonnie’s face tightly between his fingers. Lonnie winced but didn’t attempt to pull away. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for pathetic boys. You remind me of what my son could become if I’m not careful.”

The comparison was insulting. Lonnie was a mess of drugs and appetites. Kit was a focused college student with a quiet intensity. He possessed a purity Lonnie’s world could never touch.

“I’m going to give you a third chance, but this is your last. I have a game I think you’ll enjoy.” Derek’s smirk was downright evil. “It’s life or death, but if you say no, death is your only option.”

Lonnie’s head lolled, his lashes fluttering. “Yes. I’ll do it, sir.”

Derek grinned. “Good boy.” He rose to his feet and waved a hand at Nitro, who nodded. He then tilted his head at some other men, who rushed in from the dank shadows where they’d been awaiting orders. We were in an underground cellar in an old historic house Derek had bought years ago. It was too damaged for the New Gothenburg historical society to care about, and its distance from the city made it less important. Being far from the population and close to his fighting stadium, he’d decided it was the perfect location for his little torture spot. I had to agree.

“Come with me, War.” Derek tilted his head, and I followed him up the sturdy wooden stairs and out of the cellar door, which was built into the floor of a storage room. Derek led me toward the kitchen he’d redone. The amount of natural light flooding the room felt wrong after the darkness of the cellar. Everything was polished wood and calm, rustic design—a clean surface for dirty business.

He walked over to the counter where he’d lined up alcohol bottles and a glass rack. “Want a drink?”

I shook my head and paused near the island in the middle of the room. Clasping my hands behind my back, I spread my legs and stood at attention. I wasn’t his friend, no matter how many drinks he offered. I was the weapon he pointed at his problems.

Derek glanced at me, placed a crystal glass on the counter, and rolled his eyes. “Stop it. Come get a drink.”

My mouth kicked up into a half smile. “I can’t drink. I need to be sober while I’m working. Your protection is my main priority.”

Derek snorted, pouring an unhealthy amount of scotch into his glass. “I protected myself long before you came along.” He grabbed another glass and filled that one, too. “Come get a drink. That’s an order.”