28. Soren

We pull up to the abandoned building in the early morning hour.

Late last night, a text message from Nexxor greeted Braken with an address of a workplace in Seattle, a picture, and a few arrest records. James Allen Porter, aged thirty-one. A long rap sheet of possession and selling of drugs, the most recent a few months ago. Pulled over a week ago for speeding on a street close to the stadium. The file has plates that match the car in the footage.

That's your guy, Nexxor wrote.

I don't want to guess how many energy drinks went into finding this bastard so quickly, but the money Braken placed on the boat will buy decades' worth.

It was hilariously easy for Jasper to convince him to come see Braken, who then asked Merrick and me to join him. All Jasper had to do was walk into the grocery store where he works as a cashier, buy a bag of pretzels, and slip an extra fifty in with the total. The offer of more money for easy work could entice even the biggest skeptic, especially when they're flashed a wad of hundreds. James willingly finished his morning shift, slipped into the back of Jasper's car, and walked right into what could be his death sentence.

This is why Braken asked me to help him with this task. This is what I used to do. I got information for the Godwins at whatever cost. I was damn good at it.

Too good.

Although I've retired from the Godwin empire, and my focus is now only on The Vault, there is still nothing I won't do for the people I care for. And since I can count the number of people on one hand, it also means I'll go to whatever extreme to help.

I don't want Merrick here, however, but he insisted. I could have spent all morning fighting about it and most likely lost the battle anyway, or I can accept that Merrick is now a part of me, and part of what I do. Good or bad.

This is a fact I haven't truly come to terms with or even understand. One thing I do know is the man isn't going anywhere. His loyalty is undying.

The little patch of land near the lighthouse has been in my possession for years now. I originally bought it to build rental cabins, but it's much better as a place for other kinds of business. There are no cameras, no prying eyes, and thanks to the dense forest, basically no cell reception. Once an old cannery, the structure still standing provides the perfect shelter from whatever… storm I bring here. It's the perfect place to make people disappear.

Unfortunately for James Allen Porter, he might be the next to go.

We step into the abandoned cannery business and make our way down the two flights of steps toward the decaying boiler room. It smells like damp mildew and rusted iron from the old machines and the lingering smell of blood. The only thing that still works in this heap of broken glass and rubble is the HVAC system. It's older than me and barely functional, which means it's loud and perfect to mask the screams.

The man of the hour is already chained up to a thick pipe attached to the ceiling, half-slumped over against the HVAC base. Blood drips from a cut on his forehead down his haggard face, and several cigarette burns are vivid on the inside of his arms. Back in the day, since I've worked with Jasper. The man is… vicious. That's Jasper's favorite place to put them. More sensitive, he says.

I say do whatever gets the job done, and based on James's broken expression, he's about there.

"Nice of you to join us." I crouch low enough so James can look me in the eye. "Thank you for coming to meet me."

Merrick and Braken stand off to the side. I don't want to see their faces when I do this. And frankly, I don't want them to see mine.

When James spits at my shoes, it's full of blood. "Asshole. Let me out of here!"

I take a handkerchief out of my front pocket and wipe the tops of my leather shoes. "I suppose you're not ready to talk yet. Jasper."

Wordlessly, Braken's bodyguard steps forward and grabs hold of James's chin. The man struggles and tries to bite at the bodyguard, but he's done this plenty of times and knows how to keep wild animals in check. Because that's what men on the verge of death always become: wild animals that lash out when they think there's a way out and whimper when cornered.

I take a seat in a fully rusted chair and watch as Jasper pulls out a pair of pliers from his pocket.

"Stop! Stop, please stop!" The pleading is desperate; the man will crack without us having to go any further. The piss running down his leg tells me as much.

I raise my hand to get Jasper to stop.

"Are you ready to talk?"

"Please, I don't have the money, but I can get it, I can get whatever you need, I just need time, you see, I got this hookup?—"

"Shut the fuck up," I snap. "Do I look like a street dealer? Jasper."

"No, wait?—"

James's scream is hoarse and broken up with his angry sobs.

"What do you want?" he cries, blue eyes bloodshot with tears and tan face covered in blood.

"For you to think," I respond evenly, crossing one leg over the other. "Why are you here?"

Silence fills the room. I feel like a schoolteacher waiting for a student's answer as I stare at him. Time drags on as James struggles to think, and I snap my fingers for Jasper to pull out a tooth.

"No, wait, just give me a fucking second to think!"

"Now," I demand.

"The car," James says, then lifts his head up and screams, "the fucking car!"

I clap my hands a few times in mock congratulations. "Bravo, James. Well done. Looks like you have a brain after all." I glance at Merrick and Braken but not long enough to try to read their faces. I can't let them get in my head. I can't soften.

I'm the monster right now.

I must remain that way a little longer.

I can't allow them to soften or tame the beast inside of me.

I push to my feet and reach into the pocket of my longcoat, pulling out my leather gloves. Even if the cleaners come and make sure there's no trace of James after this, I don't want any latent fingerprints left behind. Even the smallest piece of hair, sweat, or skin can fuck everything up.

"Do you even know who you killed?" I ask as I take two slow steps forward.

"Does that matter?"

"It does when he's Hector Godwin's son."

A wave of realization washes over James's face even larger than the pool of blood at his feet. His bottom lip trembles as he thinks of what to say, but by the time I step in front of him, careful not to step in the pool, he's still come up empty.

"Wait! Wait, listen, I didn't know!"

"Didn't know?" Braken asks from behind me.

"I was contacted on WhatsApp about two weeks ago. It was a picture of me selling drugs to some kids on the street. I don't know how he got it?—"

"He?"

"The bastard who messaged me. He goes by Mr. Silk. I don't know anything about him other than that." James whimpers and tries to pull at his restraints to no avail. "Fuck, it hurts to talk."

"It'll hurt even more if you don't keep going." I gesture to Jasper with my chin. Jasper holds up the pliers and starts to move closer, but James shakes his head.

"Okay, man, listen, I couldn't go back to jail, all right? The judge said if I was caught again, it's a lifetime sentence. I got a kid to think about."

I snort. All people are the same. They'll make up some outlandish lie to win my sympathies and change my mind. If they didn't want to be punished, they should have thought about that before murdering someone. James is a fucking dumbass for trusting some guy on WhatsApp, of all places.

But that begs the question: who the fuck is Mr. Silk?

"That's what they all say. Try again, James. With the truth this time."

"I'm serious!" He jerks his handcuffs so hard it rattles the pipe and nearly drowns out his words. "Check my phone. It's in my front pocket. You'll see! He messaged me to buy that old broad's car and then place a little electronic box under a car at the stadium. Mr. Silk had everything set up. I didn't know it was a bomb, man, you gotta believe me. I wouldn't have done it if I knew. It's why I ran for my life, man."

That explains why James's car took off after the explosion and ended up getting caught. It doesn't explain why the dumbass still has the car in the first place.

I bend down and smirk so James can look me in the eye. "But you're still using the car anyway, aren't you, James?"

His blue eyes can't meet mine as he mutters, "A man's gotta get to work somehow."

"Jasper, grab the phone."

Jasper reaches into the front of James's jeans and pulls a new iPhone from his pocket. He hands it to me, but when the screen flashes, the TouchID screen comes up in front of a picture of him and a young girl. Poor kid. It's too bad she has a dumbass for a father.

"I need a thumb," I tell him before turning away.

"Yes, Boss," Jasper says.

"Wait— Wait! Wait, where are you— No, you motherfucker! Stop!"

"Be happy we're going to let you walk out of here with your life and only missing a thumb," I say as I motion for Merrick and Braken for us to leave. "But I'd leave town if I were you. Once the Godwins hear what you did, you're a dead man."

"You think it's wise keeping him alive?" Merrick asks as we exit. I know he's not asking because he wants me to the kill the man. Judging by the relief in his eyes the moment I motioned for us to leave, I'm pretty sure he's thrilled he doesn't have to witness a murder. He's scared of what this man could do once freed.

"It's not our fight," I say. "Whatever the Godwins decide is up to them. We agreed to get information, and that's what we did."

We exit the boiler room without stopping, James's blood-curdling screams echoing behind us.