Chapter Ten
Knox drew on his smoke slowly, watching Patrick question their rat with his fists. Judging by the tick on Patrick’s left cheek, Knox could tell Patrick was pissed but he was holding back his punches.
He understood why Patrick didn’t go all out. Jack Miller was an old-timer who worked for his dad. Jack was a harmless drunk most of the time, but he had loose lips.
Tied to the chair and unable to move, Jack wasn’t going anywhere. A couple of blows in and Jack broke down. Seeing a grown-ass man sobbing made Knox grimace.
What an embarrassment. He only gave the simplest tasks for Jack these days, kept him around because Jack had risked his life for Knox’s father a couple of times.
“I swear, Patrick. I didn’t betray the organization on purpose,” Jack said between loud sobs. “Thinking back, that bastard I met in the bar kept buying me drinks. I didn’t really question his motives.”
“That’s always been your problem, Jack. When someone offers you a pint, you don’t refuse. A few rounds of beers and you’re singing like a fucking lark,” Patrick said.
Jack glared at Patrick. “Listen here, boy—”
Jack didn’t finish his sentence. Patrick’s fist collided with his puffy face. Knox stepped out of the corner and decided to intervene before things got ugly. Patrick’s temper sometimes got the best of him.
“Remember who you’re talking to, Jack,” Knox said, crushing his cigarette under his left shoe.
“Knox,” Jack whispered. “You look so much like your father.”
The look of misery on Jack’s face nearly tempted Knox to let him off easy. Jack had no wife, no kids. This organization had been his entire life. In twenty, thirty years, Knox could be staring at his own reflection.
You have Leah, Knox reminded himself. Knox wouldn’t end up alone and miserable like Jack. He had his woman and a ruthless empire to run.
“You know how we deal with traitors.” Knox reminded Jack.
It took a better part of twenty minutes for Jack to stop crying and begging.
“We need more answers, Jack. Tell us about this guy who bought you drinks. What does he look like?” Patrick asked.
“Tall and big. Covered in prison tats.” Jack just described any wannabe thug in the city. Jack swallowed. “I think he was Bratva.”
Knox walked up to him and fisted his shirt. He leaned in close and looked Jack right in his bloodshot eyes. “You positive about that?”
“I recognized his ink,” Jack muttered sullenly.
Knox released him, cursing silently. Knox always had enemies who wanted his neck. The Russian mafia was a group to be reckoned with.
“Do you have a name?” Denver asked.
Luckily, Jack did or else he wouldn’t continue breathing. Patrick and Knox exited the soundproof room. When they wanted answers to questions, they always took prisoners here. It was located in the back of one of his legal business fronts—a massage parlor.
“What now?” Patrick asked Knox. “We send out men to retrieve Alexei Popov?”
Knox cracked his knuckles. Patrick must’ve recognized the look in his eyes because he grinned. “Are we going hunting, boss?”
“You don’t need to come with me,” Knox reminded him.
“I always have your back, Knox,” Patrick said.
Knox couldn’t argue with him on that. Patrick looked like he also needed to let off some steam.
****
A couple of hours later, they managed to track their target down. It was easy. With the help of a hacker in their employ, Knox found out where Alexei worked—at a dirty little convenience store downtown.
Patrick and Knox took a more discreet and less flashy car, an old black Toyota that had seen better days. Two of Knox’s guys parked across the road from us. From Knox’s sideview mirror, he watched them get out. They switched out their usual suits in favor for more casual street clothes to blend in.