“Oh,” I snorted, “we on a first name basis now? That puts our relationship on a whole new level, doesn’t it, Timothy Green?”
“Cut the crap.”
“Then let me the fuck out. Someone took Alyx when you and your fucking squad decided to be fucking heroes by storming into our motherfucking safe house.”
“Do you seriously think I’m going to believe you now, after you’ve been spewing me bullshit all along?”
I lolled my head back, frustration boiling in the pit of my stomach, threatening to fucking burst right out of me. “You got it all wrong, Commissioner.” I glared at him. “Ever consider that the info you received might be bullshit?”
He clasped his hands, leaning his elbows on the table. “As I’m sure you already fucking know, we got an anonymous tip saying my daughter was being held hostage by the American Street Kings in Coney Island. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t act immediately?”
I almost fucking laughed in his face. “It’s a little late to start acting like a father, isn’t it?”
His eyebrows lifted, the creases on his forehead joining his widow’s peak. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I bit into my lower lip, wanting to fucking growl like an animal. “I always knew you didn’t have balls. That’s why you got the Kings to do your dirty work for you, because you couldn’t do it yourself. But the fact that you couldn’t even stand up to your psycho wife, abusing your daughter—”
“Stop right there, you son of a bitch.”
I jerked forward, the steel cuffs clanking against the metal frame of my chair. I snarled, wishing I could fucking bash his face in and feel the crack of bone. “You watched while your wife shoved her finger down Alyx’s throat, and you did nothing. Nothing!” I yanked at the cuff again, the adrenaline and rage making it impossible for me to stay in control and remain still. “For years, you watched your daughter wither away, sat on the fucking sideline while her own goddamn mother ruined her. So, do not sit there and pretend you have the moral high ground, you fucking coward.”
“Fuck you,” he blurted, slamming his fist on the table as he flew up, his chair screeching across the cement floor. “You are nothing but a low-life criminal—”
“A criminal who you paid to take care of the scum you and your fucking laws couldn’t take off the streets.”
He gritted his teeth, his cheeks flaming red. “You took my daughter, and then pretended like you were actually helping to find her.”
I stood, my body awkwardly pulled to the side because of the cuff around my left arm. But I wanted to look the fucker in the eye. “You. Know. Nothing.”
“Tell me where my daughter is, or I swear to God, I’ll lock you up and make sure no one finds the fucking key.”
I leaned closer, real close so I could whisper just loud enough for him to hear. “You and I both know I have enough shit on you to make you lose everything. Your job, your home, your holiday mansion in Beverly Hills. And let’s not forget that stunner of a yacht anchored at North Cove Marina.” I inched forward, my jaw clenched. “Do not fuck with me, Commissioner. Do not think because you’re on that side of this goddamn table you have the upper hand here.”
I noticed his gaze flick from me to the one-way mirror, then back at me.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’d be more than willing to speak a little louder so our audience behind that glass can hear every goddamn word I just said.”
He sat back in his seat, eyebrows slanted down, his finger nervously tapping on the table.
I sat back down. “You need to let me go so I can find Alyx.”
“Not a chance, Granite.”
“I’m serious. In here, I can’t do shit to find your daughter.”
He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. The confidence he had when he strode in here was no longer there, but rather uncertainty. And maybe a little panic since I fucking threatened to make our business arrangement public.
“Did you take Alyx?”
“No.” I looked him square in the eye without batting a fucking eyelash. It was only half a lie, anyway, since I technically didn’t take her. The dead Python prospects did. Besides, if I wanted any chance to get out of here, I needed to convince our commissioner that I was still one the good guys.
He crossed his legs, finger still tapping away on the table. “Are you telling me you didn’t have my daughter? That three of my officers who claimed to see her at the scene are talking bullshit?”
I almost laughed. “I’m not that fucking stupid, Commissioner. I ain’t fucking talking in here.”
“You might as well, because you’re not leaving here until I find my daughter.”
“Goddammit!” I jerked up, the table screeching on the cement floor. “I can’t fucking help her if you have me locked in here. Get that through your thick motherfucking skull.”