2
Knox
“What isit you need from him?” I ask my brothers, looking at the poor bastard tied to the chair in front of me. The skin above his brow is already split, oozing blood, as the same bright red liquid runs down his chin from his nose.
Kane smirks and scoffs. “He knows what we need, but he isn’t talking. Figured having you come help would get us results.”
I smile at his indication as Cash nods in agreement.
I’ve known I was different my whole life. When you look at the rest of my family, they at least look halfway normal and express emotions regularly. Sure, it takes a lot for that to happen, but the point is, it happens. For me, the only thing I seem to let people see is rage. And I don’t mean the petty, screaming, or throwing things type of anger.
When I get angry, it’s like a supernova. It builds slowly until it has nowhere else to go, and I snap. I fucking explode. I think I may give that impression, too, with my raven hair, muscular body, tall frame, and dark ink painting over eighty percent of my skin.
I’m the type of person people don’t look twice at because they know if they do, they’re liable to get their neck snapped. Hopefully, the guy in the chair can see that too, because I don’t like playing fucking games or waiting around. If he doesn’t want to give the twins what they want, no doubt, they’ll get it from somewhere else.
There is always a backup plan.
I tilt my head from side to side, stretching my neck, then step closer to the man. “Tell them what they want.”
He shakes his head slowly with a smile. “Fuck you.” He spits, but the only thing that comes out is splatters of blood.
I suck in a deep breath. This motherfucker is strong. He’s already taken a beating from the twins, and now he’s refusing me. I almost want to clap him on the back and congratulate him for being a badass, but no one is as tough and ruthless as we are.
When I exhale, I slip my hand inside my pocket and grab my trusty switchblade. Most people carry guns, but I like to teeter on the edge of danger too much for that. Before my dad died, this is what he gave me. He knew I liked being up close and personal with the poor motherfuckers who crossed me. I like seeing someone’s life slip from their eyes and hear them take their last breath.
Too bad the poor soul in front of me has to experience that, but I don’t ponder on that for long. If someone in the family needs something, you give it to them. If you don’t, your fate is sealed without a second thought.
I bring the knife in front of the man's face with a smile and hit the button, sending the blade shooting out the top. Most styles are just one smooth, long, shiny blade that’s sharp on both sides, but dad had this custom-made for me.
I only bring it out when I intend to kill, so with that in mind, he had a blacksmith forge it with divots on each edge like two nice hooks. Hooks that’ll obliterate the insides of whoever it’s in with a few simple twists.
I glance over my shoulder to the twins with a shrug. “I tried.”
Turning back around, I lean over slightly, just enough to hold the guy by one shoulder as I bury my knife into his stomach. A gargled scream escapes him. His eyebrows shoot to his forehead as his small, dark eyes grow to saucers.
“I told you to give them what they wanted,” I remark, twisting the blade in its place.
I stay level with him, retracting my knife and plunging it back in until the little bit of life he had in his eyes disappears and blood pools on the floor around our feet.
“Damn, Knox,” Kane starts. “I was hoping to get something out of the dude before you killed him.”
Cash laughs next to him. “He wasn’t going to talk. Knox just did what we would have had to do.”
“Exactly.” I wipe the blade on my pants, cleaning off the man’s blood as best I can. “Call the cleanup crew so we can go grab some dinner.”
Kane nods, whipping his phone from his pocket as Cash and I exit the old industrial building and walk to the alley. We strip out of our clothes in silence and throw them into the rusty barrel on the right. When Kane appears in the alley, he does the same.
We soak all of our bloodstained clothes in gasoline before striking a match and setting them on fire. Once the smoke is thick, billowing over the buildings, we head to my car and slip on the clean clothes I keep stashed in my trunk.
“What’s the ETA of cleanup?” I ask, slipping into the driver's seat.
“Less than five,” Kane replies, sliding into the back as Cash takes the passenger seat.
I nod. “Perfect.” I smash my foot on to the accelerator and head for Rigatoni’s.
I pull up to the front of the restaurant, then slide into a parallel parking space on the street. Rigatoni’s is a little Italian bistro in the heart of downtown with the best pasta and drinks. After our first time here, it quickly turned into a favorite spot. The people know not to burden us with stupid small talk and always seat us in the back corner.
We all exit the vehicle and stroll through the front door. The hostess at the front, Amy, recognizes us immediately and leads us to the back table with three menus tucked into her hands.