Well, wasn’t that the story of his life? He wasn’t gonna finish school, wasn’t gonna get the nod for VP, wasn’t gonna do as he was told, wasn’t gonna pull the trigger, wasn’t gonna step up, wasn’t gonna be a decent father, wasn’t gonna have an old lady, wasn’t gonna grow up.
Wasn’t gonna pull the trigger.
In the last few months, he’d learned a lot of important life lessons – specifically that there were things outside of his control.
This moment wasn’t one of them.
“Fox,” he said, surprised his voice didn’t shake. “Hammer and nail.”
Fox stepped up, ready to do the deed himself. “I got you, mate.”
“No,” Aidan said, firmly. “Give them to me.”
Fox gave him a doubtful look – as doubtful a look as a man allergic to facial expressions could deliver. Whatever he saw in Aidan’s gaze convinced him, though, and he passed the items into Aidan’s hands.
Hands that didn’t tremble as he drove the nail clean through the center of Greg’s hand with one hard blow from the hammer.
The scream cut a physical path through the night, primal and shrill. Aidan imagined it flaring red in the dark, to match the blood welling up around the nail head.
Greg sagged forward against his bonds, gasping, sobbing, moaning. This went on for a long time, until the man finally subsided into shivering deep breaths that whistled through his teeth.
“Stop underestimating me,” Aidan said. “You’re going to tell me everything I wanna know. Even if I have to pound it out of you one nail at a time.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “Ready? Let’s get started.”
~*~
Dismantling a man, that’s what Mercy had called it once. To torture him was to pick at his seams, take away his humanity piece-by-piece, until he was broken down to his most basic components: fear and love. At the heart of mankind, those were the two driving forces behind every decision. And when it came to torture, well…that just proved how much a man loved himself.
Aidan picked that first loose stone, pried at it, worked it loose, and at some point in the wee hours, Greg had fallen to bits. He told them everything they needed to know about Ellison, Fox taking hurried notes over at the truck. He told them things Aidan didn’t want to know, too: how crushing it had been to learn that the Dogs had used him and that he could never be a member; how his father had knocked him around as a kid; how girls scorned him.
Aidan went to the truck where Fox was folding his notes up neatly and sliding them into his pocket. “If he’s telling the truth,” the Englishman said, “then we’ve got exactly what we need.”
“And if he’s lying?”
A shrug. “There’s not much more we can do to make him sing.”
“Right.” Aidan closed his eyes a moment, felt for the first time how heavy with sleep the lids were. The ground tilted beneath his feet as if he was drunk, and he thought he might pass out.
“You want me to finish it off?” Fox asked, something like kindness in his voice.
Aidan shook his head – bad idea – and forced his eyes open again. “No. This is on me. I shoulda done it a long time ago.” He took his nine mil from his waistband and walked back to Greg.
Despite all that he’d endured, the guy’s head lifted, glassy eyes seeking Aidan’s gaze.
“I’ll give you credit,” Aidan said, quietly. “I didn’t think you’d hold out so long.”
No answer.
“Can I ask you one more thing?”
“I’m tied up, ain’t I?”
“Something personal,” Aidan amended. “Not part of the interrogation.”
“I already pissed myself.” There was still temper behind the words. “What the hell have I got to hide now?”
Aidan swallowed the rising lump in his throat. “Why did you come back to Knoxville? Why didn’t you just stay away?”
“I dunno,” Greg said. “Guess I just couldn’t help myself.”
