Again, he nodded.
“What was it? Coke? Crystal? Heroin?”
“Heroin.”
It’s always heroin. “What made him think he could outsell us in our own backyard?”
He wouldn’t have done something so stupid unless he was, in fact, that stupid, or unless he had a reason to believe he could get away with it. I doubted the former, so it had to be the latter. Emilio didn’t reply, obliviously not understanding the delicate situation he was in.
“Emilio,” I looked up at the concrete ceiling and inhaled. The moment I exhaled, I was out of the chair so quickly it tipped over. My hands were around his neck, lifting him up off the bed and throwing him on the ground, the wires and monitors crashed down along with him. Gripping on to the side of his skull, which still somehow had hair, I lifted his head so he could see. “Did I not tell you I was busy! Do busy people have time to listen to dogs take dramatic pauses? SPEAK!”
“I don’t know!”
“Hold him up!” I yelled, letting go of his head and standing straighter. Two other men beside Greyson lifted the ingrate as I reached into my bag, pulling out a pair of scissors and a scalpel.
“I don’t know! I swear! I SWEAR!”
“You see, I want to believe you, Emilio,” I said as I walked closer to him while holding onto his jaw.
“I swear—”
“But I don’t believe you, Emilio. After all, you’ve been keeping this secret for so long now. Who knows what other secrets are going around in that brain of yours?” I whispered as I placed my scalpel on his forehead and started to cut into his flesh. “Should I open it up and see for myself?”
His mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak. And so I kept cutting, carving a massive C on his forehead. Tears came out of his eyes, mingling with the blood dripping down from his forehead. Gently, almost kindly, I said to him, “Emilio, don’t you want to rest? I can let you rest. You can lay back down, no one will bother you again.”
“P…please,” he begged.
“Just tell me what I need to know, and you can go back to bed,” I said lifting my blade from his skin, putting one of my gloved hands on the side of his face. “It’s okay. Go on. When is this shipment?”
“The nineteenth,” he answered, and I felt the urge to rip his mouth from his face. Today was the nineteenth.
Breathing in with a grace that had to be divine in nature, I asked, “What time?”
“10 pm.”
I glanced down at my watch. It was 10:49 pm because, apparently, I had to be the last to know about every goddamn thing.
“Where?”
He paused again…and I called upon all the angels in heaven to stop me from losing my shit.
“Emilio, your brother is dead,” I said softly. “You can’t betray the dead. Think about yourself. Aren’t you in pain?” His fear had been blocking the pain, but me reminding him I could make it go away—or make it worse—left him trembling as panic set in. “Tell me, and I can take the pain away. Where?”
“Chicago PD,” he managed to spit out.
“Chicago PD?” The moment I couldn’t help but grin and soon that grin broke into full blown laughter. “The police? Bloody brilliant! Man, I gotta give it your brother. He had balls.”
I waved my hands and released him, letting him fall back onto the ground. Looking down at him, I still couldn’t wipe the smile from my lips. “It’s hard being the second brother, believe me, I know, but look at us now. Everything is on our shoulders.”
Not waiting to hear his reply, I walked over toward the door as Greyson spoke to the others. “Put him back on the bed—”
“Did I say put him back on the bed?” I questioned, all humor gone from my voice as I handed Greyson the scalpel and scissors in my hands.
Greyson stared back at me. “You said you’d let him—”
“I lied. I’ve been known to do that. Everyone learns through suffering.”
He nodded, moving to go pick up my medical bag. As he did, I picked up the chair he’d brought for me and slammed it into his back, sending him onto the ground, before kicking into his ribs. “Apparently you haven’t suffered, Greyson.”
Before he could get up, I pulled my foot back again, kicking into his teeth. “HOW THE FUCK DID WE NOT ALREADY KNOW THE MOTHERFUCKING POLICE ARE NOW WORKING AGAISNT US?!”
Annoyed, I yanked the pole that had connected Emilio’s IV drip, lifting it high in the air before beating Greyson’s body with it repeatedly. “Do we not have people in the Chicago PD? Did they betray us, too? How does everyone in our world lose their GODDAMN MINDS AND WE DON’T HEAR ABOUT IT! What are you good for? WHAT ARE ANY OF YOU GOOD FOR?!”
I wanted to beat him to death. But instead, when he stopped responding, I dropped the pole before walking into the viewing room. There, leaning back on the chair eating an apple was Darcy, his feet propped up on the table.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got serious anger issues?” Darcy asked before taking another bite of the apple.
“All of us have serious anger issues. It’s in our DNA,” Sedric replied as he did a sit-up on the ground next to Darcy.
“I see you two are just having a grand old time,” I snapped. Both paused—one mid-bite and the other mid-crunch—to glance at each other before looking over at me, smiles forming on their faces. In an instant, I knew what was going through their minds. “If either of you compare me to Ethan one more time, I will find the highest bridge to throw you off.”
“Yeah, definitely not Ethan-like at all.” Darcy fought back a laugh.
“I’m already getting goosebumps,” Sedric replied as he pushed himself off the ground. “Once he starts giving us the silent treatment and the cold stare, we’ve lost him.”
I stared at them for a moment,
