The professor narrowed his gaze. “Did the guard tell you I haven’t eaten? I was dragged here before sunrise, which must be hours ago?”
Still Marcus remained quiet. The need to reach forward and squeeze this man’s throat tittered on the horizon. Breathe—just breathe. The scrawny man wouldn’t stand a chance if he reached over and snapped his neck. His useless existence would be over. Marcus lifted his mug and sipped, swallowing down the rich coffee.
“Are you here to simply stare at me or is there a reason I am here?” The professor switched his gaze between the two men and zeroed in on Marcus, leaning forward and bringing them closer. A wide grimace filled his face. “Ah, I recognize you. You’re Drayton. Ella’s mate.”
Don’t respond. He wants to rile you.
“How is the beautiful Ella? I thought she would have come to visit me. To check to see her handiwork. Or at the very least, to find out about her brother?” The cocky man tilted his head to the side and folded his arms.
Marcus glanced away. His hatred for the man burned a hole in his gut. Facing him and not reacting on instinct was harder than he imagined. For the first six weeks at the mansion, the professor had been recovering and because Ella didn’t remember that conversation with the man, she showed no interest in the professor’s progress. Things were different now, but he didn’t want Ella jumping into the fray. He would have to discuss the professor with her and hash out a resolution.
“My wife is not part of the conversation, now or ever. You’re here because you said you wanted to talk about the Padre. I’m glad you are willing to share your knowledge of the man with us, and in return you get to live and be free.”
A loud, sardonic laugh came from the professor, who lifted his leg onto the table and pulled the material of his pants up. There, secured around his ankle, lay a titanium collar sealed with magic.
“Freedom—I cannot leave the shed you have me holed up in, or I get burned and shocked. Do you call that freedom?”
Marcus deadpanned the man and leaned forward, crossing his hands to form a steeple. “Okay, you get to live, which in my book is a fucking waste of oxygen. I don’t care what intel you have on the Padre. Don’t mistake me when I say I want you dead, but my boss believes you are worth something to us alive. That is a fine line you’re treading. Give me a reason to end your sorry ass excuse of an existence, and I will not hesitate. Are we fucking clear?”
Marcus shouted his last sentence, not out of anger, but because he wanted to test this spineless jerk who flinched at his words. In the quiet, when their enemy lay defeated, and this pathetic excuse for a human being thought the worst was over, he would end his life. He stared at the beady little man and his heart beat evenly as he smiled the first real smile in the last forty-eight hours. He tapped his fingers softly on the table, waiting.
“The Padre knows everything. Don’t assume that he isn’t fully aware of where I am right now, because he has spies in every corner and alleyway. He tried to kill me once, and he won’t stop. I will answer your questions on one condition. You kill him first. I want the Padre dead.”
Marcus rubbed his fingers over his chin in thought. He hadn’t expected that, but if the professor wanted their enemy and his former boss dead, there must be a good reason. “Go on.”
“I did what I was instructed to do. I did my job.”
Marcus doubted it was as simple as that for this spineless man. He remembered Ella explaining how this man used to fight with her, and before they even developed an intimate relationship, this piece of shit turned his stomach. In his line of work, he encountered many sadists and staring him right in the face was one of them.
“Okay, so you only did your job. Let’s start there. What is your job description, Professor? Don’t leave anything out.”
A knock at the door announced the arrival of breakfast for the prisoner. Marcus stood and Henry followed suit.
“Eat your food and we will be back.”
Stepping out of the room, Marcus glanced over at Kid. “What do you make of the professor?”
The young man inhaled and looked back at the closed door. “Unhinged, anxious, too willing to work with us. Which means he’s disloyal, and not to be trusted.”
Marcus nodded and tapped the shoulder of the younger man. “Good. This man doesn’t give a shit about anyone other than himself. He’s a narcissist. He’s never been married. His mother gave birth to him in her forties. A single parent who died in a freak fire when he was seven. He flitted from one children’s home to another, but wasn’t adopted. One report from St. Mary’s, a children’s home, reports him as being a strangely quiet boy with unusual tendencies. He liked to catch mice in the cellar and remove their fur to experiment on them. There’s more. A neighbor’s dog was mutilated
