Chapter 384
The warehouse is tucked away in a part of the city most people would pass without a second glance. For a moment I don’t get out, just stare at it silently. From the outside, it looks abandoned, just the way Uncle Reaper likes it.
There are already cars parked outside and immediately I spot his among four others.
I step out, not bothering to wait for the others as they move behind me. Gravel crunches under my boots as I head straight for the entrance, my focus already narrowing.
Two of his men stand guard at the door. They don’t say anything, just give me a single nod as I approach before stepping aside.
The door opens, and I step inside and the moment I do, the hair shifts, feeling heavier. There’s a faint metallic scent hanging in the space, and it settles at the back of my throat in a way that makes something in me tighten.
My eyes adjust quickly, taking in the layout, the shadows, and the positions of everyone in the room before finally landing on Uncle Reaper. He stands further in, exactly where I expect him to be, his presence filling the space without him needing to move or speak. A few of his men are scattered around, leaning against walls or standing off to the side, their posture loose but their attention sharp.
He looks up the moment I step further in, his gaze locking onto mine like he’s been expecting me.
“You took your time,” he says.
“I came as fast as I could,” I reply, not slowing as I walk toward him, my eyes already moving past him, scanning everything. “What did you find p>
I know him, and I know he wouldn’t have called or told me to meet with him if he didn’t have something.
He doesn’t answer me right away and that alone tells me whatever he found isn’t something small. Instead, he shifts slightly to the side, just enough to clear my line of sight and that’s when I see them. Two men tied to chairs.
Their heads hang forward, their bodies barely upright, like the only thing keeping them in place is whatever’s binding them there. Their faces are bruised, split in places, and dried blood marks where someone already started asking questions they didn’t want to answer.
One of them tries to lift his head when he hears us, but he doesn’t get far before it drops again. The other doesn’t move at all.
For a moment, I just stand there, taking it in and Uncle Reaper just watches me, as if he’s gauging my reaction. As if he’s checking if the lessons he gave me took root.
I step closer. “Who are they p>
“Well,” he pushes from the wall, “This Mark and Julian p>
“I could care less who the fuck they are,” I snap. “You brought them here for a reason and that’s where my main focus is p>
Uncle Reaper’s eyes narrow. “Do you want me to put your head through a wall p>
I used to think Dad was scary, but that was before Uncle Reaper came into our lives. There is a reason why he’s called the Reaper and even though he left the life of crime decades ago, he is still that same scary bastard that threatened to bury Uncle Travis so deep it would take a century to find his body. I was still a kid when he threatened him, but remembering it still sends chills down my spine.
“No, Sir,” I grit out.
“Much better,” he says with a smile I can’t really call a smile. “As I was saying, Mark and Julian are persons of interest. A contact tipped me and we caught them before they could flee the country p>
My gaze turns to them with interest.
“You didn’t get anything from them.” I conclude. If he had, they wouldn’t still be tied to chairs, bruised and injured.
“They wouldn’t do it the easy way,” he says. “Besides, I didn’t want you to miss out on all the fun p>
His lips curve into a dangerous smile and I mirror him.
I take off my jacket and unbutton my cufflinks. I’ve been looking for a way to get out this frustration and anger inside me and it finally seems like I’m getting my wish.
“This is exactly what I need,” I mutter, cracking my knuckles.
One of them lets out a weak laugh that turns into a cough, blood spilling onto his shirt. “You’ve got the wrong p>
The sound cuts off abruptly, not because I hit him but because Uncle Reaper moves.
The crack echoes through the room, sharp and final, and the man’s head snaps to the side as his chair nearly tips over. Uncle Reaper steps back and looks at him.
“If I hear those words from your fucking mouth, I’m going to break your teeth,” he growls.
He tries to hide it, but I can see the shiver that takes his whole body. He’s going for the confident look. The ‘I don’t have anything to hide’ look, but that shiver gives him away.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Brook or I swear you’ll regret it,” I tell him, picking up a pair of metal knuckles from the table like it’s nothing more than a habit.