A Dirty Business (Kings of New York #1)(31)

The screams started up, and that sound was no longer human.

I wanted to kick down that door, go in there and start showing my teeth, but I refrained. Every cell in my body was begging to fight, but I had to stop, I had to think. One second.

It started again, and I ceased thinking.

I reared back and kicked the door open, and then I froze in place because the animal screaming wasn’t an animal. I was taking an educated guess that that was my aunt’s abuser, but while he was tied to a post, with liquids seeping out of him, it was another person in the room who I recognized.

A large guy was standing over my aunt’s abuser, and there were two other people in the room.

I skipped over Ashton, my eyes finding and latching onto Tristian West, who was standing in the corner.

“What are you doing here?”

Tristian’s eyes flashed, hard, and he came at me.

I stepped back, jerking my arm up, my gun right at him.

He stopped but indicated behind me.

I didn’t move. Not at first.

God. What were they doing to him?

But then I lowered my gun, and Tristian reached over, touching my arm and guiding me back. I allowed it, or my body did because my body recognized his and it was having its own mind. I was seeing red; my body was heated.

He took me back to the room where the safe was.

He flipped on the lights.

He paid no attention to the room. His gaze was on me, pinning me down. “What are you doing here?”

My mouth fell down for a split second before I was pissed. “Are you kidding me?! That piece of shit in there is married to my aunt. What are you doing here? What are you doing to him?”

They were torturing that piece of shit. And I had walked in on it.

Now I was in this room, and I was putting my gun away? What the hell was I doing?

I started reaching for my phone.

I needed to call this in. It was out of my hands.

“No.” He plucked my phone away from me, pocketing it.

“Give it back.”

He glared. “No.”

I growled before pulling my gun right back out. “Give it back now.”

He eyed the gun, not fighting me, but he wasn’t doing what I ordered. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned close. “No.”

I growled again, this time more feral. “You are in so much shit that you won’t be able to comprehend it—now give me my phone back.”

He kept studying me, before a slow grin showed and a chuckle slid out. He moved back a step. “I don’t think so.” His eyebrows rose up, mocking me. “How are you going to explain yourself? You didn’t walk in through the back door or front door. I’d know. I got a guy up there. You broke in. Now I’m wondering why you’re here when my business with your uncle is none of your business.”

“He’s not my uncle. He’s a piece of shit that abused my aunt.”

“Huh. You mean the aunt that’s not here?” His voice was grating on my nerves because he was fully taunting me, and I didn’t understand why.

“Give me my phone.” I moved closer, my gun now too close for both of our comforts, but he ignored it.

And right then, he dropped his act.

The amusement fled, and I got a glimpse at the very real and very blistering anger under the surface.

He lowered his head, his nostrils flaring. “This is why I didn’t want you around me. This is why I should’ve forgotten you the second I found out you’re a cop.”

He began to move toward me. His chest touched my gun’s muzzle, and I swallowed a curse before making a decision. I wasn’t going to shoot him. He knew it. I knew it.

I holstered my gun, and then he was in my space, moving me back against the wall. He was breathing hard, staring down at me, and looking like he wanted to chew my head off, literally. But his tone came out soft, and all the more dangerous because of it. A whole new chill slithered down my spine. “For three years your uncle has been a pain in my family’s ass, refusing to work with us. Did you know that?”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in what else he was going to tell me, because I knew more was coming. I felt it, and I didn’t know if I wanted to know or not. I did.

His hand slid up, touching my chest and slowly moving to my throat, then around to the back of my neck, cupping me there. He held his own head back, watching me from his fullest height. “Then I met you. I became fucking captivated by you, and somehow that shit got back to my uncle, and guess who my uncle thought I should move in on now? Fuck him for seeing an opportunity to capitalize on, and fuck your uncle for being the abusive weasel shit that comes out of his own asshole. Goddamn fuck everyone because now we’re in a situation. So when I ask why you’re here, you’re going to tell me because you are now in this too.”

A low growl was building in my throat, and I brought up my hands to shove him away.

They didn’t, though. They rested on his chest, and at the touch, he sucked in some breath, closing his eyes a moment. When they opened, raw pain flared briefly. “You’re not going to call the cops on me, and you know it. I’m sure there’s a valid reason you came in here, but the real reason you came and the real reason you came into that room is because you were hoping to do something to your uncle, probably what we’re doing.”

I looked away. “You’re torturing him.”