Page 43 of Unlocked Desire: Vol One

“It was nothing,” I say, meaning it.

I would do anything for the girl; ordering food is the least I could do on a long list of items. I want to make her my queen, to lay the world, my world, at her feet.

“I would love to stay with you all night, Little Bird, but I need to deal with business right now.” I point to the balcony. “That’s Enzo. He’ll watch you. When it’s time, he’ll bring you to me.”

I turn to Josie. “Anything she needs is on the house.”

“You got it, boss.”

I offer Clarissa a smile before heading to the back.

The club used to be an old warehouse with all the trappings. At one point, it housed a butchery, and when we remodeled, I insisted we kept some of the old features. The cold storage unit is one of them.

I remove the boning blade from the inside of my suit jacket before I peel it off and hand it to Rock. “Who’s watching him?”

Rock’s eyes widen as I twirl the knife in my hand. “Tony and Salvador. Boss, he’s just drunk.”

Most people like guns in my line of work, but not me. Guns are easy. They don’t require any talent. There’s no need for finesse when pulling a trigger. But a blade is beautiful. It takes conviction, drive, and skill.

I glare at Rock as I glide the knife blade along my palm.

Tony raises his hands, showing he gets the message as I open the door and see the little fucker sitting in a metal chair. The pussy is shaking. That’s the thing about these aggressive punks who come to the club. They’re cowards pretending to be an alpha.

I roll up my sleeves, exposing my tattoos, and watch as the guy’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. He swallows his fear, trying to replace it with indignation on his weasel face as I approach, holding the blade. We both know who’s in charge here, who the tied-up animal in the cage is, but the fucker still tries to pretend he has some power.

“You can’t keep me here. This is illegal. I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got.”

Tony tosses a wallet to me, and I pull out his driver's license. “Michael Williams.” I flip through and see a picture of the pussy with two little boys and a woman who looks tired of his shit as she plasters on a fake smile for the camera. “Cute family.” I glide the knife gently over the picture, barely scraping it. “I wonder if they’d like a brief visit from me.”

“Don’t you fuckin go near them, you psycho.”

I laugh. I would never touch his family. I don’t hurt women and kids. That’s what assholes like this fuck would do, but I let him think I’d gut every person he loves without remorse. There’s no harm in fucking with his head.

I walk up to him and place the knife tip against his throat. “I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what to do and who to do it to. You should have thought about your wife and kids before you touched something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about, man? I took nothing.”

I sit on the chair opposite him and pull a small coffee table between us. “Take? No. You couldn’t take a goddamn thing from me. I said ‘touch.’ You touched something that was mine.” I tap on the table. “Put your right hand here. Spread your fingers apart.”

“What the fuck for?”

“We’re gonna play a little game. You like games, right, Michael? You seem to like playing them on the ladies. They say no, and you chase. A little game of cat and mouse. The thing is, Michael, you didn’t touch just any pussy this time. You touched my little bird, and there’s a price to pay for that.”

When Michael doesn’t move, I nod at Tony, who points the gun at the coward’s temple. I lean forward in my chair, twirling the sharp blade on the small table. “Bullet. Or my game, Michael. The choice is yours.”

Reluctantly, he places his shaking hand on the table.

“Good choice. Now spread your fingers.”

Michael spreads his fingers, his eyes glistening. Is the fucker gonna cry?

I balance the tip of the knife along his fingers. “I love this game.” I move the blade between his fingers while I stare into his eyes. “You ever played it before? It’s got many names: the knife game, pin finger, nerve, bishop, knife fingers. And my favorite, five-finger fillet.”

Michael shakes his head. I laugh, and then I hear it, the steady stream of liquid. Michael has pissed his pants.

“I would think a grown man like you would be toilet-trained by now. I wanted to draw this out, but I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“You’re a fuckin’ psycho.”