Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD DEBT
The basement of the Brooklyn dockyard warehouse was cold, damp, and reeked of salt air and gasoline.
Terrence Cole was strapped to a heavy iron chair beneath a single, buzzing fluorescent light bulb. Blood poured from his broken nose, dripping onto his silk shirt, and his right eye was swollen shut.
Four of Dominic's heaviest enforcers stood in the shadows, their arms crossed, watching cold-headedly as Terrence gasped for air.
The heavy steel door at the top of the concrete stairs creaked open.
Slowly, deliberately, leather shoes echoed against the wet concrete steps.
Terrence raised his head, terror flashing through his good eye as Dominic Ashford stepped into the pool of light. Dominic was wearing a heavy leather apron over his shirt, his dark sleeves rolled up, revealing the coiling dragon tattoos on his arms. In his right hand, he carried a heavy steel iron bar, its tip flat and dull.
"Ashford!" Terrence spat, blood splattering across the floor. "You're making a mistake! Caldwell owns that girl! She's Caldwell property! You take her, you start a war with the whole syndicate!"
Dominic stopped two feet away from Terrence. He didn't look angry. He looked entirely calm—a executioner performing a routine chore.
"She was chained to a concrete pillar, Terrence," Dominic said smoothly, his voice echoing in the damp space. "She weighed eighty pounds. Her wrists were torn to the bone."
"She's Hector Vance's brat!" Terrence screamed, struggling against the heavy zip-ties cutting into his wrists. "Her old man stole forty million dollars! Caldwell wanted answers!"
"And you enjoyed giving her the questions, didn't you?" Dominic murmured quietly.
He raised the steel bar.
"Wait! WAIT!" Terrence shrieked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, pathetic squeal. "I was just following orders! Caldwell told me to break her! He said she had the Swiss account numbers encrypted on a drive! I didn't want to do it!"
Dominic didn't hesitate.
CRACK!
The iron bar slammed into Terrence's left knee with sickening force.
Terrence let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the subterranean chamber, his body convulsing in wild agony as the bone shattered beneath his skin.
"That was for her wrist," Dominic said flatly.
CRACK!
"AAAGHH! GOD! PLEASE! STOP!" Terrence sobbed, hyperventilating as his right knee gave way in the iron restraints.
"That was for her shoulder," Dominic continued, his voice monotone, devoid of pity, a mechanical force of absolute retribution.
He rested the heavy iron bar against Terrence's collarbone, pressing down just enough to make the bruised tissue groan.
"Where is Vincent Caldwell hiding?" Dominic asked quietly.
"In... in the Estate!" Terrence choked out, saliva and tears streaming down his bloody face. "The fortress in Old Westbury! He has thirty men there! He's bringing in mercenaries from Montreal by Friday! He knows you took the girl... he's planning to hit your dockyards tomorrow night!"
Dominic nodded slowly, accepting the information.
He stepped back and handed the steel bar to Marco, who was standing nearby with a clean towel.
"Dominic... please..." Terrence whimpered, his head hanging low, his body shaking violently from shock and pain. "I told you what you wanted... let me go... call an ambulance..."
Dominic pulled off the leather apron and tossed it onto a nearby table. He picked up his dark topcoat, sliding his arms into the sleeves with calm precision.
"You told her she wasn't going home, Terrence," Dominic said softly, turning his back on the broken man. "I never lie to my guests."
Dominic walked toward the stairs.
"Marco," Dominic called out without looking back.
"Yes, Boss?"
May you like
"Feed him to the river."
"No! NO! ASHFORD! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! ASHFORD!" Terrence's terrified screams echoed off the wet concrete walls as Dominic climbed the stairs, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind him, cutting off the noise forever.
