“You’re gonna shoot me, Hunter? Do it. See how much information that gets you.”

“I’m not going to shoot you. Not yet.” With my left hand I grabbed Kenneth Wetherby by his throat, sinking my fingers tightly into each side of his esophagus, and hauled him backward over his own desk. A laser printer and a stack of papers were knocked flying and scattered over the floor. Then I dumped Wetherby on his back on the threadbare carpet. I slipped my SIG back into my waistband and bunched my right fist. “First I’m going to beat the living shit out of you.”

I’d only been in Miami a little over twelve hours and already I’d made a few new enemies and reacquainted myself with another. Rink had also earned himself some anger, but the man he’d knocked cold wasn’t voicing an opinion just yet. Rink stood threatening another two men with his fists while I roughed up their boss.

I loosened my grip on Wetherby’s throat enough that he could answer my questions. “Tell me who it is.”

“Are you fucking insane? Coming here like this, you’ve just earned yourself a bullet with your name on it.”

“I’ve already got someone trying to kill me,” I snarled. “And you know who it is. Tell me, you fuckin’ arsehole.”

“I don’t know, goddamnit! Whoever it is, he’s not on my books.”

I grabbed him off the floor. But only for as long as it took to slam him against his office wall. Wetherby slid back down to the ground, his arms covering his head. I kicked him in the pit of his stomach: should have gone for his balls, but I was more interested in intimidating him than putting him fully out of commission.

Wetherby’s pinched gaze went to his two friends. “You gonna help me here? What the fuck am I payin’ you idiots for?”

The two men glanced at their fallen companion. They’d just witnessed Rink putting the biggest of them out with a single back fist strike to his jaw. Maybe they thought it was a lucky punch—maybe they had a little sense of duty—because they launched themselves at Rink. Bad mistake.