“Shaw, what the fuck—” The words broke off into another scream as the nine iron came down across his thigh. Wailing, Tuck toppled back, hitting a flight of stairs at the third step, his head bouncing hard off the next riser.

“Shaw.” It wasn’t even a scream. It was trying to be a question, but there was so much pain in it, so much confusion, that it fell apart into a whine. “Why—”

“Be quiet.” Shaw stepped to the stairs and rested the nine iron’s face against the inside of Tuck’s knee. “I need you to listen to me, Tuck, because the next few minutes are going to decide some very important things. One of those things is whether or not you’re ever going to be able to walk again without a cane. Are you listening to me?”

Tuck was crying. He’d bit his lip or his cheek or something—blood pooled at the corner of his mouth—and snot and tears mixed with the blood to turn the lower half of his face into a pink, gory mess.

“Tuck? Are you listening?”

“What the fuck?” he screamed. “Shaw what the—”

Shaw didn’t hit him. It wasn’t a legitimate blow. He just drove the head of the club into Tuck’s solar plexus and listened to the whoosh of air as Tuck’s screams turned into gasping, desperate moans.

“I should have warned you, Tuck, that I’m tired of listening to you. I’m tired of everything, actually. I think I might be going a little crazy.” Shaw grinned, resting on the nine iron like it was a cane, studying Tuck as the other man tried to draw a full breath. “From here on out, it’s in your best interest to answer my questions and keep your mouth shut otherwise. Yes or no will be sufficient. Understand?”

Tuck was really crying now. Sobbing.

Shaw dug the club into the long strip of damaged thigh where he had landed an earlier blow, and Tuck squealed and tried to twist away. His broken collar bone seemed to be slowing him, though—along with the whiskey and the other injuries Shaw had delivered.

“That was a question, in case you missed it.”

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes!”

“Perfect. And did you hear me, earlier, when I told you that I need you to pay very close attention?”

“Yes.” Tuck was taking long, wheezing breaths between silent sobs that shook him.

“And you understand that if things don’t go the way I want, I’m going to break both of your knees. Bad, Tuck. I’m going to break them really, really bad.”

He nodded, trying to wipe the blood from his face.

Shaw drew back the club.

With another squeal, Tuck said, “Yes, Christ, yes.”

“That’s perfect. Tucker, here’s the absolute most important thing I want you to take away from our conversation: you are never, ever going to touch North again. If he comes to work with so much as a paper cut, I’m going to come back here, and I’m going to put you in the back of my car, and I’m going to spend a week taking you apart with a crescent wrench and a flathead. Do you understand?”