“Your ass is manageable. I can do something with that ass. But your face.” Brueckmann clicked his tongue. “We’ll have to have you in a pup mask, of course.”

North acted without thinking about it. He slapped a hand against Brueckmann’s chest. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do next—just a punch, maybe, but that Brueckmann-shaped hole in the desk sounded very promising—but before he could do more than catch a handful of Brueckmann’s jacket, the older man was in motion. He twisted, pulling North off balance, and slid behind North. A blade whicked out of Brueckmann’s sleeve, and steel whispered along North’s throat.

“I told you,” Brueckmann said low into North’s ear, “I knew what to do with you.”

Chapter 15

The steel against North’s neck was cold at first, then warming to the heat of his skin. His mind was attuned to the rasp of Brueckmann’s breath, the way the knife scraped against the stubble on North’s throat and the horror in Shaw’s eyes.

Then a hand clamped down on Shaw’s shoulder, and the big guy from downstairs tossed Shaw sideways like a toy soldier getting kicked across the playroom. And North couldn’t do anything but watch as the big man’s toss carried Shaw into a chair. Shaw rolled over it, his legs going up and scissoring once like this was goddamn vaudeville, and then he hit the ground hard. He wheezed and rocked slightly, trying to get up, before the big guy planted a boot in the center of Shaw’s chest and pushed. North would have sworn he could hear Shaw’s ribs creaking.

All this. All this. All motherfucking this, and North just stood there, the blade against his throat because he’d been stupid, gotten drunk, and done what he always did: tried to drown one fucking part of himself in cheap beer so that another part could live. Some sort of erratic nerve impulse ricocheted through North’s arms, his chest, his legs, like a pinball game. He twitched everywhere except his neck. His head stayed stock still.

“Your boy is going to stay right there. Nod if you understand me.”

North nodded.

“You’re going to answer my questions. Then you’re going to take a trip. And you won’t ever bother me again. Nod if you understand me.”

North nodded.

Brueckmann chuckled. “I could make such a nice little sub out of you.” His breath was warm. His breath was moist. A hint of odor that North had noticed now clicked into place: something like silver polish. “You aren’t cops.”

North started to shake his head, and the tip of the blade dug in under his jaw.

“That wasn’t a question. The first thing my subs do is learn only to answer a direct question. Nod if you understand.”

But the blade didn’t drop, and after a moment, North understood it wasn’t going to drop. So he nodded. And he cut open the underside of his jaw on the blade. The blood ran a wet trail down his neck.