Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) by Paul Heatley (book recommendations based on other books .txt) 📗

up the stairs. The door there is locked, and Linda is on the other side. Even if he were somehow able to make it that far, she wouldn’t let him leave.

“Just talk to us, Steve,” Harry says. “Tell us everything you know.”

“Everything,” Michael says.

Steve swallows. “I-I –”

Michael looks at Harry. “This kid is gonna try to lie to us again, ain’t he? You can see it, right? It ain’t hard to tell.”

“That stammer sure sounds like he’s trying to make up some excuse,” Harry says.

“Oh, I don’t know anything, guys, I swear!” Michael says.

“Please –” Steve says.

“Please?” Harry says.

“You believe this fuckin’ guy?” Michael says.

Harry makes a grab for Steve. He twists out of it. Michael is at the other side of him. He makes a grab, too. Steve ducks this time; he dives for the council table, rolls over it, tries to scramble to the other side. Harry races to the other end to greet him, slams him with his shoulder, knocks him to the ground. Steve lands hard. He tries to keep moving with the momentum, to keep rolling, but Michael is coming up fast, kicks him in the gut. This knocks him onto his back, makes him cough. It slows him all the way down, but he doesn’t stop. He knows what’s going to happen if he stops.

“And now he’s trying to run,” Michael says, reaching down, grabbing for his head.

Steve rolls again, to the side. Harry stomps him on the chest, pins him. Steve squirms beneath his boot.

“He just don’t give up, does he?” Michael says.

“And he don’t have any fuckin’ sense, either,” Harry says.

“You should’ve talked, boy,” Michael says. “It would’ve been a lot easier.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. He’s almost in tears. “I’m sorry – please –”

“You’re sorry? Little late for that, ain’t it? You know how many men, good men, are dead now because of you?”

They get him up. Harry holds him so Michael can soften him up, some shots to his ribs. “Quit your snivelling,” he says, then hits him across the face to shut him up.

They swap, then. Michael holds him so Harry can take a go. Harry doesn’t hit him as hard as he can. They want him to hurt, but they still need him to talk after.

They put him into a chair. “That’s your brother’s chair,” Michael says. “It’s as close as you’re ever gonna get to this fuckin’ council.”

Steve is bloodied now. He winces with every breath, tries to cover his ribs with his arms in case they go to hit him again.

“Who are they?” Harry says. “Who’s coming after us?”

“It’s not a they,” Steve says. He coughs.

Michael rolls his eyes. “He still don’t get it, does he? Hold him down, Harry.”

“No, wait, wait!”

They ignore his cries. Harry puts an arm around his neck. Michael pulls on two of his fingers. They snap. Steve screams. It’s right in Harry’s ear, almost deafens him.

“Why don’t we start easy, huh?” Michael says, letting go of his arm and straightening up. Harry remains behind the chair, holding him in place. “Nice and easy, right? You don’t wanna tell us who’s comin’ after us just yet, you wanna play it like you’re cool, like you’re tough, then let’s try a different question. What happened with Anthony? Did you know he was undercover?”

Steve shakes his head, tears dripping from his face. “No,” he says.

Michael looks pissed off now. He reaches for the hand with the broken fingers again.

“No, wait! I didn’t know, I swear – but I called the cops!” Steve says. He’s frantic. “I didn’t know he was undercover, I found out same time y’all did, but I messaged him, told him to run – that was me. And I called the cops, sent them out looking for you.”

Michael and Harry look at each other. “Fuckin’ knew it,” Harry says, clenching his jaw.

“All right,” Michael says, rubbing his hands together. “All right, that’s good. Don’t that feel good, Steve? To share?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

“I’m sure it does. Sure it feels like a weight has been lifted off you. I bet that secret’s just been eating you up inside all this time. Now, your other secret. Who are they? Who’s comin’ after us?”

“I tried to tell you,” Steve says, “it ain’t a they, it’s a him.”

Michael and Harry look at each other again, confused. “What do you mean?” Michael says.

“There’s no them,” Steve says. “It’s one guy. It’s Anthony’s brother.”

Michael snorts. “One guy? Bullshit. Bullshit. You think we’re gonna believe that? Harry, hold out his other hand.”

“No, no, I’m telling you – it’s one guy! It’s one fuckin’ guy!”

Harry watches as Michael hesitates. Thinks about this. Wonders if it could be true.

“Anthony’s brother?” Michael says. “What’s his name?”

“Tom,” Steve says. “Tom Rollins.”

“You in touch with him?”

“He gave me a phone, but it’s just a burner.”

“You got it on you?”

“No. It’s at home.”

“We could get it,” Harry says. “Message him, pretending to be Steve. Get him to meet us somewhere, ambush him.”

Steve laughs. “You think he’d fall for that?” He laughs harder, like something has come over him. He doesn’t sound like himself. “He ain’t some asshole amateur like all of y’all – this guy is hardcore. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s coming for you all. He’s gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“That sound like a smart thing you should be saying right now?” Michael says.

“Fuck you!” Steve says. He spits at him. “I’m already dead. You think I’m an idiot? I already know it.”

Harry hits him in the back of the head. “We could make him talk,” Harry says, to Michael. “Down the phone, to Tom. If he hears the voice, he’s more likely to believe it.”

“I won’t do it,” Steve says. He laughs again, but it sounds more like a bark. “There ain’t nothin’ you can make me do. This is the end. I told you everything you wanna know; this is the end for me. I ain’t stupid.”

“You sure sound stupid,” Michael says, “running off at the mouth like that.”

“He’s gonna kill you