For the first time, Callan felt a genuine camaraderie with Adrian.
âThank you, Mr. Miller.â
Midway through the meal, Callanâs phone buzzed.
He stepped away to answer, then returned with a concerned look.
âMr. Miller, that car followed us into the neighborhood. Theyâre outside now.â
Adrianâs face turned steely.
âHandle it.â
Joelle picked up on the tension immediately.
âLeah, take Aurora to another room for a bit.â
âAlright.â
Soon, Callan returned, bringing in the man from the car. Adrian and Joelle continued eating, unfazed, as if this were a regular occurrence.
âDid the smell of our cooking lure you in?â Joelle looked at their guest with a mocking smile.
The manâs eyes darted around nervously, shutting his mouth as he realized heâd been caught.
Adrian looked away coldly.
âCallan!â
Callan quickly grabbed the manâs jaw, preventing any attempt to bite down.
Joelle set down her fork, her voice cool.
âAfraid of death but too scared to talk to us?â
The man finally sneered.
âYou knew all along.â
Adrian wiped his hands slowly.
âWade sent you, didnât he?â
The man glared defiantly.
âYouâll get nothing from me!â
âBut youâve already told us everything!â
The man eyed them warily.
âWhat do you mean?â
His question hung in the air, unanswered. As a minor character, he wasnât entitled to explanations.
Adrian glanced at Joelle.
âHave you had enough?â
Joelle dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.
âYes, Iâm done.â
âCallan, bring him over here.â
The oil in the pan hissed angrily, bubbles of hot fat popping violently.
The man was not so much afraid of death as he was of torture. As Callanâsurprisingly robust for his ageâdragged him closer to the searing pan, the manâs resolve began to crumble.
With his hand mere inches from the boiling oil, panic overtook him, and he cried out, âIâll talk! Iâll talk!â
Adrianâs sneer was chilling.
âI was starting to think you were tough.â
The manâs terror was palpable. He had narrowly escaped horrific pain. The mere thought of it made his stomach churn.
.
.
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