Free Limitless by Robert J. Crane Page A

bastards,” Angus said, which was unexpected. Philip almost snorted a laugh, to see this little pig try and stand up on its hind legs in defiance. “You’re all a bunch of right bastards.” He spat at Philip. “You’re an arse.” He looked to Liliana. “You’re a twat.” He turned his gaze to Antonio in the corner. “And you’re a prick.”
    Antonio came off the wall slightly, a perplexed look crossing his dark features as he turned to Liliana. “What’s the difference between a twat and a prick?”
    “It is no great surprise to me…” Janus said from where he hung upside down, bleeding to the floor, “… that you would not know the answer to that.”
    Antonio started toward the old man, but Philip stopped him with a simple motion of the hand. “His future is not that bright,” Philip said. “Let him bask in the pain.” He snapped a finger at Liliana and she produced a knife, which she stabbed into the old man’s thigh. A high-pitched scream cut the air. She ran the blade down through the meat, and the agonizing noise continued.
    But now Angus added to it with a sound of his own—feverish, heavy, high-pitched breaths drawn all too quickly.
    Ah. There was the fear.
    Philip watched as Liliana pulled her blade from Janus, and with a nod he beckoned her on to Angus. The little piggy did better than he would have expected, lasting almost a full thirty seconds before he let loose his first scream.
    After that, he did not stop until it was over.

Chapter 15
    It was a simple brick house with a lovely yard—I think they call them gardens over here—and a white picket fence ringing the whole thing. If the sun had been shining instead of grey clouding out the twilight, it would have been idyllic. We parked on the street and got out, still wordless, Webster having fallen into a deep hole of reticence after we got in the car at New Scotland Yard.
    I suspected he was afraid of the same thing all big, strong, proud men were afraid of.
    That his mommy was going to tell me embarrassing stories about him. Or show me pictures of his naked butt from childhood. Which I didn’t care about. Because I was more interested in his naked butt as an adult.
    That didn’t need to be said, though.
    He went through a sequence of emotions as we walked up to the front door. They played out on his face one by one, and the common theme undergirding them all was fear. I knew because when it came to mothers, I was deeply familiar with fear. I knew all about it.
    “Listen,” he said, pausing on the step just outside. The hesitation was a force of its own, his lower lip jutting slightly. It was kinda cute. “My mum…”
    “Is she some kind of heinous villain who’s going to cut me off at the knees?” I asked.
    “No, nothing like that,” he said with a shake of the head. “Besides, you’ve already had that happen once today.”
    “Is she cruel? Will she lock me in the basement and never let me out?”
    “What? No,” he said, mildly horrified.
    “Then we’re fine,” I said and knocked on the door for him. He looked a little jarred as I did it but swallowed his pride and knocked himself, a little louder, as though I hadn’t just done it.
    “Just a minute!” came a high voice from inside, muffled by the doors and walls between us. I could hear someone bustling across wood floors in a hurry. When the door swung open, we were faced with a delightful, matronly lady who stood partially obscured behind the door. Her hair was tinged with red, making it a light auburn. She already wore a smile before she even saw Webster, but it brightened immediately once she laid eyes on him.
    “Matthew!” she cried out in joy and had him in a great hug a second later. She crossed over the threshold without even taking notice of me, and she buried her head on his chest. She was shorter than him by a head or more and looked to be an inch or two taller than me, if that. She carried with her a faint scent of sweet perfume that reminded me of