”About time,” Francesca muttered, her tone ill-natured.

”Boss, you spare no pity on us, do you?” Billie whined, pretending to gnash his teeth.

”We had business to sort out,” Shane replied.

”What business?” Billie wondered right away.

”And what’s so important about it?” Henry lifted his eyebrow.

”It’s always oh-so-important,” Francesca sneered.

Shane opened her mouth, ready to answer, but was cut off by Bette.

”That’s enough. In case you need a reminder, I’m not answering to any of you,” the brunette said forcefully, glaring at her subordinates. ”You, otherwise, do answer to me. So one of you is going to report to me right now while I’m listening very carefully.”

The gang members pouted.

”Long story short, a bartender at Richie’s told us some details about the guys and we tracked them down to their den in Glendale. They’ve been tight-lipped since we caught them, so we know nothing about them,” Catherine informed.

”Richie’s? Downtown?” Bette asked.

Catherine nodded.

”It’s an Irish Pub,” the brunette stated matter-of-factly, mostly speaking to herself.

”Well yeah,” Catherine said. ”So?”

This was getting more and more interesting, Bette thought to herself. She stared at her gang members vacantly for a moment before shaking her head a little. ”Never mind,” she mumbled and walked up to the entrance.

As soon as she came inside, she saw Mark and Tasha sitting by the wall, clearly there to keep an eye on the two men that were slouching in their chairs, their wrists and ankles bound. Bette drew closer, eyeing the men intently. She was yet to see their faces, for both men were sitting with their backs to her.

”Oh, hey, Bette,” Mark greeted as he and Tasha rose to their feet. ”The fuckers haven’t said a word since we found them. We tried to ask questions. Nothing,” he explained.

”You two leave,” Bette commanded to her partners, not breaking her hard gaze from the hostages.

Just as Mark and Tasha closed the door from the outside, Bette moved to stand in front of the men. Their heads were hung low, but Bette could see that their faces were cut and bleeding a little. They appeared barefooted, their clothes dirty and bloodstained here and there. The brunette drew closer and grabbed one of them by the hair, pulling at it to lift his bowed head. She studied his face carefully, turning his head from left to right. Dried blood trailed out of the side of his mouth, one of his eyes was nearly completely closed, swollen from blows onto it. She relinquished her grip of the man’s hair, letting his head fall limp on his chest. Then she stepped toward the other man and carried out the same inspection.