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“When?” I snarl to Isay.
He checks his watch. “Dima and his team just breached the club on 75th less than sixty seconds ago.”
As soon as I heard his name, I wanted to tear out of the mansion and destroy Marat. But Nik slowed me down. He made me sit down and come up with a plan. He made me remember why I made him my second in the first place.
Instead of charging into this club to kill one man, we coordinated a dual attack with Dima’s men. In one go, we’re taking out two of Pavel’s clubs and any men inside. Between this and Dima swiping Budimir, the Gustev Bratva is going to hurt.
But right now, my entire focus is on how much I can make Marat hurt.
“When?” I growl again, bouncing from foot to foot.
“I don’t know. I haven’t—” Isay’s phone vibrates and he drops it in his pocket and reaches for his gun. “Now.”
We make our way to the back door while three more men move in through the front. There are emergency exits on the sides of the building, but one of them is blocked by a metal dumpster and the other is chained closed. Clearly, Pavel has the fire marshal in his back pocket.
On a normal run, I’d try to pick the lock and sneak in undetected, but today, I kick my boot into the center of the wooden door. The wood splinters around the lock and swings inward on rusty hinges.
I charge in with Isay right behind me. I’d rather it be Nik by my side, but he’s back at the mansion coordinating the attack via comms.
We’re halfway down a long hallway when I hear shouting and gunfire erupting from the front of the club. I’m making my way towards the noise when a door just ahead explodes open.
A man runs through the door, looking back over his shoulder at whatever he is running from. But he has no idea he’s running straight into the real monster.
As soon as he’s within arms’ reach, I slam him against the wall, knocking his gun out of his hand and the breath out of his lungs. The man’s wide eyes are wild and he’s already spewing out a string of pleas. But I’d recognize him anywhere.
I drive my forearm against his throat until he’s too busy choking to speak.
“Hello, Marat,” I growl. “I’d like to talk to you.”
By the time I string him up by his arms from the lighting rig above the dance floor, the three other men in the club with him are dead.
“Pavel isn’t here,” Marat blurts.
“I know.”
He frowns, sweat dripping down his forehead. “We don’t know where he is, either. He isn’t telling anyone.”
I tug on the ropes, checking to make sure they’ll hold. “I know that, too.”
“I can try to help you find him,” Marat says, his voice edging on hysterical. “I can call him. No one will have to know that I helped. I’ll be a double agent. I’ll work for you.”
“It would be easy for you since you already know so many members of my family,” I say. “Do you remember my sister? You shot her on my front lawn.”
The blood drains out of Marat’s face. He is sickly pale and trembling. His feet can barely touch the floor. He strains to get his toes underneath him and take some of the weight from his hands.
“After that, you met my fiancée. You must remember her,” I say, circling him slowly. “Or maybe you wouldn’t recognize her. She did have a bag over her head.”
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers. “I was following orders. I didn’t know who they were.”
The lie comes out of him so easily that I can’t stop myself. I lunge, driving my knife into his side. Blood flows down the handle, warming my fingers. I give it a twist before I pull it out. “Stop lying.”
He screams and then devolves into panicked panting.
“Akim trusted you to carry out a mission to kidnap and murder my family, but you can’t even endure a little torture?” I click my tongue. “Goons these days just aren’t what they used to be.”
I drive the knife into his other side. Blood spurts out, spraying across the smooth dance floor. It puddles underneath him, making it even harder for him to keep his toes on the ground. His hands are bright red from the restraints.
I drag the tip of the knife from his wrist to his elbow. Blood oozes from the thin cut and soaks into his shirt.
