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I throw the van in park once more and kill the motor just as Lenka appears to open the gate. Rasputin and Viktor follow a moment later as Kristof hauls open the van’s sliding side door.
“Let’s make this quick. We’ve got the trap door open, and I don’t want any of the staff stumbling upon it by accident. I don’t care how trustworthy they might be.” Viktor’s all business now, and I can see in his commanding features that same authority his father holds so effortlessly. He’s going to be just like Sergio when he takes over as Pakhan. I know it.
A solid reason to take the heir apparent out when I kill Sergio.
So many reasons to wipe out the Sakharov name. And only one very good one not to.
Alina.
“You take his arms. I’ll get his legs,” Rasputin commands Kristof as they step up to grab the first prisoner.
Something about the guy reminds me of the butcher’s son. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s the nephew the butcher was trying to protect. Poor old man. The look of devastation on his face when we dragged our prisoners from their hidey-hole tells me he might never forgive himself.
I step up to help Lenka grab the next one.
“Malik and I will stay and keep an eye on the other three,” Viktor states. “Get a move on.”
It’s heavy work, hauling dead weight across the yard and through the sliding doors of the living room. Then a right down the hallway to the cigar room. Thoughts of Alina flood my mind as I remember the first time she dragged me in here after I brought her home safely from a few rough days of tromping through the woods. She went down on me as a thank-you, and it makes my cock twitch just thinking about it.
Best payment I’ve ever received, and I would have gladly brought her home safely for free. Truth be told, saving Alina is probably the best decision I’ve ever made. And it’s been the easiest by far in my dumpster fire of a life.
Grinding my teeth, I force my eyes away from the spot where she knelt and focus on the trap door in the floor near the back wall. The impressive Persian rug that typically covers it has been tossed back, granting us full access.
I go first, letting Lenka steer me with his words as we climb down the narrow staircase—and into something of a labyrinth below. The walls and ceiling look like they’ve been carved out of the Brownstone’s foundation. They’re certainly not a part of the house’s original design. After several winding hallways of dirt walls, exposed electrical wiring, and sharp, uneven corners, we end up in a rough-hewn enclosure.
This is where Sergio takes the men he plans to torture slowly and give a painful death—something he intends to do with the men who threatened his life and nearly killed Alina. The basement is soundproofed for that very reason and locked at all times.
As we enter it for the first time, I can’t help but look around and take it all in.
The floor, unlike the passageways leading through the labyrinth, has been finished with tiles that all slant inward slightly toward a large drain at the center. Likely, an easy way to wash it clean and rid the space of blood and gore. Chains hang from the ceiling—one of which is currently occupied by the man Rasputin and Kristof hauled inside. A tray of torture devices sits off to one side of the room.
This must be where my brother was brought to die.
Fresh waves of fury rise in me at the reminder that he was probably in excruciating pain for days before they killed him. This room was built specifically for torturing men, for wringing every ounce of humanity from them before their life comes to a cold, bloody end.
I should have tried harder to break in. I should have freed him. But that’s even harder to do from the inside of a jail cell than one might think.
Lenka drops our man’s feet, drawing me back to my present circumstances. I glance up to realize we’re standing below another set of chains, and as I prop our man up, Lenka raises his arms to suspend him from the ceiling.
“On to round two,” Kristof says with a grin as we finish.
We all tromp back upstairs, slipping through the house on quiet feet as we avoid passing as many servants as we can. But when we get outside, the remaining three prisoners are already starting to wake.
“Let’s get going before they start to make trouble,” Viktor commands, grabbing one arm of the nearest man while Malik grabs the other.
They haul him out of the van together, letting his feet drag as they head in. Rasputin and Kristof lift their second guy much like they did the first, carrying him out of the van and through the gate in a flash.
But as Lenka and I approach our guy, he lashes out. Two feet slam into Lenka’s chest, launching him back against the side of the van before he sees it coming.
“Bastard!” he snarls, rising to land a solid kick to the guy’s ribs.
The prisoner releases a groan, flinching away from the boot, but when Lenka reaches down to grab him, he still struggles.
“Help me, Novichok,” Lenka growls in frustration.
Balling my fist, I slam it into the guy’s nose, stunning him. He goes limp, his struggles halting abruptly. I grab his free arm as we drag him off the floor of the van together.
We make it to the sliding glass door of the living room before he seems to wake from his stupor. And once again, we’re stuck with a struggling prisoner who doesn’t give a damn how much noise he makes.
