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“Tell me where she is, Sergei. Now. Or I’m going to start breaking other things. Delicate things. Things that you don’t want me breaking.”
Heaving loudly, he looks up at me through the hair matted to his forehead by sweat and blood. “Fuck you, Arsen! You think you can beat me into talking? You have nothing!” he roars, and without thinking, I slam my fist into his chin.
Bursts of pain radiate out into my own arm. It was stupid to use my bare knuckles—they’ll be bruised from the impact—but I wanted to shut him up without taking away his ability to talk. With as much force as possible, I swing the bat against his left knee. The kneecap shatters like dry kindling.
Sergei shrieks in pain, but I don’t stop. The next hit is on his ankle. Then the other kneecap. Dipping the bat under his chin, I wait for him to finish moaning before I tilt his face toward me.
“Tell. Me. Where. She. Is.”
“I don’t know!” he coughs. A tooth tumbles from his lips, clattering on the floor of my basement. This section of my wine cellar has perfect soundproofing and temperature control. But even then, it does little to soothe the adrenaline-induced heat searing across my skin.
“This is a waste of time.” Mila kicks the tooth aside with a look of disgust. “I told you we should’ve started with his toes, his eyelids … the space beneath his nails.” She waves a knife from side to side with a predatory sneer. “But I get first dibs on his balls.”
“I’m doing the interrogation, not you,” I grumble. I heft the bat once more.
Sergei’s eyes widen as I prepare for round three. “I don’t know where she is because he’s moving her around!” he blurts.
I hesitate. “Continue.”
“Yevgeniy has multiple safe houses. He’s carting her from one to the next to make sure you can’t find them!”
Frowning thoughtfully, I lean closer to him. “Which safe houses?”
“The old ones that were used as brothels.” He licks his split, swollen lips. “You should remember them. They made us a mint before you shut them all down.”
Being reminded of how I revolted against Yevgeniy brings me a satisfying thrill—one I desperately need. Yes. I’ve beaten him in the past ... I can beat him again.
Before I can ask for more details, Mila storms forward. She grabs Sergei by his scalp, forcing him to look at her from an awkward angle as she stands behind him.
“Do you miss them?” She traces her knife along his neck, leaving behind a thin red line in its wake. “Those houses of misery and horror?”
“Fuck you, whore,” he sneers at her, finding a few last scraps of cockiness. “Maybe his precious Galina will be a better one than you. At least she looked like she could last a few rounds without falling apart like you did. And she looks like a better screamer than you.”
Mila’s eyes flare wider. I’m on the verge of crushing his exposed Adam’s apple with the bat.
But instead, I consider what he accidentally revealed. He doesn’t know Galina is Yevgeniy’s daughter. If he did, he’d never suggest she’d end up in a brothel. Now that’s interesting. Yevgeniy is keeping that detail close to his chest.
Turning on my heel, I toss the bloody bat aside, then head for the stairs. “I’ve heard everything I needed to hear. Do with him what you will, Mila. But make it painful.”
Sergei lets out a whimpering, “Wait, what?”
“Oh, Sergei.” Mila’s delighted laughter floods the cellar. “How many rounds do you think you’ll last in my hands? How loud of a screamer do you think you are? Because I’m betting you’re a loud one.”
I make it to the top of the stairs before Sergei’s first blood-curdling scream reaches me. But once I shut the door behind me, the sounds fade away to nothing. Yes, the soundproofing is excellent.
Rubbing my jaw anxiously, I mull over what Sergei said. Which old brothel could Galina be hidden in? There are so many of them, but it would have to be one that doesn’t have any foot traffic these days. A place secluded enough not to draw attention from junkies looking for an abandoned space to shoot up or squatters hoping to make their home.
I should have drilled Sergei for more details before handing him off to Mila. Well, too late now. Entering the kitchen, I have to wipe the bottoms of my shoes, as well as a few bloody footprints, from the kitchen tiles. I’m messier than I realized. I wash my hands in the sink, removing the blood that’s starting to scab over. It wouldn’t be the first time I was spotted in my home covered in gore, but I prefer not to give off an overly violent image with my staff whenever I can.
Ulyana will skewer me for the mess in the cellar.
I take a quick shower after I go upstairs, and change into clean clothes. I’m in the middle of putting on new, blood-free shoes when Mila sways into my bedroom doorway. As if to spite my attempts at keeping the place from looking like a slaughterhouse, she trails blood behind her with every step.
“You look fresh as a babe,” she says.
“Can you not track blood all over my carpets?”
“Don’t get so pissy at me. I have good news.” Crossing her arms, she leans on my doorframe. “Before I ripped his tongue out, Sergei gave up more info. It’s amazing how quickly men start telling the truth when you have a knife at their balls.”
