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A dull laugh accompanies my request, and the sound of the door closing is my reply.
Fear has been replaced by anger. How dare they treat me like this? Okay, I may have tried to murder someone today, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have rights. A phone call, at least. They owe me that.
As the silence surrounds me in fear once more, I try so hard to breathe. In and out, deeper every time, while trying not to inhale my own blood and bad decisions.
I may die here today, and it will be death by drowning in my own blood. Nobody will care. Nobody will mourn me and perhaps it may just be for the better.
CHAPTER 5
MIKHAIL
Iglance down at my hands and note the blood splattered on my cuffs and growl, “Fuck! That’s another shirt ruined.”
Damien raises his eyes. “Do you want to change?”
“Of course I fucking want to change, but time is against us.”
I’m antsy because it’s one thing smashing a man’s face in, but another thing entirely marking my shirt with his rancid blood.
We left Carter’s office and are now heading toward the screening room to discover who sent the hitman to take Carter out. It may be nothing, but I don’t leave loose ends lying on the sidewalk to trip me up.
“I can deal with this if you like.” Damien reminds me of his role, and I shake my head.
“It’s fine. I have a few hours to kill before my dinner date tonight, and I’m in the mood to let off some steam.”
He laughs softly. “And rearranging Carter’s face didn’t do that for you?”
“Not even close.”
I smirk as he rolls his eyes and once again I catch sight of the blood on my shirt. Fuck. I hate shit like this. I should have been more respectful to my tailor.
We discuss what we learned on the way and by the time we pull off the highway toward Pike’s Creek, Damien has made the call to investigate Iris Mahoney. I’m confident we will have her address in London by the time I head out to dinner tonight and so I instruct him to arrange a flight plan to leave in the morning.
It doesn’t take long before we pull into the underground car park that is screened by trees and into the sterile environment of one of my establishments. Privacy is my number one requirement, and we have several screening rooms all over the world that ensure our investigations remain private.
The car pulls to a stop and the mechanical doors close behind us and we are met by Sergei, one of my more trusted enforcers.
“Boss.” He nods respectfully and falls into step beside me as we head toward the interview room.
“Anything?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“As delivered.”
I nod, grateful that my men know what I like. I’m the sick bastard who relishes the fear in my victim’s eyes when I pull off the hood and they focus for the first time on me.
It’s a rush that never gets old and as we head into the sterile environment, I note the slight figure slumped in the chair, bound entirely for my pleasure.
I waste no time in striding across the room and stopping in front of the person strapped to the chair and I shake my head with disgust.
This guy looks like a kid. Small, slim, and hardly able to throw a punch, let alone slay a man in broad daylight surrounded by the press. As I said before, fucking amateur.
At the sound of my approach, he sits up a little straighter and I note the tremble running through his body and I smile inside. He’s shit scared. He needs to be.
Sergei moves behind the kid, and I nod, watching as he grasps the hood and with a flick of his knife, he cuts the tie binding it at the neck. As he wrenches the hood off, I stare in disbelief at the face drenched in blood and I growl, “What the fuck is this?”
The guy coughs and blood trickles from his nose and mouth and as he raises his eyes to mine, I stare into two startling pools of aquamarine.
“Sergei …” I hiss, pointing to the blood. “Explain this.”
