“Cole,” she says.
She’s my wife. My sub. She needs me.
So I take my gun out of Tarasov’s mouth.
I force myself to take three long steps away from where he hangs.
I offer Kate the revolver.
And I wait.
39
KATE
Idon’t take the gun.
I want it, more than I can say. I want to fold my fingers around the grip. I want to shove the saliva-soaked barrel up Tarasov’s fucking arse. I want to feel him tremble, hear him plead, know he’s finally going to pay for all the bad decisions he’s made over his lifetime.
But he needs to suffer more.
I glance at Cole. “Cameras?” I ask him.
He crosses to a panel on the wall. After flipping four switches, he says, “They’re on.” He points out the glinting lenses, floor and ceiling. That’s for Tarasov’s benefit. I learned where they were weeks ago, when Cole tied me to the bed. “Motion activated,” he adds, understanding that we’re teaching my prisoner.
“Video and audio?”
“Yes.”
“Color or black and white?”
“Color.”
“Excellent. And just to be certain… This room is soundproof?”
“Completely.”
“The only ways in and out are the staircase there and the elevator in the corner.”
“That’s it.”
“There’s no way past the gate.”
“Only if someone with access works the biometric controls.”
Someone with access… Like I had, when I let Megan and Tarasov enter weeks ago. When I gave the gobshite the power to terrorize us, to tie us up in our own home, to force Cole to work for the bratva, and to hand over his Picasso.
Today, I start to balance the accounts.
First off, I cross to the refrigerator that hums against the wall. I take out a bottle of chilled water, Voss, because my prisoner deserves only the best. I crack the top and hold it to his lips, tilting gently while he guzzles down every drop.
I can’t have my captive getting too dehydrated. Not if he’s going to last.
“Hey, shitehawk,” I say to Tarasov, as if we’re having an ordinary conversation. “You have a choice to make today.”
He’s still man enough to glare at me. That will change. I can be patient.
“Achoice,” I repeat, as if he might not understand the word. “Like the ones you gave me when you dragged me, blindfolded, to the toilet. Like the ones you gave me Friday night, when you bargained over Viktor.”
