I lean more weight into my knee. Peter grunts in response. “What did he take from his employer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Peter, come on now, play along. Don’t make this messy.”
“I don’t know! They don’t tell me that kind of thing.”
“You run security for the old man, don’t you?”
“Da, yes, Boris Baranov is my employer.”
“Then surely you’ve heard something. Come on, big guy. Give me something.”
Sweat dribbles down his forehead. I hate this part, where the panic starts to kick in. He’s trying to think of some way out of this situation. Maybe he’s thinking he can fight, maybe if he moves fast enough, he might even win. The element of surprise and all that.
I whip the knife away from his neck and jab it down hard into his right eye.
Peter screams. He flails knocking me sideways as his hands come up to the blade. He bucks like a dying hog, and honestly, it’s impressive, if a little bit much. Blood and eye juice covers my hand. I wipe it off on his comforter and slip another knife from my belt. When he begins to calm, I grab him by the hair and drag him onto the floor, leaving a nasty trail on the sheets.
“Deep breath, big guy, this is going to hurt.” I grab the hilt of the knife.
“No, wait, no, please?—“
I rip it out.
He screams. I knew he would. This time, I muffle his cries with a pillow shoved against his face. I shush him softly and flick away the gore-covered eye. It skitters like a squashed grape across the floor.
“There, there, it’s okay, big guy, it’s all over. You’re okay. You’re alive! And just think, you earned a new nickname tonight!”
“Fuck you,” he hisses when I move the pillow away.
I kick him in the face. He grunts and falls onto his side. I straddle him, knife pressed to his neck, point right in the soft spot at the top of his chest. He’s hissing in breaths, bloody gore rolling down his cheek.
“Let’s try again. Tell me about Kieren. What did he take?”
“I don’t know!”
“Do you have any idea how badly he hurt my future wife? She’s so pissed at that guy, and in any other situation, I wouldn’t care. What’s she to me? But I’m marrying her, which means she’s my responsibility, for better or for worse. So help me out. I want to get her some closure. What did Kieren take?”
“I don’t give a fuck about your future wife you—“ He starts cursing at me in Russian.
I jab the new knife into his left eye.
Peter doesnotlike that. He mewls like a baby and twists around, doing the spinning crocodile. I step back and watch him flop about, his tiny dick slapping his inner thigh. More blood streaks the floor.
“Okay, okay, I got you, I got you.”
“My eyes! I can’t see, my God, I can’t see!”
I leave the knife where it is and draw a third, running the blade across his neck. That gets Peter’s attention. “I’ll pull it out if you ask nicely."
“No, please don’t. I need… hospital… please…”
“Kieren. Talk.”
“I don’t know anything! I don’t—“ He hisses when I cut him. It’s not doing anything for me at this point. Peter’s putting up a decent fight, but god, it’s so boring. We both know eventually he’ll break. Hopefully we’re skipping ahead to that part now.
“Do us both a favor and talk, please.”
