Seeing the hacksaw, he wails, “Please! I can help. I know who I touched now. The Russian girl. I’m sorry. It was under orders. They wanted her to submit! I can tell you things that’ll help her. I know she wants to be a Veronian. They’re already talking about how she has the most potential?—”
I set the blade to his arm. He weeps and bucks, wriggling and moaning as he puts up a fight, but there’s no fighting industrial vices.
With the blade lodged into his muscle, he cries, “YES. She was supposed to be myvero!”
Vero. Partner.
“If you thought that would save you, you’re an idiot,” Misha decries.
Blood spurts and spatters as I get to work on his first wrist, more satisfied than ever at having wrung him dry.
It’s surprisingly difficult to cut through bone when blood makes everything so slippery, but fuck, the satisfaction is worth it.
He howls and screams and sobs and pisses himself, then thankfully,he passes out.
Someone puts on music and I can hear the clinking of glasses as my men sink back vodka shots and hand bottles around—pigs mean free vodka. The good shit, too.
When the first hand is off, nerves twitching and blood spurting lethargically, I snap my fingers.
Someone brings out the iron, steam rising from it as tiny drops of water dance before disintegrating into the air.
Like I’m about to press a shirt, I shove the hot metal against his stub.
He wakes, long enough to scream in agony, before passing out again.
Whistling, I move around to the second hand, where I find his brand nestled on his wrist.
Same old, same old.
I stick the tip of my blade above the crown and slice it out.
When I cauterize this wound, he doesn’t wake up.
He remains unconscious as I sever his other hand and cauterize the new stub.
Doused in his lifeblood, I release him from the vices and watch him kiss the concrete floor with his forehead.
“Think his shoulders are busted, boss,” Tima crows as Bordeau wakes up.
Just in time to gain a third and final stub—right between his legs.
Five minutes later, Kirill steps into the puddle of light. “Next move,shukher?”
“Keep him alive.”
“With Harrington?”
I nod.
“The old man’s getting an infection,” Kirill warns.“The cop’s bound to with those kinds of wounds as well.”
“We keep Harrington going for as long as we can. Ask Valentini. He’ll help. He developed a drug to make sure his enemies live long enough to suffer. Then he decides when to put them out of their misery.
“If the cop needs a doctor, get him one. We’re not beasts, Kirill.”
Dipping his chin, he retreats, cell in hand, then implements my orders while Tima steps closer with a cooler prepped and ready to go.
After setting the extremities inside, I back off so I don’t get blood on it. “Wrap that up and put it in the SUV I’ll be taking to Poughkeepsie.”
