Page 112 of Coveted By Cupid

It sure as hell will.

“Cupid, do me one favor?”

My lips turn down. Owing favors to a different MC is not something I want. “What is it?”

“When you find Boden, make it hurt.”

I grin, my smile clear in my voice as I say, “Count on it.” And then I disconnect the call.

Before I get too caught up in the torture portion of the night’s activities, I text Trigger and Hound in a chat.

Heads up, guys. The Mercy Ravens are aware you’re in Fort Collins, and they’re cool with it. Hound, don’t worry if they or the police show up at Boden’s—they have it under control.

“Cupid?” Oaks hollers for me at the other end of the corridor near the basement stairs. “We’re ready when you are.”

“Coming,” I say with a pep in my step as I follow him downstairs.

In the same cold, stone room where I killed Artem, Kirill and Mikhail hang by their wrists from the support beam above where they’re attached to a pulley system, their feet dangling. It’s fitting they will join their partner in death in the same place he died.

“Are we good with the Mercy Ravens?” Oaks asks when we step into the room, knowing I had been on the phone with Atlas seconds ago.

“Yup. We have their blessing to do whatever we want with them,” I say with a smirk, picking up a rusted pipe from the tools Crypt has laid out for me.

Kirill is hurling vile insults at my men while Mikhail is still not fully conscious, struggling to keep his eyes open. The vodka bottle to the head must have given him a nasty concussion.

Pity. I wanted him lucid for torture, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Hitting the palm of my hand with the pipe like a baseball player beating in his glove for a game, I approach Kirill and smile. “Welcome to my humble abode. Hope you like the accommodations. If not, it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here long enough to settle in.”

Kirill snarls through his teeth. “Fuck you, Cupid.”

“Is that any way to talk to your host?” I ask, ruffling his feathers some more. “Speaking of talks, you’re going to answer some questions for me.”

“I’m not answering shit.”

“Your disobedience will not be tolerated.” To drive my point home, I give him a generous love tap on his right busted kneecap with the pipe.

Kirill cries out a shriek of pain loud enough to wake Mikhail out of his stupor. The henchman’s eyes widen with terror when he registers he’s suspended from the ceiling and his boss is being tortured. Panicked, he shakes, rattling his chains and whispering frantic prayers.

“Oh, good! You’re awake. Didn’t want you to miss out on the fun,” I say sarcastically, making my men chuckle around us.

Mikhail hyperventilates, realizing he’s screwed. For a henchman, he’s weak.

Sensing Mikhail will break before Kirill, I pivot my interrogation onto him. “I was just telling your wrinkly-ass boss here that I want my questions answered. If not…”

I slam the pipe against Kirill’s other busted kneecap. His scream bounces off the stone walls, ringing in my ears.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want!” Mikhail shouts, tears flooding his eyes.

“Mikhail!” Kirill hollers through his pain. “Say nothing. Give them nothing.”

Drift punches the Russian boss in the gut, making him cough violently. “Unless you’re offering something, shut the fuck up, grandpa.”

My eyes hold Mikhail’s while I twist the pipe in my hands, ready to swing it like a baton.

“I’ll speak! I’ll speak!” Mikhail cries, swaying from the beam with how hard his body trembles.

“That’s the spirit,” I say, pleased as I rest the pipe on my shoulder. “Tell me about Boden Vaughn. Did he recommend you take his ex for the trade?”