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“Of course, baby. I figured they can keep you company while I deal with something.”
“What kind of something?”
I raised a brow. “Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not. That way I still have plausible deniability.”
Two hours later, I walked into the basement of The Four Kings. I had an idea of what I’d find and I wasn’t disappointed. Not even a little. Instead of being strung up like the last guy, Sorokino was strapped to a chair, exactly the same way Pru had been when we rescued her from the warehouse. The irony was not lost on me.
From the blood dripping down his face, Kas and Mak had taken a few shots before I arrived. He glared at me through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. I ignored him and whistled a tune as I strolled casually to the table in the far corner. Normally the heavy hitting was left for Mak to handle, but this motherfucker would bleed by my own hands. And I couldn’t wait to hear him scream.
There was so much to choose from on the table, it was almost overwhelming. In the end, I chose a knife and a blowtorch. Honestly, the second was more for show, but if he didn’t give me what I wanted, all bets were off. I turned, pulled the shirt over my head, and tossed it on a nearby chair.
“You fucked up when you went after my woman.”
He spat a mouthful of blood on the floor. “Well, you fucked up when you cut Victor out of the family.”
“Family?” I swung out, my right fist connecting with his jaw. “Victor was the only family I had left when my parents were murdered, and, instead of supporting me, he tried to burn me to the ground.”
“Bullshit. He was trying to help you.”
Kas laughed. “Is that what he told you? Victor’s version of help would’ve killed all of us.”
“Enough stalling.” I growled. “Where is he?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Pru was waiting at home for me. One way or another, he’d give up the information, whether it was during my interrogation or Mak’s. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I noted the time. He had fucked around, and I’d give him exactly thirty minutes to talk before he found out.
His lower lip split open with my second punch.
He lost a tooth with my third.
I was done playing games.
“You like knives, right?”
Unsheathing the one in my hand, I slammed it to the hilt several inches above his right knee, purposefully missing anything vital. Killing him right away wouldn’t get me what I wanted. The smell of copper tickled my nose seconds before his bone-chilling shriek ripped through the sound-proof room. It didn’t satisfy the beast inside me, so I did the same to his other leg.
“Brutal,” Kas muttered.
“He’s just getting warmed up,” Mak added.
I’d seen the photos of Pru’s injuries from the police report. I’d memorized each and every cut that twisted bastard gave her. He tortured her without mercy, and he’d discover I was capable of the same.
“I need a clear canvas.” I nodded to my brothers. “Strip him down.”
They didn’t bother unstrapping him, instead they used their own knives to slice the clothes off his body until he was left in a pair of black boxer briefs. I hadn’t said a word, but for some reason, Mak felt the need to explain.
“His underwear stays on, Zak. I might be a sick fuck when I’m down here working, but dicks are a hard limit.”
Kas snorted.
“You know what I meant, asshole.”
“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “Let’s get started.”
Just as I thought, thirty minutes was plenty of time to break him. In actuality, it had only taken twenty. The last ten were for what happened after the fundraiser. Isaak Sorokino was a whimpering, sniveling mess, worlds apart from the arrogant prick he was when I first arrived. Maybe it was the blood loss––and there had been plenty––that convinced him to save his own hide. Whatever it was, we knew Victor’s hiding spot. Better still, we had a plan to get to him.
