AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I heard something…” I mumble with my head to the floor.
Viktor stops buttoning up his shirt and waits for me to continue.
I glance up at him but look back down at the tiled floor. “Someone was in the cell next to me when you first brought me here. Beating a man.”
“That seems to be what this place is meant for,” Viktor says, brushing off what I’m trying to tell him.
I should let him dismiss it. I should let whatever plot to betray the Mikhailov Bratva unfold. Maybe that’s the best way I can gain my freedom.
But I continue.
“Did you kill him?” I ask Viktor.
“There are other men on this compound,zaychik,” Viktor says as he buttons up his shirt. “I’m not responsible for every murder that happens here,” he says.
My cheeks burn at his response. I may not be a hardened criminal, but I’m not stupid.
“What made you think I was the one who killed him?” Viktor asks.
“The victim said the man who captured him is betraying his brothers.”
Viktor freezes. His eyes switch between each of mine, studying my face as if trying to determine whether I’m lying. He draws in a breath and looks at me in a way that makes me feel he doesn’t trust me but wants to know more.
“Did you hear anything else?” he asks.
I shake my head. “He was killed after that.”
Viktor slides his fingers around my arm, leading me out of the shower room and past the oven. When I expect him to lead me back to my cell, he turns left and takes me down a narrow hall instead. He pushes a door open, and I feel the frigid outside air gnaw at my skin.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“I told you,” Viktor says as he covers me with his jacket and lifts me into his arms. “You belong to me now,zaychik.”
Chapter13
VIKTOR
Aseries of missing wooden planks in a fence serves as a makeshift doorway to a private lot. I take a step through, lifting my leg above the bottom plank that holds the fence together. When my trailing leg passes it catches the end of a wayward nail and tears the cuff of my pants.
Once inside the lot, I look around. Other than a small clearing past the fence, there is a vast collection of old trash gathered in piles taller than me.
“Ey!” Vadim calls to a security guard wearing a yellow vest and carrying a rifle. The guard motions to a clearing inside the mountains of garbage and Vadim heads towards it.
I wince when I see we need to pass through a garbage heap that’s probably been sitting here rotting since World War II.
Behind the glamorous scenes that come with leading a criminal organization, there are places like this. Places you wouldn’t enter unless it meant making a lot of money.
The path inside is so narrow we need to walk it in single file. Vadim leads the way, Grigor follows, and I follow Grigor. The air becomes increasingly stale the further we go down the winding path. When we reach a mountain of old clothing, the smell of mold becomes overpowering. I swallow back my breath and am almost grateful when we pass into an area of abandoned parts where the stench changes to used motor oil. Vadim and Grigor’s torsos sway like pendulums as they walk ahead of me, Vadim’s blond hair contrasting with Grigor’s jet black hair, which he slicks to the back of his head.
I focus more on Vadim, wondering why he asked me to come today.
We reach a clearing and I suck in a large breath of air, grateful that although it’s probably still some of the most polluted air I’ve ever breathed, it smells better than the pile of junk we just had to cross through. This area of the lot is much cleaner and better organized. On one end is a row of military tanks. They could be decommissioned, but more likely they’re stolen and are being shipped to a client at some far end of the world.
Vadim walks towards the other direction where an unmarked truck is parked with its trailer door hanging open. A man dressed in a full military uniform stands inside. Grigor and I line up with Vadim so we all approach together.
Some rules in the criminal world are universal. When you greet someone you’re not familiar with, you do it in a way that shows strength but is not immediately threatening. You want to show your power without raising tensions.
Well, some people want that. Others want to find any excuse to whip out guns and start shooting.
