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CHAPTER13
Kirill
Bloodlust.
I’d had more than one person accuse me of being too savage in nature, preventing me from providing any aspect of mercy. The phrase wasn’t tossed around in admiration but out of fear of the lengths I could go to.
The scent of blood had remained in my nostrils the entire time I’d been talking with Rian. A part of me had wanted nothing more than to slice him ear to ear, watching as the blood stained his perfectly white tile floor. The restraint I’d used in deference to Candy weighed heavily on my mind. She did owe me.
Hissing, I stepped out of my car, studying the safehouse. We used that term loosely, the location centered in a section that bridged the Italians as well as the Armenians and Polish forces. The house was used by spies who’d infiltrated the Polish mob but had recently been vacated. Our spies were moving up in the world.
Dimitre pulled up right behind me, immediately getting out of his car. “The place looks like shit.”
Snorting, I had to agree with him. “It’s supposed to look like shit.”
We moved to the back door, and I knew it would be unlocked. I heard nothing as I walked through the downstairs, finally opening the door to the basement. The area was perfect for handling certain aspects of business, including interrogation. We found Vassily and two of his men waiting, but I could tell all three were itching to provide punishment for not supplying information.
Granted, I’d run out of patience, my eagerness to get back to her increasing every passing minute. If the fucker wanted payment, then whatever he had would need to hold merit.
I nodded toward Vassily, who grinned and moved away.
“Looks like we’re going to have a party,” he said, nodding toward Dimitre.
“I’d prefer a piece of rare beef and full bottle of cabernet,” Dimitre huffed.
At this point, so would I.
After a few seconds, I walked in front of the man, glaring down at him. They’d worked him over, likely for his arrogance in thinking he was owed anything. While that usually pissed me off since I preferred handling this business myself, at least conditioning him would likely loosen his tongue. If not, then he’d be tossed into the trash like anyone else refusing to cooperate.
“What’s your name?” I asked, as if I cared.
“Roger. Roger Guthrey.”
“Well, Roger, it would seem you have information you believe is worth money. Why don’t we get straight to business? How much money do you believe this prized information is worth?”
He thought about my question, as if I was being serious. “Twenty k.”
One of the other soldiers started to laugh. While they were in standby in case a cleanup was needed, that didn’t mean they didn’t appreciate the value of a man being taught a lesson.
“That’s a hefty sum, Roger. I suggest that you start talking.”
He glanced from Vassily back to me, already quivering. That was a dead giveaway he knew better than to ask for that kind of money. Allowing him to live was payment enough.
When he continued to hesitate, Dimitre smacked him in the jaw. I threw up my hand, shaking my head. “Roger, I do think it’s in your best interest to start talking. You have five seconds to do so.” I didn’t bother telling him the consequences if he ignored me.
Four.
Three.
Two.
“There are some shit Italian assholes out to get you,” he sputtered.
The few words were enough to drag out my curiosity. “Go on.”
“They want to bring you down piece by piece.”
I gave Vassily a quick look. The man rolled his eyes. Who didn’t want to bring us down piece by piece? Unfortunately, the fucker was lying. I hated when anyone lied to me. When I’d looked carefully into his eyes, I’d notice that he was doing his best acting performance, hired by someone to try to instigate a war with the Italian mafia. What wasn’t widely known, including by lower-level soldiers within the Bratva was that we had an unspoken pact with the leader of the Italian Mafioso.
