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He wiped the blade clean on his sleeve, then looked at it, flipping it in his palm.
“Yours, I believe,” he said, before putting his fingers on the flat side of the blade and handing it to me, handle out.
I tentatively took it from him, then lay it on top of the blanket on my lap. Brett looked at the blade with suspicion, then up at Alastair, like he had just made some kind of indecent proposal.
Brett stepped to the hooked nose one, Igor. He was sniffling, and from the moisture on his pants, he had wet himself. His eye was bruised, his lip cut. Hugo was walking around them, the brass knuckles Igor had worn the day before on his knuckles.
Hugo examined the brass with curiosity, flexing his fingers and closing it again as if it was a new toy.
“But this should be fast.” Brett said, his voice taking on a strange power, like he was the Angel of Death and vengeance. “You are bratva?”
Igor spat at Brett, the saliva landing on his cheek.
Brett’s chuckle was low, cruel, and unphased. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face, quietly folded it and put it away. Then he tilted his head, examining the quivering man before him.
He looked at me from over his shoulder and one side of his lip quirked up. “Did he touch you?”
“Yes.” I was delighted to tell Brett this. He would have vengeance on my behalf. More than the vengeance I had already inflicted on his face last night.
“Did he hit you in the back of the head with brass knuckles?” He continued.
“Yes.”
Igor started shivering. The chains that held him to the ceiling were menacingly jangling and he let out a wail like a stuck pig.
“Were they gentlemen?” Alastair’s voice, with its low rumble, filled my ears, and my lips parted of their own accord. “Did they let you beat them one at a time?”
The familiar words brought a warmth to my cheeks. I shook my head, not trusting my voice to speak.
“That’s unfortunate for them.” Alastair picked up an ice pick from a small white table of tools that I hadn’t noticed in the corner. He slowly, casually walked up to Igor as if he was going to introduce himself. Brett and Alastair stood before the man, like two sides of the same coin.
Alastair held up the ice pick for Brett to see. Brett shrugged and stepped back.
I watched in awe as Alastair fisted the ice pick in his hand and, with no expression whatsoever, slowly held it to Igor’s belly and gradually pushed it through the skin. The action was so slow that I wondered if I was seeing it the way I see a fight - in slow motion. But it wasn’t. Hugo was still moving at full speed, playing with the brass knuckles on his hand.
When Igor’s scream was finished, the ice pick deep in his belly, Hugo looked at me.
“Do you want this?” Hugo meant the brass knuckles. “As a souvenir?”
I shook my head.
“Do you mind if I keep it?” His voice was excited.
I shrugged, laughed, and said, “Go ahead.”
“Merci!“ he chirped.Thank you!
He looked so pleased. Like I had just given him the most precious of gifts.
Alastair tapped on the handle of the protruding ice pick, and Igor groaned at the miniscule movement.
“I will keep this in. You might take… days or even weeks to die.” Alastair said as though he were laying out the option for afternoon plans. “Or I can be merciful and put you out like a lame horse.”
He stepped away from him, his hands going back into his trouser pockets and looking at Igor like they were at a dinner party, discussing business over drinks.
“Answer the man’s question. Are you bratva?”
Igor’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. Alastair sighed in exasperation, like the man had just greatly inconvenienced him.
