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Chapter 30
Dimitri
As much as I hate this place, there’s no denying the utility of The Pit. I know it’s supposed to be my uncle’s dedicated prison, but a good handful of unused floors would make the perfect secure location for a little early morning interrogation.
I’m not going to hurt the man if I don’t have to. Whether he cooperates or not is entirely his choice.
We’ve strapped him to a chair, his arms and legs bound. The effects of the tranquilizer are finally wearing off. He sways in his seat, head rolling from side to side as his mouth drops open to cough and groan. His body spasms and his breaths come in rough gasps. What the hell was in that tranq? Whatever it was, it was strong enough to knock a grown, three-hundred-pound man out like he was a child.
I lean forward in my seat, watching him. My patience is wearing thin. I don’t have time to allow him to enjoy his high. I reach out and pat his cheek roughly.
“Wake up,” I snap.
“Wha—”
“What’s your name?”
He blinks at me. This can go one of two ways. Either the drugs in his system will make him extra agreeable or a massive pain in my ass. I sincerely hope for the former.
The Levitsky thug stares blankly at me, the rims of his eyes bright red and pupils blown wide. I don’t think he even knows what year it is, let alone his name.
“Do you know what happened to you?” I ask, pushing on. “Where’s Levitksy?”
“Levitsky…” he echoes. “Nice guy.”
I snort. “Not from where I’m sitting. Tell me where I can find him?”
He gives me a dopey smile. “Gonna get me in trouble.”
“You won’t be in trouble, I promise. I’m an old friend of his.”
“Are you?” He arches a thick eyebrow. “Never heard of ya.”
“My name’s Dimitri,” I say, trying to keep the conversation flowing. Maybe I can take advantage of his loopy mental state. All I need to do is keep him talking while he doesn’t have a filter. If his defenses are down, there’s no telling what kind of information I can pull from him.
If not, Boris is waiting on standby with a pair of pliers and a baseball bat. I told him to get creative if need be, though I’m hoping it doesn’t have to come to that.
“What’s your name?” I ask again.
“Olaf.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Olaf. Can you tell me what happened to you?”
He frowns, clearly struggling to put everything together. “I had orders.”
“To do what?”
“Destroy. He said it was a quick job. Was gonna pay me extra.”
“Levitsky?”
Olaf nods, head bobbing around like dying fish. “Supposed to be easy, but then…”
I tilt my head to the side, studying him. I’ve always been good at reading people. There’s a multitude of hints and clues to be gathered from the way he sits to the tattoos covering his knuckles to the way he dresses. It’s clear he’s got some military training, judging by the two-headed eagle inked onto the back of his hand.
Apparently, my new friend was in the army. It’s not hard for me to guess how he came to work for Levitsky. It’s a tale as old as time. There’s a good chance Olaf finished his service and found himself directionless, without financial aid or mental health support. It made him an easy target, brought into Levitsky’s fold with the promise of a steady wage and the chance to flex those killer instincts.
“Tell me more,” I urge.
