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Once I’ve broken all ten fingers, I leave the man to weep on the ground and pick up a knife off the nearby table. I step on his back again and cut the tape binding his wrists. The man thrashes, trying to wriggle free. I grab his right forearm with one hand, his palm in the other, and twist them in different directions. The man screams around the rag as his wrist snaps. I repeat the action with his other arm.
I consider breaking his ankles next but decide I don’t want to risk him passing out on me. Moving my foot to his side, I push at his body until he’s facing up and yank the rag out of his mouth.
“Is Dusku distributing the new drug?” I ask.
“No,” the man chokes out. “It’s Julian. His son-in-law.”
“Is Julian involved in the high-end prostitution ring, as well?”
“Yes. He’s running it.”
“Does Dusku know?”
He shakes his head and whimpers. I place the sole of my shoe on the broken fingers of his right hand and put pressure into my step.
“He doesn’t know! It’s all Julian and some of his college friends!”
“What do you know about the Russian girl who was found dead a few months back? She had your drug in her system.”
“It was an accident,” he wails. “A client got too rough, and she died. We had to get rid of her, and make sure she wasn’t linked to us through the drugs we use. So we pumped her full of heroin.”
I press my heel on his throat, enjoying the choking sound that leaves his mouth. “You will give my friend here the names and addresses of everyone who’s involved in this scheme. Including the clients. Even the fucking janitor. Make sure you give the details about the woman—Dolly—in charge of the girls, too. And the address of where you’re keeping them.”
He nods.
“I also need the names of the men abducting the girls.”
“Robert is in charge of that,” he squawks when I ease my foot off a little.
Robert. The motherfucker uses his real name when luring the girls.
“American?” I ask.
“Yes. He’s been working for us for the last three years. Julian brought him in.”
“Last name and address.”
He rattles off the information, and I commit it to memory.
“Kostya,” I call. “Our guest is ready to talk. Come here to take notes and relay everything he tells you to Maxim.”
I throw one last look at the man on the floor. “If you happen to forget a name, I will come back and finish what I started. And I’ll make sure you stay alive and coherent until I’m completely done.”
Leaving the warehouse, I call Asya to let her know I won’t be back for another couple of hours. Inside the car, I enter the address Bekim gave me into the navigation system.
Seems like I’ll be having another chat tonight.
Chapter 17
I wake up to the feeling of fingers combing through my hair. Pasha is lying on the bed next to me, still wearing the same clothes he had on the previous evening.
“When did you get back?” I ask.
“Five minutes ago,” he says and continues stroking my hair. “I need to show you a photo of someone.”
“Okay.” I nod. He’d already shown me photos of more than a dozen men the other day, asking if I recognize anyone, but none of them seemed familiar.
Pasha releases my hair and reaches behind him to take his phone off the nightstand. I take the phone when he holds it out to me and look down at the screen. The image is of a man suspended upside-down from a ceiling. I can’t make out his face too much, so I zoom in. The phone nearly slips from my hand.
