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“My father thinks you’re close to breaking.” Lyon watched as Sergei opened his jacket, removed a long, sharp hunting knife from a sheath strapped to his side under his jacket. “But I feel like you could use a little help.”
He flipped the knife over and around in a complicated set of moves he’d clearly practiced, then touched the tip of it to the index finger on his other hand.
Blood immediately beaded on his fingertip, and Lyon noticed that all of his fingertips — the ones Lyon could see in the dim light of the room — were scarred from similar tests.
“My father is sentimental about women and children, hesitant to do what must be done.” Sergei paused, tearing his eyes from the blood on his fingertip to look at Lyon. “My vote is for letting me play with your pregnant wife. She’s very pretty.”
Lyon willed himself not to respond, but the roar that grew inside him was instinctual. He strained against the zip ties on his hands and feet, the chair shifting on the concrete floor.
Sergei studied him. “I’d heard your marriage was arranged — that was smart, by the way — but now I wonder if there’s more to the match.” He looked down at his knife. “That would be… fortuitous.”
Lyon shut thoughts of Kira behind a steel door in his mind, He couldn’t afford to react, to show Sergei the depth of his horror at the thought of someone hurting Kira.
Kira couldn’t afford it.
If he thought of her, his fury — his fear — would overtake him.
As pakhan, Lyon made a point never to harm a woman or child. The man in front of him had no similar compunction, no honor. There was the light of a sadist in his eyes. Hurting Kira would only be more appealing to him if he knew that it would drive Lyon mad.
And it would drive Lyon mad.
Sergei approached him slowly, the soles of his expensive shoes clicking on the concrete floor. “I’m here to help you,” he said soothingly, raising the knife to Lyon’s chest. “To show you what awaits your bride, the mother of your child, if you don’t tell us everything about your operation. You may even thank me later for this gift.”
Lyon suppressed a scream as Sergei made the first cut.
This time he didn’t think of Kira.
7
Kira walked to the edge of the pavement outside the warehouse and gathered her thoughts. The sky was crystalline overhead, the rising sun casting a net of shimmering glass onto the surface of the river. She watched as a barge loaded with containers made its way to the Port. Its lumber was surprisingly graceful in the water, the surrounding buildings — factories and warehouses mostly, some of them abandoned — strangely beautiful in the warm light of the sun
She drew in a breath, relishing the peaty smell of the river and the cool spring air. The men were already inside, as evidenced by the many cars parked on the pavement behind her.
They’d gathered because they’d been called by Alek, and today they would decide whether to honor Kira’s wishes and breach both the hospital and the tunnels or whether they would play it safe and wait until they could narrow the sites to one.
Much of their decision rested on what Kira said to them today. She had to table her own fear, stuff it down until no vestige of it remained. Otherwise, the men would sense it, shaking their own confidence, making them doubt the meritin taking the risk of rescuing Lyon now when so much was unknown.
She couldn’t allow that. She needed them to go in willingly, to see it as the only course of action.
She heard footsteps crunching behind her, knew they belonged to Alek, because no one else would dare approach her during such a private moment.
“Are Roman’s men here?” he asked next to her.
“Not yet,” she said, still watching the barge. “I told him to wait for my word. No sense sending reinforcements if our own men don’t come on board.”
“They will,” Alek said.
She could only hope he was right. “Let’s go.”
She turned away from the river, and they walked side by side to the warehouse. Alek keyed in the code, then stepped aside for her to enter before him.
It was something she’d had to get used to in recent weeks: always having someone at her back, someone watching her. She’d had security when she’d lived with her father — she had been the pakhan’s daughter after all — but the bratva had been relatively peaceful during her father’s reign.
Lyon had been under assault since the beginning, and she’d learned the hard way that being his wife meant she — and everyone she loved — was a target too.
The men were assembled on the factory floor, which made sense given their number. The upstairs lounge was big enough for Lyon’s inner circle, and they enjoyed gathering there, playing pool and drinking when they weren’t working.
This crowd would never have fit upstairs. What was a relatively small contingent given their goal of rescuing Lyon was still nearly twenty men, too many for the lounge.
