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We roll the soon-to-be informants out of the van, letting them fall to the dirt with a thud. There’s something satisfying about that.
I suppose Mia isn’t the only one who brings out the sadistic side of me.
Can’t wait until the mission is over so we can finish what we started before Tomer interrupted us at her house tonight.
But I’m glad he did. We need to get Lettie out before they harm her any further.
Mia’s voice rings out in my ear. “Alpha team, listen up. I’ve got the con. Tomer decided to gear up and is en route to the location to assist Shep and Aaron with the extraction. He didn’t want to wait.”
“Son of a bitch,” Kri swears. “What’s going on with him to make him leave his post in the middle of a mission?”
Nobody likes taking a piss when the breeze changes direction mid-flow.
“Mia can handle it. Don’t worry,” I reassure her. My gaze locks on Jonesy. “Should we leave these guys here and join the other team?”
Unaware I was addressing him, Mia answers, “You’ve got five minutes to get the intel out of them. We’re risking the shitbag they left at the strip club tipping them off. Hell, Yuri might sound the alarm himself once he finds his dickshit bouncer in the closet. If you can’t confirm Lettie’s location in five minutes, knock them out and bring them with you. Don’t dump them until we have the package.”
Jonesy nods, concurring with her plan. “Wilco.” Turning to Junior and me, he orders, “Wake them up.”
The men are on their sides in the dirt, hands still bound behind their backs. Waving smelling salt in front of their noses, we rouse them quickly. A string of expletives in Russian and English come spewing out as they take in the grim scene they’ve found themselves in.
That’s right, boys. Time for a taste of your own medicine.
Kri stands between them, bending at the waist to get closer to their faces. “Sorry, boys. I bet you’re usually on the other side of this situation. But tonight, you’re going to tell us where we can find the girl you nabbed on Friday night at the Stumbling Sea Turtle.” She checks her watch. “And you have a little over four minutes before we kill you if you don’t talk.”
The one on the right calls her something in Russian that doesn’t bear repeating. But the other man seems deep in thought and far less angry.
Makes me wonder if he’s more of the brains of the operation— even-tempered and plotting. He evaluates us, his studious gaze sweeping around our semi-circle. We didn’t bother hiding our faces because these guys don’t call the cops.
When this is all done, there’s a chance they might seek retribution, but that’s only if they don’t end up in jail or dead. Should that happen, we have proof of them drugging and abducting women all around the area for months. Blackmail is a beautiful thing.
“Who’s talking first?” Kri says, hands on her hips, staring them down like the little badass she is.
The one on the right continues to fling insults at her, but the other maintains his calculated facade.
Kri tips her chin at Junior, who’s positioned behind the angry one. He pulls a garrote from his pocket, wraps the wire around his neck, and yanks. The man gasps and chokes as his airway is restricted. Once his face shifts from dark red to purple, Junior relents. The man collapses onto his side.
While he sucks wind, I kneel in front of the other man, who hasn’t wavered from his stoic assessment of the situation.
“Two minutes, team,” Mia announces in our ears.
“You want to talk to us, don’t you?” I ask him.
His cunning eyes crawl from mine to his partner, who’s still sputtering for air. “We make deal,” he offers quietly, his Russian accent thick. “You kill him, and I take you to your girl. Then you help me get out.”
I knew he was calculating something.
“Why should I believe you?”
A war wages on his face for a few long seconds. “I give you more girls. More than one house. I want no more this life. Help me, and I help you.” More insistently, he begs, “Please. I want one girl to come with me. I tell you which one. I love her.” Again he pleads, “Please save her.”
“Say yes, Klein,” Mia orders. “Take the deal. He’s telling the truth.”
“Fuck us over, and we’ll make your death painful,” Jonesy warns him from over my shoulder. He nods at Junior, then cuts his glare toward the thorny shitbag beside us. “Knock him out.”
“Here comes the ether bunny,” Junior jokes as he silences the other tango with a hit of chloroform.
I’m not sure if Jonesy isn’t planning on killing him or if he wants to wait until later. It’s smart since we don’t have time to deal with a body. We’d probably need to stage it to look like the Mafia murdered him. That shit takes time. Plus, none of us like taking lives if we can avoid it. We did enough of that in the service.
