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“Fuck you, Ulianov,” he sneers.
“Fine. Have it your way,” I sneer, dragging him to a nearby chair, I shove the fucker into the seat. My belt works to secure his hands behind the back of the chair. He struggles weakly as I glare into his face.
“Names,” I growl. He shakes his head. Stubborn as fuck, I’ll give him that much. Stalking around behind him, I reach for his wrist, wrenching his bound arms up cruelly. “I said, names!” I repeat.
He lets out a gurgling chuckle. “You’ll have to kill me, Ulianov. I won’t talk, and you know it.”
He’s got a point. The man was raised much as I was. Trailing in the wake of hardened killers who’d taken us in as their new generation of assassins. I barely remember the faces of my parents now. They sold me into this life, and it’s all I’ve ever known.
My son will know more.
Nikolai will never be subjected to this world of brutality. When Yuri gurgles out another chuckle, I haul his wrists up further. Something cracks and he lets out a sharp scream.
I’m fairly sure his shoulder blade is broken.
“Thinking of talking now, Geiger?” I snarl into his ear. His head is slumped forward and for a moment I’m worried he’s passed out. “If you are, it’s too late,” I add. “I’ll get my information elsewhere. Now all I’m interested in is making you hurt.”
A sound rattles up his throat, but I don’t think it’s laughter now. He’s slouched to the side, but this sign of weakness doesn’t deter me. Reaching for his hand, I grab a finger and bend it backward. I don’t stop until a bone snaps…and then I turn my attention to the next one.
“Stop!” he shrieks by the time I’ve reached the third one.
I let out a harsh laugh. “It’s too late,mudak. I’m having too much fun now.” Another finger snaps and his screams turn into meaningless babbles. “Are you pissing yourself yet?” I roar. His head is shaking mindlessly, to and fro. Spittle drools down his chin as he hisses out a sound.
“Ulianov….” he pauses, and I lean closer to hear. “Your wife….” He swallows and continues, “Your wife died like a whore…” He starts to laugh manically, and I feel a raw spear of pain tear through my chest. It bubbles up my throat and spews out in a howl of rage.
“You…!” I growl, knowing without more explanation what he’s telling me. I feel a muscle twitch beneath my eye as a surge of blood-rage makes my skin prickle with heat. My fingers tingle with the need to feel his blood on my hands.
The bastard had been there when she’d died.
He’s one of the pigs who’d ended her life.
I reach for his wrists and twist them up so brutally that I feel the crunch and pop as his shoulders dislocate. Even though he’s now screaming and writhing, it’s not enough.
Fucking Yuri’s about to die slowly for what he did to Katya. I’m going to see to it. The blade that had been nestling at my hip is suddenly in my hand. I trail the tip across his cheek, the point leaving a fine line of blood until I reach the soft tissue of his eye.
“If you were there to end her, I’ll take the eyes that saw her last moments,” I hiss into his ear. He’s breathing roughly, face twisted into a mask of agony. And still, he’s not telling me anything. Whatever I do to him now is no longer for information. It’s revenge.
I press the tip of the knife deeper, a hair’s breadth away from puncturing his eyeball. I’m bare moments away from having his eyeball rolling on the floor when the door crashes open, and a swarm of men burst through.
I immediately recognize some of the faces. Yuri’s men. I’m surprised they didn’t get here sooner.
Blyad.
Driven by raw instinct, my knife leaves Yuri’s eye as I whirl to face the threat, years of training kicking in. The first man rushes me with a bat, swinging wildly. I duck under the blow and drive my knife deep into his gut, twisting viciously before yanking it free. Hot blood splashes over my hands as he drops with a groan.
Two more descend on me, one with a knife of his own and the other with brass knuckles. I kick out, catching the knuckled man in the knee and sending him crashing down. A sharp slash of pain across my chest has me grunting – the other one got lucky with his knife. Wet heat trails down my ribs but I ignore it.
Rage burns through me, white-hot and searing. These men were protecting the filth who ended my wife, who watched her die. They’ll pay for that mistake.
I grab the knife-wielder’s wrist and bend it back until I hear the snap of bone. His scream is cut off as I slam my fist into his throat, crushing his windpipe. As he collapses to the floor, gagging for air that won’t come, I spin to face two more who are advancing in a rush. Fast and reckless. They’re probably convinced that they have the advantage over me.
They’re wrong.
Grabbing the wrist of one, I use his own momentum to swing him around and then pull his back against my chest. Locking my arm around his neck, my blade across his throat ends his life before he has a chance to land a blow. And then he serves a purpose by being the shield that takes the bullet his comrade had intended for me. Two more lead slugs pierce his still-heaving chest as the other fucker charges toward me.
I drop the dead weight and surge forward to meet my last opponent. He’s fumbling with his weapon, cursing under his breath, but it’s too late. I slam into him and we crash to the ground, rolling across the filthy concrete. I press my blade up to his throat which immediately stops him from writhing beneath me. I’m holding his life in my hands and he’s been in this game long enough to know it.
“Who is he sending?” I snarl holding the fucker in a tight grasp, pushing the knife into his skin. A gurgling laugh leaves his lips as he chokes under my grip.
