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“You don’t need to stay, Ilias.”
I offered him the option, but with crossed arms and displeasure marking his features, he shook his head.
“Your choice.” I looked away from him and turned to Arlo.
“Where?” I asked.
“I found him in the tree line, waiting for his getaway driver to pick him up,” Arlo answered.
“Did it ever show up?”
“No.”
I scoffed. Like rats, they scattered in fear, leaving their own behind.
“I recognize him. He was the one who had entered the first bathroom you passed,” Viktor added.
With a nod of acknowledgment, I pushed past them and opened the door.
Wet concrete and blood filled my lungs. A smell I found appealing when mixed in cries, and as I leered over the bound sitting body whose face remained low to the ground, I couldn’t wait to hear him wail in pain.
I picked a cigarette out of my case and returned it to my pocket. All I needed was one drag to slow my thoughts from killing him by just his sight.
I flicked my lighter open in one swift movement of my wrist and rolled the gear until a spark became a flame.
He looked up.
“What’s your name?” I asked, while lighting the cigarette.
He didn’t answer, and I took a long pull, watching as the amber ate the tobacco away. Slowly, I blew the smoke out and asked again.
“What is your name?”
Hopeless brown eyes glanced in my direction, while my three men surrounded the shadows of the room. It was pitiful, pathetic. The sight of all the fight gone from his body. He knew what would come of him, and soon. But he took the idea like the coward he was, without an inch of dignity.
These were the worst.
Puppy eyed pussies that faced defeat easily.
“Da-Dario,” he stuttered.
Dario.
Of Italian descent, roughly thirty to thirty-two years of age, with a nose that had taken too many beatings as it rested crookedly to its right. A left cauliflower ear, and a scar by his jaw.
A fighter.
Well, not tonight.
And by the looks of his appearance it hadn’t taken much to take him down.
I took one last drag, flicked the cigarette to the ground, and stepped on it. I made my way to the middle of the poorly lit room. I stood in front of him and leaned back on the metal table. With one foot, I scooted his steel chair back so he could see me clearly.
The chair scraped loudly against the rough ground, disturbing the silence, causing him to flinch.
I was playing with my prey. It was all I had left since I didn’t do the hunting. But the fatal teasing toyed with their minds.
“Do you have a wife, Dario?”
