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“Let me out.”
“Sure. Tell me the name.”
Gavriil, Caeo and Eddie stand with me like a second barrier to her freedom. Nico sits on the chair I use to bind my prisoner, except his arse is resting on the backrest, feet on the seat, cutting the frayed ends of his jeans with an oversized knife.
“I'm not telling you anything.” Tiffany gloats at me to make it clear she doesn't find us intimidating.
Gavriil steps forward, that husky voice threatens her with words she doesn't understand. He stops talking and clicks his fingers at Nico.
“I not saying that word,” Nico shrugs.
“What word won't you say, pet?” Caeo glances at me. We've both heard him relay some very choice language in the past.
“Vagina,” Nico shouts in a loud whisper.
“There you go. You just said it,” Caeo encourages the little orphan.
“Da, but not things he said do to it.” Nico points at Gavriil with the knife.
Gavriil smiles at Tiffany, giving his eyebrows a wiggle. She pales and takes a step back. Intimidation isn't about what is said or done. It's playing with someone mentally, so they fear us. Gavriil could have been reciting poetry to her for all I know. But he and Nico played on her fear without making a single threat. That should keep Porter happy.
“Just say the name,” I encourage.
“I can't,” she shakes her head but for the first time I think it might be possible. The cue to my men is hooking my hands together behind my back.
Gavriil starts talking again, I'm suddenly seeing him as a well versed poet.
“Gross. Not saying. Is even that possible?” Nico protests.
“What is it Nico?”
“I not thinking good idea. She be unusingable after.”
“Please, whatever you want to do to me, he would do worse. He is a bad man; he would hurt Porter too. You have to let me go.”
“Because he is a terrible man who would kill you?” I laugh at the idea she could fear someone out there more than the men before her here and now.
“Yes.” It's a shame this woman is such a bad liar. I think it's going to come down to really torturing this bitch.
“Then why would I let you go?”
“What's the point in keeping me if I’m not going to talk?”
“Well, you aren't stealing from me while you're in there.”
“Can't we make a deal?”
“Your brother made a sweet deal. His well-being for yours.”
“I didn't ask him to make that deal.”
“I believe he did it because he loves you.” I smile kindly at her, thinking of Porter's sweet arse instead of the wish to slap her. “What will you do for him?”
“What he's done is his problem,” she responds with a callous shrug. She's going to take more than a few mistranslations to break her.
“I don't see how.” Such a selfish cow. Somehow the same upbringing has produced two vastly different people. Porter grew up thinking he was worthless of anything better, and obliged to serve the situation in which he was raised. Tiffany grew up free from rule and responsibility.
“I need a name from you. This is your chance to name your fee.”
