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Atlas:[dancing man emoji, knife emoji, knife emoji, knife emoji]
Laughter bubbles up in me.
Lucia:You should have said goodbye.
I'm the one that told him he shouldn't neglect his work to spend time with me. I can hardly complain about him listening to me. But it was rude to leave without even texting me that he was going.
What kind of work is he doing this late at night though? Maybe Zeus wants Atlas to check out a club he's thinking of buying.
I wish Atlas had asked me to go with him. I would have left Willow in charge and gone.
ATLAS
Fuck.
I should have texted her I was leaving. Now, she's dancing with shirtless men. I send a quick text to Michael.
Atlas:Keep the naked men away from Lucia.
Michael:She's talking to patrons at the reserved tables. Nowhere near the dancefloor.
The little tease. But nothing says she'll stay away from the dancers. I need to hurry this damn interrogation along.
Feeling stabby after my text conversation with Lucia, I turn to my brother and say in Greek, "I don't think these bratva arealliesof the Golubevs. They're family."
"How big is the Golubev Bratva in Russia?" Zeus asks, knowing I've done my homework.
"Big enough to be a problem." This is about more than relocating their rapidly dwindling California counterparts. It has to be. "They want something here."
My brother nods. "We know they want the port, what we need to know is why."
There's a lot we need to know, and I'd bet my bank account in the Caymans that Mo has all the answers. Getting him to talk is the tricky part.
Pulling open the second drawer down on my tool chest, I examine the vials lined in neat rows before grabbing the one in the center. It is a cocktail I helped our chemist perfect before we left California.
It decreases inhibitions while increasing a sense of fear and visualization. Twenty minutes after I administer a strong enough dose, the blood dripping from a single cut will be warped by Larry's mind into a gushing river.
Knowing how to use it, requires knowing how it works, so I administered it to myself and had my brothers put me through various scenarios.
The drug magnifies everything. Pleasure and pain. Fear and euphoria.
I give a starter dose to Mo and Curly, but twice as much to Larry. He'll be hallucinating within thirty minutes on the outside and won't be of any use answering questions until he starts coming down. It's then, he'll be at his most vulnerable.
"You think we haven't trained for this?" he asks when I stick the needle in the vein running down the inside of his elbow.
I don't bother to answer. Him believing I'm using something like sodium pentobarbital will only make the real reaction to the drug harder for him to handle.
Extracting information is 10% torture and 90% mind fucking.
Larry starts screaming warnings about monsters and the devil to his bratva brothers thirty minutes later as I slice another shallow line down Curly's chest.
Curly barely reacts to my cut, but his face drains of color as he watches his leader lose his mind.
"Don't worry. I didn't give you as much as I did him. Tell me what I want to know and I won't."
Curly spits at me. Again. I dodge. It's a defiant act by a desperate man. And gross.
Blood doesn't bother me, but spit? Is so fucking unhygienic.
