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He laughs, then shouts in Russian. A few minutes later, the goon comes back, dragging Tasha with him. She’s scared, her tears are dried on her cheeks, and her skin is pale.
Dimitri grips her by the hair and wrenches her head back, making her whimper behind the duct tape over her mouth.
“Now you’ve seen her. If you behave, she stays mostly this way. If you do not, I tell the men to use their imaginations.” He nods his head toward the door and the goon drags a crying Tasha away.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snap.
“I want to make you scream until your voice is too hoarse to speak. I want to make you bleed. But mostly, I want the last thing your Irish boyfriend sees while he bleeds to death on my floor to be me fucking you in front of him.”
“You’re overestimating his interest in me.” I try for a casual laugh. “He’s not going to notice I’m gone.”
Dimitri smiles. “No? So the Irishmen crawling all over my city are just out for a stroll? They are just suddenly very interested in my businesses? Trust me, he noticed. Do not worry, I made sure to have Boris leave enough clues, even those idiot Irish fuckers will figure it out.”
Fuck.
Motion out the window catches my eye. A small caravan of sleek black cars pulls into the driveway. A dozen men pour out of the vehicles and head toward the house.
Dimitri laughs. “I guess I’ll have to wait my turn for you.” He turns and strolls out of the room, leaving me alone with my pounding heart and guilt.
The goon returns and roughly grabs my taped hands. He leads me down the hallway and deposits me in an office. In other circumstances, it would be considered a pleasant room. The rich mahogany furniture screams luxury, and the leather chairs are soft and supple. An unlit fireplace and small sitting area off to one side would probably be cozy during the winter. The entire room is wrapped with floor-to-ceiling windows, showing stunning views of the lush green fields and horses. He shoves me into a chair.
Sitting across from me is a man I’ve never seen before. He’s older than Dimitri and the rest of the goon squad, perhaps in his late forties. His hair is a thick, dark gray. He’s well dressed, and sits quietly regarding me while smoking a cigar. He sips from a glass of clear liquid and ice.
“You are Roxanne Johnson, reporter, and love interest of Sean O’Connell.” His Russian accent is thick. He swirls the liquid in his glass before locking his steely gray eyes with mine. “Do you know who I am?”
I shake my head.
“I am Nikolai Volkov.”
I stare blankly at him. Finally, he seems to understand that I have no fucking clue who he is.
“I am the Pakhan.”
Oh, the boss. Dimitri’s boss. The one Sean thought might give authorization to have Dimitri killed.
I nod my head and keep my eyes down.
“I have traveled from Russia because you and your Irish friends are costing me money. Did you not think there would be consequences for interfering in our business for so long? Destroying warehouses? Harassing my soldiers? Did you think this would be unpunished?” He drums his fingers on the shiny wood desk. “The Irish have been a thorn in my side for years, but do you want to explain to me why he is suddenly so interested in my shipping? Why my port inspector has gone missing?”
I take a minute to consider my options. Then I realize I have no options, I’m going to die, and with any luck they kill me before I can be used against Sean.
“Because Sean O’Connell is a good man who objects to human trafficking and the dead girls that keep washing up on the shore.”
The drumming fingers stop. His eyes narrow briefly before his face returns to his neutral expressionless gaze. He stares at me for a while. I’m not entirely sure what he’s trying to accomplish. I’m already pissed off and scared out of my fucking mind.
“What dead girls would those be?”
“I assume they were live girls when you shoved them into that box and left them to starve to death. Surely they appeared on a spreadsheet somewhere.” I let a little more sarcasm and disdain seep into my voice. “Twenty-five shipped from Ukraine, received twenty-three alive. Tossed two into the dumpster like garbage. End of report.” I’m playing with fire, and I know it. But I sure as hell don’t want Dimitri to kill me, or worse, keep me alive. I’ll take my chances that I piss Volkov off enough to shoot me outright.Fuck. What about Tasha?
Volkov goes back to swirling his drink and scrutinizing me. I lean back in the chair and casually cross one leg over the other. It’s a farce. I’m about one more angry Russian away from peeing my pants. When his eyes make another rotation from contemplating his drink to looking at me, I see it. A tiny, brief flash of doubt.
“You don’t know what Dimitri has been up to, do you?” It’s a leap, but a reasonable one.
“By all means, child, enlighten me.” He gives a gentle wave of his hands, as if to say the floor is mine.
I shake my head. “I’d love to, but I’ll need something from you first.”
He glares. “You’re not in any position to make demands.”
