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“Drago—”
“Nod, Sienna!”
I sigh and nod, even though I know I would never be able to kill a human being. Even if that means my death.
I cock my head and stare at the thing on a shelf before me. It looks like an ugly child born to high-heeled boots and sandals. I can’t believe that sort of thing exists, not to mention, it’s violet and made of leather-like material. My phone vibrates with an arriving text while I’m trying to decide where someone would wear footwear like that.
11:08 Iliya:We have Bogdan’s logistic guy. I’m bringing him to Naos.
I type a quick reply, ordering Iliya to take the Romanian to the basement, and reach for the violet oddity.
“These, as well,” I say to the store attendant who’s standing a few paces behind me, holding another two pairs of extremely ugly shoes.
Leaving the store, I send a quick message to Keva to find out what my wife is doing. I don’t like the idea of leaving her in the house if I’m not there, but it’s not like I can bring her to a torture session with me. I’ll just have to make it a quick one.
The reply from Keva arrives and I stop midstep when I look at the screen. It’s a photo of my wife crouching on the grass in front of Zeus. She’s tying a big red bow around his neck. The other two dogs are sitting on either side of Zeus, wearing the same getup.
11:16 Drago:Tell her to take that crap off my dogs. Right now.
11:18 Keva:Why? They’re cute.
11:18 Drago:Those dogs are trained for fucking combat. They’re not poodles.
11:20 Keva:They don’t seem to mind. But if you do, feel free to tell her yourself.
11:21 Drago:I’m telling you to do it.
11:23 Keva:Because you can’t say “no” to your wife?
I curse and put the phone back into my pocket.
* * *
Mircea, the Romanians’ logistics guy, is sitting on the floor behind the wine crates in the basement. Iliya is standing guard close by, his gun pointed at the man’s head.
“Untie his hands and bring him over here.” I nod toward the table in the corner. I’ve got a map spread out on top of it.
The Romanian thrashes about as Iliya drags him across the room. When they reach the table, Iliya pushes him onto a chair and cuts the zip tie binding his wrists.
“Right or left-handed?” I ask.
The guy blinks at me stupidly, then looks around, probably searching for a potential escape route.
“Well, it seems I’ll have to guess.” I take the knife Iliya holds out.
Grabbing the man’s left wrist, I slam his palm onto the table and plunge the blade through the back of his hand, anchoring him to the wooden surface. He screams, staring at the blood pooling around the knife. Ignoring his wailing, I set the permanent marker before him on the table.
“I need you to indicate the exact truck route, final destination, and locations of any planned stops before the shipment gets there. I want the times, too.”
When he doesn’t reply, I yank him back by pulling his hair and get in his face. “You gonna start losing a finger for every second you remain silent. I’m a busy man, Mircea. All I can spare is five for you. I don’t think you want to find out what happens when time runs out, but I can guarantee you’ll be holding that pen in your fucking mouth, and I will still get what I need from you.”
The Romanian nods and grabs the marker with shaking fingers and draws two wobbly X’s on the map.
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing at the first mark.
“Plates exchange before they hit the weigh station.”
I take out my phone and check the location on the map. It’s a big truck stop with a gas station and a restaurant. Too busy for an attack.
