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Nodding, the bear of a man stepped forward and booted open the door with one kick.
“Thank you,” I said, walking past him and into the foyer. “Go find him,” I said to Maxim and Valery, waving toward the staircase. They thundered upward as a light flicked on.
Upstairs, a man yelled, “Who the fuck—” before the rest of the question ended in a solid hit and a grunt. Scuffling ensued but I wasn’t worried about the outcome.
Anton and I waited in the living room, surveying the disaster around us. A variety of cleansers and kitchen ingredients lined the coffee table; dozens of washcloths and cotton balls littered the carpet. They each bore a smidge of blue, but no more. Another confirmation we had the right house.
“I’m glad to see that the dye works as advertised,” Anton said, nodding his approval as the thumping and muffled screaming continued above us.
“Me too.” I pointed at him quickly in thought. “Oh, make sure you get Sveta another can. And might as well check the expiration dates for the other girls. Replace them as necessary. Can never be too careful.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
A louder scream, still muffled, sounded before a half-naked lump flew down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom. The man groaned and rolled around, so I knew he wasn’t dead, but I still shot a questioning look at the soldiers stomping down the stairs.
“He tripped,” Valery said as he neared the bottom, spreading his gloved hands innocently.
“Bring him here,” I replied, trying to keep the sigh out of my voice.
Maxim grabbed the man by his hair and dragged him, kicking and screaming into the living room, even though his hands were tied and he had a gag in his mouth. Depositing him at my feet, Maxim planted a boot on his throat and applied enough pressure to really turn the man blue.
Tugging my suit pants up a bit, I crouched next to his head, studying the patches of blue dye on his face. Sveta did well.
When his wide, red eyes finally latched on to me, I raised my brows at him. “Brock Adams?”
Nodding, he mumbled unintelligibly around the sock in his mouth.
“Do you know why I’m here?”
He shook his head.
“Think very carefully,” I said, flicking him between his eyes with each word.
He flinched harder and harder with each hit until his whole body trembled. The mumbling renewed in earnest and he gestured with his bound hands, like he was begging—or lying.
I grabbed the cleanest edge of the sock I could find and plucked it out of his mouth, flinging it to the side so I didn’t have to smell it any longer.
“This has been a mistake, man!” Brock shouted immediately. “We didn’t—”
Backhanding him swiftly with a closed fist, I brought my hand forward again, revealing the knife I held. I tapped the blade against his bloody lips, shushing him. “Lie to me again and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”
Maxim put more weight on Brock’s neck until he gurgled in agreement.
“Do you remember now?” I asked as soon as Maxim let up a little.
Trying to keep an eye on the knife hovering over his mouth, Brock glanced between it and my face with a dizzying speed. “I-I remember.”
“Good.” I withdrew the knife from his face slowly, dragging the tip along his bare chest, down his stomach. I skimmed past his boxers and went straight to his groin. Jerking my hand upward, I jammed the sharp edge against his balls as hard as I could without slicing him to shreds.
He yelped and squeezed his eyes shut. After a moment he peeked up at me, still shaking.
“Are you paying attention?” I nodded encouragingly and he nodded too. “If I ever lay eyes on you, or T.J., or Kyle, or Lance again, I’ll castrate you like the pigs you are. Do you understand?”
He blinked rapidly and nodded even faster.
“Don’t worry,” I continued, patting his sweaty cheek roughly. “Your friends got the same message so you can all hold each other accountable.”
“Boss,” Valery said in Russian, stepping over to me quickly. “Look.”
