Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
His nostrils flared the slightest bit.
“What’s his name?” I asked David.
“Oleg.”
“Nice to meet you, Oleg. I’m Nate. Dmitri’s the one who hit my last weed shipment, no?”
He glanced to the side then met my gaze again.
I shrugged. “It was him. You admitting it will only confirm what I know. I can only assume he’s got designs on tonight’s shipment as well.”
No response.
“I bet you know who the rat is, don’t you? Who’s been telling your boss all my little secrets?” I rose and walked around him, taking in the wedding ring on his left hand. “Got a wifey at home?”
He turned his head at that.
“Hey, David, when’s the last time you got some strange?”
“Been a while. You?”
I smirked at him over the Russian’s head. “Your mom hasn’t been in town for a few days, so I’m overdue.”
He glared at me but kept silent and let me work.
“I bet you’ve got a pretty wife.” I walked to Oleg’s front. “She’s going to be so lonely.” I sighed and leaned against the metal table full of bloody tools. “The Butcher here, he’s really into redheads. She a redhead?”
His eyes widened.
“Bingo.” I shot a look at David. “He’s got a ginger at home. Where’s his ID?”
He reached across the table and grabbed a beaten-up leather wallet.
I flipped through it to his ID. “Lives on Westing Lane. I bet it’s a nice little seventies ranch house, isn’t it? I used to fuck a girl in that neighborhood. Her parents’ room was right across the hall. We had to be quiet. That was okay, since she was really into choking. You feel me, right?” I laughed, and the dumb shit actually seemed to give a little nod in agreement. I leaned down and stared into his eyes. “I’m good at choking. Your wife will appreciate the skill, I’m sure.”
He shook his head, the tremble in his body increasing.
“But.” I cocked my head to the side. “You could tell me who the rat is, and she won’t be touched.”
“I don’t know.” His voice rasped through his throat.
“Progress.” I elbowed David and leaned against the table next to him. “But I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t know. Only Dmitri knows.” He coughed, blood spilling from the corner of his lips.
“That’s unfortunate.” I tsked and flexed my fists.
“I’m telling the truth.”
I glanced to David, who gave a faint nod, which meant the dumb shit was telling the truth.
“Why Sabrina?”
He went back to the silent treatment.
I turned to David, kicking up a conversation as if we didn’t have a bloodied prisoner sitting five feet away. “You know what chicks are really into these days? That BDSM shit. With the whips and the flogging and the pain.”
“I’ve flogged my fair share.” David smirked. “Probably more than my fair share.”
“What’s your favorite part?”
“When they cry.” No hesitation.
“Cold.” I laughed, playing it up. Mine was an act, but David? I wasn’t so sure. Fuck, I needed a cigarette. “And redheads really do it for you?”
He grunted. “They fight back the most, more blood that way. And their tears”—he grinned—“you get enough of those, mix it with her blood, and you’ve got all the lube you need to—”
“He says he owns Sabrina,” Oleg spat out. “That you took her, and so you have to pay. She’s his.”
“Well look who got chatty all of a sudden.” I turned back to Oleg. “Why does he think he has any right to Sabrina?”
“He worked for her father, Petrov.” He coughed, more blood dribbling from his puffy lips. “Petrov was a merzkiy detoyeb.”
I gave Peter a what-the-fuck look.
“Sabrina’s dad was a…” His brows drew together as he worked on the translation. “Pederast. Liked boys. Abused Dmitri, I figure.”
So this was about revenge. Punish the daughter for the sins of the father.
I turned my gaze back to the prisoner. “So that’s why he’s been all over my ass like a horny gorilla?”
“Da.”
Now I really needed a cigarette. Sabrina was firmly at the rotten core of the feud between my crew and the Russians. The moment she’d left the safety of her boarding school, Dmitri pounced. And I was the idiot who said, “Go shopping, get out of my house, have a great time, parade around in public. Here, let me draw a big, red bullseye on your back before you go.”
“Is Dmitri planning on hitting my shipment this afternoon?”
Oleg snorted back and hocked a bloody wad of snot onto the floor at my feet. “Yebat' sebya.”
“He said—”
“Go fuck yourself. Yeah, I know the cuss words, at least.” I peered down at Oleg, weighing whether threatening his wife would get me any further with him. He stared back, stripped bare and with the heavy weight of impending death dulling his eyes. He was done.
I dropped all pretense and grabbed the Glock from my back waistband and aimed at his face. “You have my word that your wife won’t be touched.”