I catch the bastard’s hand before he can jerk it away, then clamp the tool around his little finger.
Snap.
The crunch echoes in the silence, followed by his scream.
The other prisoner tenses in his seat. I catch a glimpse of dread in his eyes, but he shoves it down quickly. Low-level or not, these two are spiteful enough to make me work for it.
Fine by me.
“That’s one,” I say. “You’ve got nine more chances to talk.” The pliers hover over his ring finger.
When answers don’t come, I take my time. Two fingers, then three. The man’s cries break into sobs. “P-Please,” he begs in broken Russian. “He’ll kill me if I talk!”
“I’ll do worse if you don’t.”Crunch.Five more to go. “Feel like telling me who’s got you pissing your pants? ‘Cause I get the feeling it’s not just me. And Anatoli croaked, so it sure as fuck ain’t him.” I close the pliers around the next one, but don’t snap it just yet. “I should know. I was the one who put thatmudakin his grave.”
He shakes his head frantically. I take another one of his fingers.
So fucking satisfying.All the frustration that’s been rotting in me since locking Sima up finds an outlet. One I can trust not to come back and bite me in the ass.
At least in this room, I can be the monster she already believes I am.
I lean in close to the prisoner. “Who’s running your Bratva now? Who’s giving the orders?”
He shakes his head, stubborn.
“Fine.” I shove the pliers into his mouth. “Let’s do this your way.”
Then I twist.
A tooth comes free. Blood starts streaming down the guy’s chin. His gagging fills the air, followed by a muffled scream as I keep taking more teeth.
“Talk,” I order. “Or you’ll be eating through a straw for the rest of your miserable life.”
Finally, after three more teeth, he chokes out a name. “F-Feliks!”
Ah. That’s what I suspected. Feliks is Anatoli’s younger brother. Nikolai’s middle son, if memory serves.
“He’s the one stepping in, then? While his father drinks and fucks his days away in his rat hole?”
“Y-Yes,” he wails. His words are a little slurred, courtesy of missing half his molars, but it’s clear enough to be certain.
Feliks Danilo. The second son, and a reckless upstart to boot. He probably wants to prove himself now that his oppressive older brother has finally kicked the bucket. Must have felt like Christmas fucking morning when he got the call.
I set the pliers down and let my prisoner spit more blood. This time, he’s careful to do it on the floor, away from my shoes. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
I turn to the second man. He’s staring at me wide-eyed. Terrified.
Good.
I grab his chair and drag it forward so close that his knees knock against mine. “What about the old man?” I demand. “What’s he doing while his second son plays boss? All that liquor and Viagra can’t be good for his liver.”
Silence. Not the smartest way to go about this, but if he hasn’t learned yet, far be it from me to judge. I’ll even offer a remedial class.
I pick up the hammer and bring it down swiftly across his kneecap.
Thecrackechoes through the warehouse. His scream echoes louder.
I lean in. “Try again.”
