Poppy made a face. “They aren’t cute or sexy. They’re practical.”
“On you, anything is sexy,” I promised. All my fingers splayed over her belly, reaching to encompass as much skin as possible. “How wet are they?”
Poppy wriggled.
“You’re not escaping. Now answer the question.”
She let out a frustrated huff. “Well, if you must know the answer to something grossly inappropriate, it’s hot and we’ve been walking for a couple of hours.”
“Not the kind of wet I’m talking about,” I whispered. “The center strip. If I slid my hands lower, I would find it soaked. Because what you won’t admit is that you’re as turned on as I am.”
Her answer, whatever it was, was cut short by the chirp of an approaching boy who was done looking at the lethargic bears.
“They’re hot, and I’m ready to see what else,” Brady announced.
Poppy started and tried to pull away.
We weren’t doing anything blatantly naughty. I kept my hold right where it was, enjoying the feel of her.
“What’s next on your map?” Poppy asked, voice high and breathless.
Brady scrunched up his nose and tipped the piece of paper that had a sweat stain from his back pocket to the light. Hisface brightened immediately. “The wolves! The wolves are next. Come on, you guys, let’s go!”
With one more hard squeeze, I added for Poppy’s ear alone, “I’m coming for you, flower. You can keep running if you want, but don’t worry. I enjoy the chase. I will catch you.”
Her body vibrated with a delicious shiver right before she stepped out of my grasp and practically ran out of the bear cave.
“Old man Miroslav found them about a half-hour ago,” Kiril informed us as soon as the truck’s doors opened.
Rayko ran a hand over his buzzed head, flashing a feral grin as he swept a look over the back of the outlet mall.
Three towering lampposts worked back here; the other six were vandalized and not worth fixing until we tore the whole structure down. Beside a large dumpster, my men pointed weapons at three miserable lumps. Other soldiers were loading bikes into Miroslav’s truck to be disposed of later. The air was pungent with the ripe burst of fear. A stale waft of air brought the scent of ancient garbage to flavor the scene. But under those nasty smells was the stench of death.
And the chemical burn of fresh paint.
I stared at the back wall.
The letters came from the same Latin alphabet that English speakers used, but there were certain words heavily laced with diacritics. I could barely sound out the marks if they were American words, but the foreign words were all but brutal chicken scratches. The threat behind the Polish phrases, however, was clear as day.
“So, Nowak thinks he is going to take over this side of the highway?” I drawled, sauntering to the trio of bikers.
Between the split lips, jaw bruises, and swollen eyes, there was little to no facial expression on any of them.
I squatted before the first man. “Silence isn’t going to save you…but talking might help.”
The man’s eyes flickered with terror, but his mouth remained stubbornly shut.
“Bring me my case,” I said softly, not looking away from his face.
Rayko disappeared and returned with a sleek black case that looked like it might hold a musical instrument. I flipped the latches and opened it on the asphalt between us. The interior was lined with red velvet, cradling an assortment of tools arranged with meticulous care.
“You know,” I said conversationally as I selected a pair of pliers, “pain is such an interesting thing. The anticipation is often worse than the actual sensation.” I held the pliers up to catch a shaft of the overhead light. “But not always.”
I nodded to Kiril and Rayko, who seized the man’s arms. He struggled, but they forced his hand flat against the pavement. I took my time examining his fat digits. I selected his index finger first, positioning the pliers at the base of his nail. With one fluid motion, I applied pressure, feeling the resistance of flesh and keratin before the nail began to separate from the bed. His scream tore through the night air, a primal sound that echoed off the concrete walls of the mall. The man’s body convulsed, but Kiril and Rayko held him firmly in place as I continued my methodical extraction, pulling the nail slowly, millimeter by excruciating millimeter.
Blood welled up around the edges, creating thin rivulets that ran down his finger and pooled on the asphalt. When the nailfinally came free with a wet, tearing sound, I placed it carefully on the ground.
“You come into my territory with your spray paints and courage.” I shook my head. “Unacceptable.”
