Cillian rolled his eyes once he’d caught his breath. “That was one thing, and this is another. We’re gonna work Ilya over, and good.”
“Sure.” I took a deep breath and my chest ached, so I tried to focus on that pain and get mad about it. “I want some of my own back. I owe him.”
“That’s it,” Cillian said, a gleam entering his eye. “That’s the right approach. Ready?”
I nodded.
Cillian removed the headphones from Ilya’s ears and took them over to the wooden wardrobe that sat with the doors open, then laid them on a shelf inside. The piece of furniture gleamed, and there wasn’t a single scratch in the wood. He steadily walked back, making sure his footsteps were loud on the floor, and Ilya froze like a mouse hoping a cat wouldn’t notice him. No luck there. Cillian untied the knot in the rope that held the gag in place behind Ilya’s head.
There was a long minute where no one spoke, and then Ilya shook his head and coughed. “Who—” he rasped. “Who’s there?”
Snorting, I stepped up to him, but I was too close, so I licked my lips and backed off. “Where’d your phony accent go?”
Ilya cocked his head and his shoulders slumped, and then he sniffed as if he’d caught wind of something rotten. “Who are you?”
I fought not to do it but broke and glanced over my shoulder at Aspen. Beads of sweat ran down my spine. The room wasn’t that warm, and a shiver raced over my skin. I was mad as hell about getting beat up, and twice as pissed off about having been in the hospital, but I still wasn’t sure I could do this. Strands of my hair stuck to my sweaty cheeks and I shook my head to get them away.
“Someone you should be afraid of, asshole. You don’t fuck with the Irish.”
Cillian nodded in approval while he mouthed the word “yes,” and my heart leaped. I twisted my hands on the bat, choking up like I was getting ready to bunt, and picked a spot on Ilya’s arm I wanted to hit. Cillian unhooked the blindfold, and as it fell away from his eyes I swung for a home run, not giving Ilya a chance to adjust to the light in the room. A vindictive part of me wanted him to be scared and hurt like I had on the factory floor with his men kicking me, hoping Cillian, Rowen, and Aspen would get there in time to pull my ass out of trouble before I was dead. Adrenaline spiked in my blood and gave me conviction.
The bat connected hard enough with Ilya that the chair rocked, and he screamed, which hit me wrong with how keyed up I was. I hopped backward with the bat out in front of me, and Cillian cackled. Rowen covered his mouth with his hand, but I could tell he was laughing, too.
“Yeeejit. He can’t hit ye, he’s still tied down,” Cillian managed to get out before he started chuckling again.
My stomach dropped out of my middle and rocketed toward the center of the earth. He couldn’t hit back. Reed hadn’t been able to hit back, either, but I’d only given him a couple of punches. This seemed so much worse.
Cowardly.
Rowen leaned in and his warm breath gusted over my ear. My face heated. “I sometimes like to think of us handing out justice, that helps me get through. Sometimes I visit Father Shay.”
“Yeah, no, I won’t be doing that.” Trying to find my balls, I swung again and hit the same spot.
Ilya closed his eyes and whimpered this time. “We were just making money. We all make money. Why the fuck did Killough have to come in there? It was a good spot for some business.”
Cillian slapped the back of his head. “Shut it, ye wanker. That’s not how things go in this city. There’s a right way and a wrong way.” He slapped his cupped hand over Ilya’s ear, and Ilya yelled wordlessly as his dark eyebrows furrowed and he hunched, trying to hide his body. Panic had me glancing at the black padded walls and the blackout blinds over the window—no one outside would hear the tortured screams; the guys had made sure it would be impossible.
“I think you ruptured my eardrum!” His chest heaved and he darted his gaze around frantically, but with his hands tied at his back he couldn’t turn enough to get a good look at Cillian.
Ilya made eye contact with me, and here, where I was in charge, I couldn’t say I was afraid of him. I hated fear—it was weakness and only ruined your chances at doing what you wanted in life. But I’d been scared standing naked in front of him. I’d hated the way he’d reached out to touch me, and I’d fucking loathed how he’d ogled and sneered all at the same time, as if he liked the goods but thought I was a piece of shit. I stared at Ilya, and he looked right back, an unspoken plea for mercy in his expression.
He wasn’t a strong man.
“Reed had more balls than this guy,” I said softly.
“’Course he did. He was from the Company, wasn’t he?” Cillian shrugged. “Might’ve been a traitor, but we make them better than everyone else.” He slapped the back of Ilya’s head again.
Yeah, I wanted this over. I’d just do it. I took a deep breath to psych myself up. I’d hurt him, and then this would be finished. Hopefully I could convince them to go home, back to Vail. I didn’t mind most of the other stuff we did—but this torture shit wasn’t my gig. I’d treat it like lunges, which I fucking hated. I did them as correctly as possible for the time I’d decided I should, and then that was it. I didn’t go all out, but I did the job.
Nodding to myself, I swung the bat up again. Ilya’s bottom lip trembled, and despite all his shit I felt bad. My chest ached as I connected hard with Ilya’s arm. I did it again and again until I heard a crack, and Ilya shrieked. Cillian palmed his bulge as I shifted and swung for Ilya’s left leg so I could make sure his injuries were as inconvenient as fucking possible. I tried not to think about anything except proper form with my body, how I could swing to get the most power. I cracked his kneecap hard, and he screamed like a girl in a horror movie who had just discovered vampires. My chest gave a nasty pang and I stopped to catch my breath, which should not have been necessary. True rage boiled in my veins as I stared at Ilya, and something strange wriggled through my gut while Cillian studied me with a hot gaze—he watched me the way he did when I was fucking Vail.
I was surprised when Aspen stepped up beside me with his hands in his pockets, but he wasn’t looking at me. Or Ilya. His attention was stuck on Cillian touching himself.
Anger sparked in my veins and I growled. I turned the bat around and held the handle up. “You fuck,” I snarled.
“There ye go,” Cillian murmured, and I didn’t miss the sexual heat in his tone. It made me feel fucking weird and even more furious.
Ilya bared his teeth and stared at me, terror clear in his eyes—finally. “Stop.”
