He exhales, annoyed but calm. “I’ll handle the cleanup. Extract what you need. Don’t worry about the rest.”
There’s something in his eyes. It isn’t sympathy, he doesn’t have that, it’s something close to understanding.
Pity, perhaps.
It’s absurd. No one understands this.
You don’t understand until you’ve lost the reason you get out of bed. The reason you bother breathing. The one person who kept you human.
Every day since she died is torture.
Not metaphorical.
Actual, grinding torture.
The only thing keeping me upright is revenge.
I step forward and take the axe from the table. The man is unconscious, his head hanging loosely against his chest.
I bring it down on his arm.
“Wakey, wakey,” I say.
He jerks awake with a scream as blood spills across the floor. He loses control of his bladder. I look at him without a trace of sympathy.
“How did you find him,” I ask evenly, “and what does he have to do with what I’m looking for?”
I expect Isaak to answer.
It’s Ido.
“I have contacts,” he says. “And they owed me.”
I glance at him. “How do you know they’re telling the truth? We already scraped the market. It was all bullshit.”
“They wouldn’t dare lie.”Ido says flatly.
That’s enough. I don’t care how this man connects.
He does and that’s all I need.
I crouch in front of him. “What’s your name?”
He sobs, choking on blood. Something comes out of his mouth, barely a sound.
“I can’t hear you.”
I bring the axe down into his leg.
“Andrew,” he gasps.
“Do you know why you’re here, Andrew?”
He nods weakly. “I… I can guess.”
Good.
That almost makes me hopeful.
