I follow Erik silently, my boots echoing on the polished floor. The hallway stretches on, gleaming white and stainless steel. It’s too clean, too sterile. Makes my skin crawl.
We pass rooms filled with screens and blinking lights. Shit that looks like it belongs in some sci-fi movie. Erik stops at another unmarked door, punching in a code.
“Welcome to my office,” he says, that goddamn grin plastered on his face.
The door slides open. I step inside, eyes narrowing as I take it all in. Shelves line the walls, glittering with diamonds and gems that’d make most men drool. Paintings I recognize from FBI heist lists hang between them.
“Nice decor,” I grunt. “Planning on opening a museum?”
Erik just chuckles, moving to a desk that probably costs more than most people’s houses. He taps something, and a soft hum fills the air.
“The fuck is that?” I growl, hackles rising.
“Relax, D. Just some extra security measures.”
Before I can tell him where to shove his security measures, a panel slides open in the wall. Behind it, a sleek elevator waits.
“After you,” Erik says, gesturing with a flourish.
I step in, shoulders tense. Erik follows, pressing his palm to a scanner. The doors whoosh shut, and we start descending. It’s smooth, quiet. Not like the rickety deathtraps I’m used to.
“So,” I drawl, leaning against the wall. “This where you keep your gimp, or what?”
Erik snorts. “You wish. Just wait and see,brat.”
The lift comes to a stop, doors sliding open with a soft hiss. I blink against the harsh fluorescent light, taking in the room beyond. It’s bigger than I expected, maybe twenty by thirty feet. Walls of polished steel reflect the light, making my head spin. The concrete floor is dark, stained in places.
“What, you build yourself a little funhouse down here?” I growl, stepping out.
Erik doesn’t answer; just whistles some annoying tune as he strides to another door. He presses his thumb to a scanner, and it slides open with a soft click.
The stench hits me like a fucking freight train. Blood, sweat, piss. My nose wrinkles, stomach churning.
In the center of the room, strapped to a metal table, is a man. Blood oozes from cuts across his chest, his face a mess of bruises. But it’s not him that catches my eye.
Off to the side, trussed up like a pig for slaughter, is a familiar face. The brick shithouse from the other night, the one who got away when I rescued Wren. His face is even more fucked up now, swollen and purple.
As soon as he sees us, he starts thrashing against his restraints. “Mudak!” he roars, spittle flying. “I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll tear your fucking hearts out!”
I step closer, a cold smile spreading across my face. “Looks like you’re not in much of a position to be making threats,suka.”
The man’s eyes bulge, veins standing out on his forehead. “Fuck you! You don’t know what you’re dealing with!”
“Oh, why don’t you tell me all about that?” I purr, circling the table. My eyes rake over the pristine tools laid out nearby. Leave it to Erik to keep a torture chamber as clean as a fucking operating room.
I pick up a wicked-looking blade, testing its weight. “Start talking.”
The brick shithouse spits, a glob of blood and saliva landing at my feet. “Idi na khuy!”
My fist connects with his face before I even realize I’ve moved. But Erik’s faster, his knife flashing out. The man screams as his pinky drops to the floor.
“Kill me, youublyudok!” he shrieks, thrashing against his bonds. “Yebal’tye sukin syn!” he sputters, spitting blood and tears as he laughs hysterically. “Dead! All of you will be fucking dead! They’re coming, you hear me? Coming for your fucking throats!” He cackles like a madman, his eyes rolling back into his head. “And there’s nothing you can do about it!”
I grab his throat, squeezing. “Who’s coming, you piece of shit?”
He laughs, a bloody cough racking his body, staining his shirt and face.
“…Zimniy… Ale… na,” he gasps. “They’re… going to tear your… world apart.”
