I grab David by his shirt, dragging his unconscious body toward the basement door. I curse when I see the steep stairs. There’s no way I’m carrying his dead weight down there.
I grip him by his shirt, position him at the top of the stairs, and throw him down.
“He slipped.” I shrug.
Mikhail scoffs and pushes Mendez down the stairs too. We position them in the middle of the basement. I crack open smelling salts under David’s nose to wake him up. He gasps and jerks back, groaning. He looks over at his partner tied up next to him, scans the room, then his gaze lands on me.
His eyes widen with terror. I walk over and pull off his gag. He starts coughing, groaning, drool running down his chin.
“What is happening?” he slurs. “Mendez, are you hurt? What the fuck is going on?”
Mendez shakes his head and stares at the floor. Won’t even look at his partner.
I narrow my eyes. This bastard isn’t surprised or panicked like he should be. Most people scream, beg, ask why. He just accepted his fate the second we grabbed him.
He won’t even look at David. Won’t try to reassure him or figure out an escape plan. He’s already given up. Knows exactly why he’s here. The question is what he’s been hiding and how deep his secrets go.
“Something’s off about this one. He’s not questioning why he’s here. Won’t respond to his partner. I’m going to find out what it is. Are you staying?” I say in Russian.
Mikhail shrugs. “Staying.”
I walk over to the wall, pick up a crowbar, test the weight. The metal feels good in my hands. I stop in front of David and bring it up slowly, let it touch his temple and tap it once.
He flinches and looks at me, blinking. “I … I recognize you. You’re Alexei Avrorin.”
David’s voice cracks. “I know what you do for your family. Jesus Christ, I worked the Ricci massacre. The crime scene photos were … fuck, they were the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my entire career. It took the coroner three days just to identify all the pieces. We had to use dental records because there weren’t enough intact body parts left. You’re not human. You’re a fucking butcher.” He shudders, pulling against the restraints. “You can’t do this. We’re police officers. You can’t touch us.”
He’s seen what I leave behind. Knows exactly what I’m capable of. Which means he already knows how much this is going to hurt.
“What did you get out of it? Beating someone until they couldn’t fight back anymore. Making them feel small. Worthless. Did it make you feel powerful?”
He looks confused for a moment. “What are you talking about?”
Then understanding clicks. “Wait. Are you talking about Kelly?”
He actually laughs, short and bitter. “Wait, how do you even know Kelly? What does he have to do with you?”
Mendez flinches at Kelly’s name, but he keeps his eyes on the floor.
I grab David’s hair, yank his head back so he’s forced to look into my eyes. I slam my fist into his face. His head snaps back. He coughs, spits blood.
“Wait, wait … Your family has a contract with the police commissioner. You’re not allowed to kill cops unless it’s agreed to. We all know about that rule.”
“Some rules are meant to be broken. Especially when you touched something that’s mine.”
He spits more blood. “Yours? What? How do you even know him? Kelly isn’t yours. He was going to come back to me. He just needed?—”
I swing the crowbar into his ribs before he can finish. Bone snaps with a crack that bounces off the walls. His screams fill the basement, loud enough to make my ears ring.
“Kelly has problems,” he gasps out. “Serious mental problems. He makes things up, twists?—”
I hit him again. Same spot. Harder.
“He threw himself down the stairs and blamed it on?—”
The crowbar connects with his knee. Something inside him gives way. He’s sobbing now, gasping for air.
“Stop talking about him. Every word you say makes this worse for you.”
