The bedroom’s got a dresser to the left with photographs of dour-looking old men and women. Probably his family back in Russia if I had to guess. I creep to the bed as the big sleeping man snorts, rolls onto his side, and smacks his lips.
Hairy bastard. He could use a trim. I smile to myself and flick a knife from my back pocket, running the sharpened blade against my thumb.
“Wake up, Peter.”
The big man snorts and mutters. I rip his sheets off and suppress a groan.
He’s butt ass naked, like a bear with alopecia. His dick sags over ugly balls. I consider slicing them off, just to get the party started, but instead lean over the bed and grab him by the hair.
“I said, wake the fuck up.”
He grunts and jerks awake. His eyes shoot open and he roars in shock, but I expected this. I push the blade of the knife to his cheek and slice, ending with the sharp edge to the soft part of his throat.
Blood bubbles from the cut skin.
He babbles something in Russian, eyes wild and wide in the darkness, his right hand reaching for the nightstand.
“English, Peter.”
He gathers himself. To his credit, he’s struggling against his fear. It's not easy to get woken up in the middle of the night to a knife-wielding crazy man by the side of your bed.
“Who… are you? What… are you doing here?”
“My name’s Liam. I’m here to ask you some questions.”
He grunts, gaze darting around. “Liam. Whelan?”
“That’s right.” I climb onto the bed and put a knee into his gut. He groans as I lean on him, the blade still at his throat. “Hands by your side, please.”
He pulls them back. “You know who I am?”
“Peter Reshnikov. What do they call you in your family? Peter the Butcher?”
“Yes, something like that.”
“Then you know exactly how this is going to go.” I press the knife tighter. “You’re going to answer my questions. If you do a good job, I might settle for maiming instead of killing. Your bosses will be upset, but at least I won’t have to deal with your body. But, if you’re a pain in my ass—“ I let his imagination do the work. He’s a clever, violent man, and he knows exactly what’ll happen.
His breathing quickens. “What do you want?”
“Kieren Foley. Do you know that name?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s dating my boss’s daughter.”
“What do you think of him?”
“Honestly?” Peter’s nose wrinkles. “Not my kind of man.”
“Why not?”
“Too soft. Too confident. A man like that, who talks a lot, he quickly learns what is good to say and what isn’t.”
“Punchable face?”
“Yes. Very punchable.”
