“Call me psychic, but I figured you’d say that.”
“There’s no use beating around the bush,” he goes on plainly. He scratches at the scruff that’s grown in along his jawline. “You were listening to what was said.”
“I wasn’t trying to?—”
“It doesn’t matter either way,” he interjects. “I dragged you here with me.Of courseyou’d hear what we talked about. No need to pretend otherwise when you’re involved anyway. The message carved into Teagan was clear enough.”
The dread deepens, the sort of sinking sensation that makes me feel as if I’ll fall any second.
“Right…” I mutter.
“They’re not gonna stop. Which means we’ve got to use what we can.”
“You mean me?”
“I mean the intel you’ve got on them,” he says. “You spentalmost half your life in Bratva custody. You could tell us more than weeks of scouring their organization for intel.”
Though I’ve seen this coming, it still makes the blood drain from my face. It sends a jittery bolt of nerves rushing through me as I remind myself to stay composed.
Keep calm and don’t lose my cool.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you know,” he says, his gaze unwavering from mine. “Start with the Vodka Room. We need to know their shift schedules, any unknown exit points, weapons they’ve got stashed, anything you can remember.”
I hesitate, my fingers tracing a crack in the wobbly, wooden table. I’m torn between refusing to offer these things and wanting to help as much as I can.
There’re solid reasons for both.
This has already gotten out of control. I’ve already caused so much trouble and untold damage. How can I possibly justify causing more, even if it means helping out Killian and the Callahans?
“The Vodka Room has three floors,” I start glumly. My gaze drops from Killian’s, and I stare at the same crack in the table I’ve traced several times. “The main level where the barroom is. Then there’s a second level that’s VIP. That’s where Fedorov hangs out when hedoescome by.”
“And the third?”
“Underground. I’ve… I’ve never been down there. But I hear there’s some tunnels that lead to another part of Brooklyn.”
He nods along in approval. “What else goes on on the third floor?”
“Not totally sure,” I say. “I’ve only been up there twice. But I do know that’s where they handle the business side of things—supposedly there’s a safe where they stash money—and Fedorov’ll have his meetings up there. That’s why security’s tighter on the third than the other two floors.”
“How often does he come by?”
My throat tightens and I straighten my glasses. “Whenever he wants. But that’s not very often. He has his office up there, but the Vodka Room’s beneath him… or that’s how he used to talk about it. He’d rather let his son, Rurik, handle it. He’s usually there nightly… except Sundays.”
“Now tell me about Fedorov’s private estate.”
“Killian…”
“You’ve got to tell me everything you know,” he grunts. “That’s how this works. That’s the only way we’re able to end this once and for all and get your sister back.”
Killian knows what he’s doing—uttering those four magic words is enough to make me do as he says.
I heave another long sigh and tell him what he wants to know. He quizzes me along the way, asking plenty of questions and pressing for some details I’m not even sure if I remember. But what I am able to give him, he’s grateful for.
If I seem like I’m getting overwhelmed by his line of questioning, he backs off. He makes sure to keep his tone neutral as if not wanting to get too aggressive or push me too hard.
At the end, he reaches out and gives my shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze.
