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A surge of undiluted violence has me clenching my fists. “Has he given you anything yet?” It’s time to turn the conversation back to our guest.
“Swears we have the wrong guy and that he doesn’t know what we’re talking about. We’ve been waiting for you to do any real questioning, though. This is your hunt.”
The guy looks rough, but mostly that’s from thirty years of hard living. His clothes are unkempt, and the creases in his skin likely have more to do with his alcohol consumption than his age. Straight, dirty-blond hair hangs in his eyes, one of which is in the process of swelling shut. His hands are bound over his head and hooked onto a chain suspended from the ceiling. He’s bearing his own weight at the moment, but he won’t be for long.
“Who were Danilov and Filippova taking orders from?” I jump right to the point as I take an eighteen-inch metal pipe from a nearby table.
“I told your men, Biba was the only Vor. There were no orders that weren’t his.” A sliver of fear dulls the defiance in his tone. He knows I’m the man he’s heard rumors about. The deadly adversary known only in his world as the Reaper.
He’s about to learn why.
With one swift swing, I crush the side of his knee with the pipe.
He cries out in agony. Music to my ears.
“That’s not accurate, and you know it.”
“No,” he argues fervently. “Whatever you think I know, I don’t. You have the wrong man.”
I flick a rusting flake of paint off the pipe with a bored sigh. “That would be some shitty luck for you because this doesn’t end until I get the answers I’m looking for.” I shrug as though the matter is out of my hands, then swing the pipe again, this time harder than the last, and strike his knee in the same spot.
The Russian howls and curses, his face blistering red as he murders me six different ways with his eyes. “Zhopu porvu margala vikoliu.”
I chuckle even though I don’t know what he’s said. The colorful intent is clear.
“You’re right. We should slow this down and savor our time together.” I exchange the pipe for pliers.
He wants to drag this out? Fine by me. I technically have all the time in the world. I’m my own boss these days. However, a new lead to follow would be a perfect distraction from the wedding about to take place. And in all truth, I could use that right now.
In three days, the only woman I’ve ever loved will be saying I do.
There was a time when I imagined I’d be the one waiting for her in a tux at the end of that aisle. That’s what being young and naive will do for you—convince you love is enough.
I know better now.
Love’s ability to overcome all odds is nothing but a bedtime story we tell ourselves to feel better.
There’s only one almighty conqueror, and that’s death.
He handed me his scythe along with a second chance, but I’m under no delusions that I’m immune from his judgment. He’ll come for me too, one day, and there will be no stopping him. Until then, his power is mine, and I wield it judiciously.
Today is a necessity.
This man is protecting a child predator, and therefore, his life is already forfeit. His denials are lies. My men have confirmed his identity as the man who escaped. He knows more than he’s telling us, but not for long.
I snap the metal pliers closed in my hand, the clank echoing in the cavernous room.
“Let’s start with his toenails.”
I’m grateful for the monster I’ve become, but he is nothing like the boy who fell in love. I have to remember that because as much as the boy still wants Isa, the monster would consume her.
CHAPTER 7
ELIO
Twenty Years Ago
I didn’t anticipate wanting to keep a relationship secret from my brother. Things with Isa evolved unexpectedly with lingering touches and shared glances that forged a connection and grew into an unshakable bond.
