Chapter 10
Luka
Marko
She’s eating.
Arelieved breath escapes me reading his text. It’s not that I cared whether she ate or not, but this is better for our mission.
What a stubborn little girl.
Sticking to her values. I’ve seen men lick food off the floor to escape hunger. I’ve seen men eat each other’s severed dicks trying to beg for mercy. No value is important enough when you’re facing death. But not her.
Maybe I’ve underestimated her before. Maybe there’s more hiding beneath the boring exterior.
My phone pings with another text and I grab my leather jacket, popping my gun into my pants, before heading outside.
I slam the door, entering the Range Rover, with Ivan waiting for me in the driver’s seat. I’m used to seeing his blackout neck tattoo but it’s an unnerving sight for random passerby. His thick beard and disheveled hair don’t help, either.
“Any news?” I ask my right-hand man. He’s been working with me for almost ten years, and I trust him with my life.
“It should be safe.” He shrugs his wide shoulders under the worn leather jacket.
We caught wind of Russians planning to intercept our deliveries, meaning that each one could be a setup.
It was what happened to our father.
They intercepted a huge delivery, one that had to be made by the boss himself. They left all the money, all the product. And all the dead bodies.
It was a message.
We’re coming for you.
We weren’t ready then, but we won’t make the same mistake twice. I open the glove box, grabbing another gun.
“Ante did the recon, and we have three more men covering the area.”
“Good.”
If they come, it’ll be a bloodbath. But a part of me wishes for it. A chance to spill their blood like they did ours.
I don’t get my wish. The delivery goes without a hitch. Four crates of firearms are now someone else’s problem, while I count the money in the passenger seat.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Ivan, getting out in the club’s parking lot. Apart from a few cars belonging to the staff, the lot is empty.
Other than going home to walk the dogs, I’ve been practically living here ever since we took our little hostage. There are too many loose cannons around to be sleeping comfortably at home while she’s here.
I need to get some clean clothes. That reminds me.
I head straight for the bar, finding the waitress drying the glasses.
“Marissa, you got the stuff I asked for?”
“Mia. Yeah, I do.” She flashes me a flirty smile. “I can show you in your office.”
I nod and she follows me. She stands proudly in front of my desk, in sky-high porn heels, and a dress shorter than her pussy hair. I presume.
“Where’s the stuff?”
“Here.” She lifts a paper bag in her right hand.
“Great.” I put my hand out, but her face scrunches.
“You don’t want me to try it on?” she asks.
“What? Why would I want that?” I take the bag and gesture for her to get out.
Spilling the contents of the bag on my desk, I realize my mistake.
She thought she was buying clothes for herself.
I pick up the lacy underwear with a pen, brushing a hand across my face.
It’ll have to do.
I remove the riskiest pieces, like the leather harness, a fishnet bodysuit and a nurse costume, rolling my eyes.
Luckily, there are a few pairs of cheeky but relatively normal underwear and two nice bras inside.
There’s also a tank top and a pair of leggings Sophie could use.
In the pile of stockings, there’s a knee high, white cotton pair, which’ll have to do.
At least the towels feel soft and there’s a bunch of products for face, body and hair.
I pile the rest back in the bag and make my way to the dungeon. Like every time, a sense of dread blooms in my stomach, not knowing what to expect when I enter.
But what I see is inexplicable.
Sophie and Marko sit at the small round desk, playing chess, and chuckling.
Her chuckle is soft and sweet, the sound so unexpectant it hits me straight in the chest. She notices me sooner than he does, her gaze freezing when it lands on me, a chess piece stuck in air. Her mouth parts on an ‘oh’ and she pulls her hands to herself, like she was just caught red-handed.
If she were someone else, I’d have thought she was trying to flirt her way into my men’s graces. But this girl doesn’t have a seductive bone in her body. No, that chuckle was sincere, and somehow, it makes it even more special.
“I see you guys are having fun.”
Marko turns to me, looking flustered. “S-she asked me to play a game,” Marko responds, clearing his throat. “And I don’t really know how to play. So she’s teaching me.”
“That’s fine.” His shoulders relax at my words. “I just brought you some things.” I place the bag on the bed. “So you can shower.”
Her eyes widen and she swallows, before saying a quiet, “Thank you.”
I dip my head and get the hell out. Her thanks creeps up my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She shouldn’t be thanking me. I’m holding her captive.
And giving her a chance to shower is in no way a thanking ordeal. It’s just a basic human necessity. I’d hardly want my men to suffer her stench otherwise.
The second delivery of the day is less peaceful. No Russians appear in flesh, but once again, they went behind our backs, trying to poach on our territory.
The abandoned warehouse we meet at isn’t ours. It’s where our arms smuggler keeps his merchandise and where we did our drop-offs for the last seven years.
As soon as Ivan and I enter the place, I can smell something’s up.
Liz, the main guy, is fidgety, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
His hair seems to have receded even further since the last time I saw him.
Liz is short for Lizard, which I know is ridiculous, but you know, criminals and their little nicknames.
I plaster a wide smile on my face, one that is so unnatural it probably looks scary. “Liz, my man. Got the goods?”
“Uhm, yeah. I have it right here. But we have a problem.”
“Do we?”
Liz nods profusely, wiping his hands on his pants.
“And what would that problem be?”
“The Russians.”
“I see. And why would the Russians be a problem for me?”
“I might owe them some merch.” I level him with a glare. “It wasn’t me. A foot soldier of mine did it.”
“You’re responsible for your men.”
“Of course, I am. And I have him handled. But what’s done is done?”
My ears perk up at his words. “You have him handled?”
“Yup, he’s cuffed upstairs. I’ll make sure he gets punished.” Our eyes connect, and I know he’s loyal to me.
“And my goods?”
“Like I said. I have it all. I just don’t want you thinking I’m playing double agent.”
My chin dips. This is a massive fuckup, but I’ve been working with Liz for years. And I’m leaning towards trusting him. Besides, we’ll see what the little shit says. “Take me to your guy.”
His throat bobs as he swallows his spit. I follow him up the metal staircase. The steps clink beneath our boots, Ivan walking right behind me. We realize this could be a trap. My right hand rests on my gun, willing to take no chances.
But as Liz leads us to the room furthest to the right, I know he was telling the truth.
A skinny guy in ripped jeans and a wife-beater thrashes in the chair.
He looks like he’s in his early twenties, young enough to have his whole life ahead of him, but old enough to know better.
Ropes are tied around his wrists, ankles and mouth, stifling his screams. His eyes are blue and wide, his pupils blown with fear.
A powerful stench of urine permeates the room, evident by a wet stain on the front of his jeans.
I motion my head to the guy, and Ivan approaches him to untie his mouth.
“No! Please! I haven’t done anything!” The muffled sounds turn to words as soon as his mouth is free. I sigh, wishing we could have done this without the screams. Two more of Liz’s men are in the room, but they’re smart enough to know not to interfere. This isn’t their jurisdiction.
“What’s your name?” I ask the young guy.
“T-Tommy,” he answers, his heartbeat almost visible through the thin cotton.
“Russians, Tommy?”
“They made me do it. I had no choice; they made me do it.” He shakes his head.
“Did they, now? And how did they do that?”
“They told me you guys are ruined.” Drops of sweat fall from his forehead. “And everyone who isn’t on their side will get caught in the crossfire.”
“That’s a shame, Tommy,” I sigh. “You obviously picked the wrong side. Who did they approach? You or Liz?”
He glances at Liz before responding, “They told me Liz is done. He’ll go down with you.”
I purse my lips, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Tommy. I won’t kill you.”
“Thank you.” Spit splatters from his mouth. “Oh, thank you.”
“I wasn’t finished. I won’t kill you. But you will give them a message.”
“Anything, of course. I’ll tell them anything.”
I roll my eyes, disappointed by his pleading. It’s pathetic. They would kill him if he did that. They will kill him when he does that. “It’s not a verbal message. More of a poetic one. Ivan.” I motion my head again, and he ties the rope back around Tommy’s mouth.
I draw my knife from the sheath in my boot, Tommy’s muffled screams growing louder.
I haven’t used this little thing in a while.
“I’ll need a flat surface. A book, or a desk, maybe?”
Liz and his guys work quickly to bring a desk to Tommy’s chair, their nerves palpable. I instruct them where to place it. When they’re gone, Ivan approaches.
“Need help?” he asks.
“Sure, why not?” I shrug and he knows exactly what to do.
He forces Tommy’s right hand open on the desk, his fingers splayed out for me. Tommy’s muscles contract, but they’re no match for Ivan’s strength.
Perfect.
“Hold him still. I want our message to be clear.”
I pull up a chair to see what I’m doing better. With the sound of muted screams and cracking bones, I cut off Tommy’s fingers, one by one. All except the middle one. Blood splatters from the open stumps, spraying over my face. I spit it out to the side.
Disgusting.