Chapter 7
Troy
Sergey Aseyev is waiting at his front door when we pull up. He looks impressive even in casual slacks and a polo shirt. He also looks furious.
I park the truck and kill the engine. In the rearview, Caleb is pale, his brows pulled together in an anxious frown. His eyes meet mine and he quickly glances away.
Fuck him. Whatever Sergey wants to do with him when we’re done, it won’t be pretty.
Our recent troubles begin to make more sense if Caleb is working for the Vorsongs. If it’s true, I don’t see a way out of this for him.
As long as we get Dani back, Caleb can die in a fire for all I care.
I haul Caleb out of the truck and shove him toward Sergey.
The old man sneers. “This is the scum responsible for my granddaughter’s disappearance?”
“No, I swear—” Caleb begins.
“If you are smart, you will not speak unless one of us asks you a question.” Sergey’s cold blue eyes move over Caleb, top to bottom. Turning to Edmund, Sergey says, “This man has no character, no strength. I don’t understand why your grandfather allowed him to become a part of your family.”
“I’m beginning to wonder that, myself.” Edmund grimaces.
“Bring him around to the garage, if you will, Troy.” Sergey gestures toward a detached building a few yards away from the house.
Caleb has wised up and he doesn’t say a word to Sergey or Edmund. To me, though, he whispers, “Look, man, I didn’t do any of this. You gotta believe me.”
I shove him between the shoulder blades, pushing him ahead.
A royal blue, classic Jaguar is parked outside the garage. I get the impression Sergey moved the car so we’d have more space to deal with Caleb.
Four men are already in the garage. They wear black suits and grim expressions.
Caleb falters when he sees them lined up along the far wall. “What is this? What are you doing?”
“We need to talk.” Edmund acts like this is a relaxed, easy afternoon. “Some of what you tell us, I’m certain Danica’s grandfather would like to know as well. We’re saving time, resources.”
“Don’t let him kill me, Edmund—please.” Caleb drops to his knees in front of Edmund. He makes a pathetic sight with his wrists zip-tied behind him. “Please, I swear, whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
Edmund’s cheerful expression morphs into what he’s truly feeling—cold fury. In a dark, chilling voice, he says, “And what if I want you to die?”
Caleb’s mouth falls open in dismay. “But we’re friends—”
“You have betrayed me, betrayed my family. That isn’t what a friend does.”
“Put him up.” Sergey adds something in Russian to one of his guys.
Two of the men grab Caleb and haul him to his feet. They attach metal cuffs to his wrists and affix them to chains dangling from the ceiling. I don’t get the impression this sort of thing is done often, but I don’t think this is the first time a man has hung from the ceiling of Sergey’s garage.
Edmund faces Caleb, that mask of cold fury on his face. “We could make this so much faster if you tell us who has Danica, and where they took her.”
I examine some of the tools casually placed on a workbench. The soldering iron is a nice touch. Otherwise, it isn’t so different from the garage at Rendsell. Ready to fix a car or torture someone into confessing their sins.
“I don’t have anything to tell you.” Caleb has gone from fearful to sullen. “I didn’t do anything wrong, man.”
“Bullshit.” It’s the first time I’ve said anything.
Caleb looks at me, startled. Sweat drips from his forehead, but he can’t wipe it away.
I fold my arms across my chest. “You’ve been working against us for months now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Caleb shakes his head. “I’ve been loyal to the Laytons since the beginning.”
“Where’s Dani?” I pick up a crowbar. The solid weight of it fits well in my fist.
“I don’t fucking know where she is.” Caleb’s stare is challenging.
Sergey sighs. He points to one of his guys, then to Caleb. “Hit him.”
“No, I don’t know anything—”
The guy steps forward. Almost quicker than I can track, he pops Caleb in the face.
Caleb cries out in pain. His nose cracks—broken. Blood flows freely down over his mouth.
“Tell us where she is,” Edmund says.
Caleb whimpers. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t do any of it.”
“How about I tell you a few things.” Edmund walks closer to Caleb, his gaze dispassionate on Caleb’s bleeding face. “Because I think you did quite a fucking lot. And if you don’t know where Danica is, you know where we’ll find her.”
Caleb coughs and spits, blood landing on the floor not far from Edmund’s feet.
“I wondered about how the docks at Mirarosa could be blown up so easily. All that whiskey, gone. Half a million dollars.” Edmund shakes his head as he circles Caleb. “Here we thought you were incompetent, but all those fuck-ups were on purpose.”
“You lost Dani at the club during her bachelorette party,” I add. “We shouldn’t have forgiven you then.”
“Why my father put you in charge of the wedding security, I’ll never understand. I know why—your mother.” Edmund sighs. “But I don’t get it. Never will.”
“Just now, you killed the one guy who we knew had info about Dani’s kidnapping.” I heft the crowbar up and down. Sergey and his men watch, silent, as I step closer to Caleb. “Scollins wasn’t even armed. As soon as we figured out he helped Dani’s kidnappers, you killed him.”
Sergey takes a few steps so he’s standing next to me. He reaches for the crowbar. I hand it to him. “Where did the Vorsongs take my granddaughter?”
One blistering fast hit to the gut with the crowbar, and Caleb is blubbering.
“The Vorsongs should be reaching out soon, okay?” He coughs, sobs past the blood dripping from his nose. “They made a deal, they wanted to get her, use her to make the Aseyevs and Laytons clear out. They should’ve been in touch already—”
“Where is she?” Edmund bellows.
“Let me live, Edmund, please,” Caleb says.
“It isn’t up to Edmund.” Sergey’s voice is sharp. He adds something harsh in Russian. “You’re in my garage, you shitstain. Where are they holding her?”
“Some warehouse. It’s in the Bellefleur. I can take you there—”
“No.” Sergey stares hard at Caleb, at his bleeding face. “You will tell us. Then I will decide your fate.”
* * *
Danica
“How can I trust you?” I ask Kellen. “Um, no offense…”
He makes a show of looking around the creepy room. “Who else are you going to trust?”
Fair point. Still, I don’t know. What if I go for that utility knife and it’s all some elaborate setup? I don’t know what Kellen could be trying to get me to do, though.
“When you get out,” he goes on, “tell the police everything I’m telling you. I need to take down the Vorsongs once and for all.”
So that’s the catch—that’s what he wants from me. He wants his revenge on the Vorsongs, even if it’s after his death.
“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll tell them whatever you want.”
He takes me through several details about the heroin shipment the Vorsongs are bringing in. I repeat everything after him, committing it to memory.
Once he’s satisfied, he gives me a wink and starts yelling. “Uriel! Hey, asshole! I need the bathroom.”
Nothing happens.
Kellen doesn’t seem deterred. “Uriel! Fuck-face! I’m going to shit all over your pretty chair!” To me, he adds in a quiet voice, “He won’t have gone far. He’ll hear me eventually.”
I wait, breath held, listening for footsteps. I both want Uriel to show up, and I don’t. He’s scary. I’m worried Kellen and I will mess up the utility knife plan somehow, that we’ll lose our one chance to get out of this mess.
I’m worried about trying to get Kellen out when he really seems to believe he won’t make it. I refuse to accept that he’s going to die in here. No way. Not if I can do something about it.
“I guess some shit could really improve this installment,” Kellen shouts.
Footsteps. I meet Kellen’s eye and whisper, “He’s coming.”
The door slams open and Uriel stands there. He’s in black jeans and a black t-shirt, and his usual half-smile is missing, replaced by a terrifying frown. I thought his emotionless eyes were scary, but this new anger mixed with that uncaring, cold stare is even worse.
“You will not soil my tableau.” Uriel marches around behind Kellen’s chair and starts untying him. “I will kill you before I allow it.”
Kellen rolls his eyes at me.
As soon as Uriel frees him, Kellen pretends to fall—or maybe he really does fall. I can’t tell. Uriel shouts in outrage as Kellen slams into the desk and several of those black, unlit candles and religious statues topple over.
While Uriel is distracted by the new mess, Kellen kicks his leg out and nudges the utility knife toward me. Kellen groans as the utility knife slides over the floor.
I think the groan was to cover the sound. Kellen’s pretty smart.
The knife hits the front leg of my chair. I lift my foot and plant it on top of the knife, hiding it from view as much as I can. The cold metal presses into my sole.
“You idiot!” Uriel grasps Kellen by the shoulders and lifts him. “You’re ruining everything.”
He hits Kellen in the side, again and again. Kellen’s pain-filled groans fill my ears.
“Stop, please!” I can’t bear to watch, but I can’t keep quiet. “Just take him to the bathroom!”
Uriel chuckles and drags Kellen from the room. I listen hard, hoping to hear Kellen say something. Anything. But he’s silent.
A couple minutes go by.
Uriel brings Kellen back. A flat, blank smile is on Uriel’s face.
Kellen’s eyes are closed.
“Is he dead? Is he dead?” I ask.
Uriel doesn’t answer me.
But when he sets Kellen back on that gaudy chair, he doesn’t tie Kellen’s hands.