Chapter 3
Alexei
I walk away before the sexy waitress can refuse the money. Any other night, I might indulge in our mutual attraction. But not tonight.
Benny Parker just sauntered in.
Only answers matter. I plan to get them, even if that means carving them out of Benny’s flesh.
People leap out of my way. A blond waitress wearing lifeguard attire blushes, her gaze skittering to the sticky floor. I ignore her, intent on trailing my target.
My focus never leaves Benny’s back as he weaves between tables, oblivious that the devil’s on his heels.
Because that’s exactly what I’ll be if he doesn’t talk.
I’ll make Hell resemble a fucking playground.
In person, Benny looks different than he does in his mugshot. He has more meat on his bones, better clothes, but the same shifty eyes. His prison muscles strain against a tight black t-shirt, attempting to advertise strength he doesn’t possess. I know the type.
All show. No follow-through.
Screams quickly and loudly in the face of pain.
Trying not to raise my hopes, I hang back as the ex-con who did time with my brother scans the space.
Even if he is my only lead.
Across the room, the observant little waitress watches me watch Benny. Her forehead furrows. Clearly she worries about my motives. She’s right to worry.
I tear my attention away from her.
Do I want to toss her over my shoulder, carry her to a private room, rip that ridiculous maid outfit off her sweet body, and fuck her six ways to Sunday?
Only an idiot wouldn’t.
Still, she’s a complication I don’t need when I have my brother’s untimely demise to investigate. Though the coroner ruled Mikhail Kozlov Jr.’s death a suicide, I knew my brother better than that.
Someone killed him.
And once I find that sukin syn, he’ll regret the day he was born.
Benny throws back the drink in one swallow. Hidden by the crowd, I count the seconds between each of his nervous glances at the door.
Eight.
Six.
Four.
He’s waiting for someone and growing more anxious by the minute. Good. Nervous men mess up.
When he heads for the bathroom, I close the distance, timing my approach to intersect him in the narrow hallway that reeks of bleach. Back here, no one lingers nearby to witness our interaction. It’s just us and the muffled bass.
I block his path. “Bathroom’s occupied.”
His unfocused, bloodshot eyes widen with awareness when they drift to my face. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet. But you will.” I casually prop one hand on the wall beside his shaggy brown head like we’re old friends having a chat.
He attempts to dart around me. “Listen, man, I gotta take a leak.”
My other hand seizes his shoulder, my fingers digging into the flesh where the trapezius muscle meets the neck.
I apply just enough pressure to cause his knees to dip. “No, you don’t.”
“Come on. I haven’t done anything. I’m just letting off some steam and minding my own business.”
His entire body tenses, and sweat glistens on his forehead.
So the bastard does know me, probably from one of the times I visited Mikhail in prison. Maybe MJ told him about me. Or maybe one of the other residents did.
An overwhelming wave of regret slams into me.
Fuck, I miss my brother. But now isn’t the time for grief.
I shut down those emotions, clearing my mind and focusing on Benny.
He cranes his neck this way and that, but no one shows up to rescue him. “I don’t want no trouble.”
“Good. Neither do I.” I ease off on the pressure. “I just want you to answer a few questions.”
His throat works on a swallow. One of the sweat beads rolls down his nose. “Here? Now? I need to—”
I slap the wall near his head and delight in his flinch. “You need to cooperate.” Leaning close to his face, I ignore the cheap whiskey on his breath and lower my voice to a vicious whisper. “And I don’t give a single fuck about your timetable.”
Behind us, the bathroom door squeaks open. A drunk who barely registers our presence stumbles out. Benny’s shoulders stiffen. He’s debating whether to call for help.
Once again, I dig in to that pressure point in his shoulder. His unspoken plea transforms into a pained gasp. “Okay, I’ll talk.”
“Good answer.” I squeeze once more and let go. “We need privacy for our little…chat. We’re going to walk through the back door, nice and easy. Like friends.”
“I ain’t your friend.” The defiance sounds hollow, rehearsed.
My smile feels like broken glass, and given Benny’s sudden pallor, must look even worse. “No…but you were my brother’s cellmate.”
I edge back, allowing him just enough space to breathe. I can sense the wheels spinning in his mind as he glances at the exit sign at the end of the hall.
“If you try to run, it won’t end well.”
Benny flinches, then gives a single nod. “Okay.”
I gesture toward the door. “After you.”
He shuffles ahead of me, his hands trembling by his sides.
I follow on his heels, angling my body to block any attempts to flee.
The exit door leads to a small alcove with another door that opens into the alley behind the bar.
The moment we step outside, warm summer air laced with the stench of garbage and piss assaults me.
I’ve already surveyed the area. No cameras. No witnesses.
Benny braces his back against the brick wall. “So what’s this about?”
Several seconds drag by before I answer. “I’m sure you heard about MJ’s death a few months after his release.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t keep up with him when we got sprung. MJ mostly kept to himself. We played some cards, sure, but—”
My hand shoots out and clamps around his throat. His eyes bulge as I apply just enough pressure to restrict his breathing without completely cutting off his air supply.
“Don’t lie to me.” At my deceptively soft tone, the color that returned to his cheeks disappears again, providing me with a transient twinge of satisfaction.
I’ve spent years perfecting my tactics for making people squirm, but this time it’s personal.
“Cops claim his death was a suicide. Self-inflicted. But I know my brother. MJ would never end his own life. Not unless something terrible happened to him in the joint. Did it, Benny?”
His perspiration dampens my palm. “If so, that’s news to me! Look, I liked MJ. He was a good cellmate. Quiet…minded his own business. I’m sorry he’s dead, but I don’t know nothing about it.”
“You’re lying. MJ was investigating something before he died.” An educated guess. I’ve had plenty of time to consider his final actions. The things he did, where he went, who he conversed with, and maybe more importantly, the people he didn’t.
He never told any of us what he was hunting for, which was out of character. We’re family. At the very least, he should’ve shared his intentions with me.
He must’ve had a reason for keeping his investigation secret.
Benny licks his lips. “Don’t know nothing about that.”
“MJ discovered dangerous information in prison.” I release him and retreat to give him some space. Part of me hopes he runs so I can shatter his kneecap. “Information worth killing for. And you were right there with him in that cell, every day.”
“I swear to God—”
“Don’t bring God into this. He’s not here in this alley with us.” I lunge forward once more, relishing his screech. Shaping my fingers into a V, I place them above the bridge of his nose. “I need the truth. But you don’t need to see in order to give me that.”
Palpable fear oozes from Benny like cheap cologne. I inhale, filling my lungs with the familiar desperation of a man who realizes he’s trapped.
“MJ never talked about the outside. Not to me. We weren’t close like that. I’m not in the life. The brotherhood. Whatever you call it. I don’t even speak Russian.”
“But you knew he was searching.” I tap my ring finger to the side of Benny’s left eye.
His pause carries on for far too long.
“I find these shifty eyes of yours offensive.” My fingernail slides inward, lightly scraping Benny’s eye before he shuts it. “Maybe if you lost one, you’d be more apt to talk.”
Just as he jerks his head back, a dark stain forms on the crotch of his pants. “Maybe…maybe I saw him with some Russian guy in the yard a few times. Older guy who did a stretch for fraud. They’d sit at the tables, talking all quiet.”
Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.
I withdraw my finger and loosen my grip. “Name.”
“I don’t know, man. Viktor? Vlad? Started with a V.”
“Valentin? Scrawny guy, glasses, resembles an accountant?” I describe an old friend of my father’s. He never spent a day in jail, let alone prison, so if Benny takes the bait, he’s a lying piece of trash.
Benny’s throat bobs. “Yeah, could be. Didn’t pay that much attention.”
Little weasel. Let’s see how far he’s willing to go with this story. Oftentimes, lies contain a kernel of truth.
“What did they talk about?”
“I told you, they kept it quiet. But…” He hesitates.
I unsheathe a knife from my waistband and scrape the blade across my thumbnail. “But?”
Benny’s breathing rate accelerates as his eyes fixate on my weapon. He lifts his palms in the air. “But MJ had papers sometimes. Like, documents. I saw him showing this Valentin guy once. They argued. Valentin kept saying he needed more proof.”
My pulse quickens, and my knuckles whiten around the bone handle. “Proof of what?”
Benny shakes his head. “I don’t know, man. I swear. MJ never told me directly. But after that meeting, he acted different. Jumpy. Started working out more, like he was scared or preparing for an attack.”
“The papers.” I sheathe the knife. “What happened to them?”
“MJ kept them hidden.” Benny reaches up and gingerly rubs his eye. “Had a spot in our cell…loose brick in the wall. But they disappeared the day before his release. He must’a taken them.”
My mind spins. Evidence. MJ had evidence worth killing for.
And now those papers are missing.
Benny squirms. “We good? I told you what I know.”
“Not everything.” I shoot him a glare that abruptly halts his fidgeting. “Besides you, who did MJ talk to after he got out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was he afraid of?” As far as I know, no one frightened my brother, but I still have to ask. People change, especially after doing time.
“I don’t know.”
Each response frays the thread of my patience a little more. “Who would want him dead?”
“I truly don’t know!” Benny’s voice rises, panic trickling in. “I keep telling you that we weren’t that close!”
In one fluid motion, I ram my forearm across his throat, trapping him to the wall for a second time. “I’m getting really fucking tired of your lies, kakashka.”
“Please.” He wheezes for air. “I’m not—”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I’ve told you…everything I know.” Another gasp. “Which is…jack shit. MJ didn’t trust me like that. He wouldn’t have told me…anything.”
The fucker’s eyes slant to the side. I can tell there’s more he isn’t sharing with me.
“No.” I ease up on his neck. “He wrote me while he was inside. Said you were a good cellmate. Someone he could trust. I think you set him up.” My words are a stretch, a gamble, but what Benny doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“What? No!” The denial comes too quickly and too forcefully. “Why would I do that?”
“Money. Protection. Take your pick.” I spread my hands. “I will find out, Benny. I’m going to peel you open until I get to the truth about my brother’s death. Even if I need to flay your skin off, layer by layer, until every nerve cell in your body screams in agony and you beg for mercy.”
His shoulders shake, and a strangled sob escapes him. “I didn’t have nothing to do with it, I swear.”
“But you know who did.”
Benny’s eyes twitch as he weighs how much to reveal. “Look, there are people out there who would kill me just for talking to you.”
For the first time in months, hope roots in my chest.
That little piece of information puts a whole new spin on things. Learning there are people who are desperate to hide this from me suggests I’m right about my brother. He didn’t kill himself.
Which means someone else did.
That brings me one step closer to avenging his death.
“Those people are out there, but I’m,” I tap my chest, “right here. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, death will be a mercy.”
His eyes dart to the bar’s back door.
There’s no handle. No bell. Only a flat deadbolt lock that requires a key. No possibility for escape. Benny has only one way out of this.
And that’s through me.
He whimpers as I unsheathe the knife again and start to casually trim my nails. “You don’t get it, do you? These people, they’re everywhere. They’ve got cops on payroll. Judges. They’re untouchable.”
“Do they have doctors on their side? Priests? Angels? Because that’s who you’ll need, not judges or cops.” The blade in my hands reflects the streetlight’s yellow glow. I offer him a cold smile, signaling that I’m about to enjoy dirtying my hands. “One way or another, you will tell me everything.”
He pants in short, panicked breaths. “You don’t understand what you’re getting into. MJ didn’t either.”
He eyes the door once more, then me. Then the other side of the alley.
The fucker’s going to run.
“Go ahead, Benny. I need more excitement in my life.”
He launches himself at the bar door like he’s been struck by lightning and pounds his fists on the metal.
“Open up!” More pounding. “Please!”
No one comes.
Benny whirls, eyes bloodshot and wild with desperation. He inches toward the dumpster, his gaze never leaving me. Two steps. Three.
After another beat, his hand moves.
He’s quick, but so am I.
I hurl my knife right as his hand, now clutching a small pistol, emerges from the back of his jeans.
The blade sinks into his thigh.
He screams in agony, cradling his leg with his free hand.
I draw my own gun. “Drop your weapon, Benny. You don’t want to test my aim again.”