Chapter 6 Jay #2
“What do we do with traitors?” Thorpe Senior paced up and down.
At times like this, I could see why he’d earned the nickname Guillotine Graham.
Most of the time, he had a perfect, unreadable mask, with a politician’s smile.
But when he let it slip and the demon inside peeked out, it was frankly terrifying.
I was rarely involved in these events because my dad had always tried to keep his family separate from his side business, despite the fact that my two best friends were heavily entrenched in the criminal underworld.
But Thorpe Senior had given me a direct invitation tonight, and you didn’t turn down a direct invitation from Guillotine Graham.
I wondered if I’d been invited because he expected me to follow in my dad’s footsteps. If so, he’d be disappointed, because a career as a surgeon wasn’t in my future.
“King!” Thorpe Senior snapped his fingers, and Ry flinched imperceptibly. He recovered quickly, though, his gaze sliding to the bound, gagged man seated in the centre of the room. One arm was tied behind his back, and the other was tied to what Guillotine Graham referred to as the “chopping block.”
“We teach them a lesson,” he said in a bored tone.
“Correct. Would you like to do the honours, son?”
The man flailed in his chair, his cheeks bulging with the effort of attempting to speak from behind his gag, but his efforts were in vain.
Ryker reached into his pocket, pulling out a knife I recognised—his dad had given it to him for his eighteenth birthday.
Pressing down on the catch to release the blade, he strode into the centre of the room, stopping in front of the man.
He tapped on the hand that was tied to the chopping block.
“It’ll hurt less if you stay still.”
Tears were running down the man’s face, but Ryker remained impassive. Cold. The wickedly sharp blade came down, and I gritted my teeth against the sound of metal going through flesh.
When it was over, the man was down a finger, and Ry turned his back to the mess of blood and flesh decorating the chopping block, wiping the blade on his suit trousers. There was a tiny shake in his hand, but I was the only one who saw it from my vantage point.
I wanted to ask if he was okay, but now was not the time or the place. I glanced over at Volkov, who was watching the whole thing with the air of someone who had seen this kind of thing countless times before and had become completely desensitised.
My dad appeared with his medical bag, and as he began the clean-up process and Thorpe Senior pulled some of his senior associates aside, I took the chance to speak to Ryker.
“Mate. Are you okay?”
“Fine. It’s nothing new.”
“What, cutting someone’s finger off?”
“Something like that,” he muttered. “You know what our world is like. Anyway, your dad’s a surgeon.”
“Yeah, but I’m not. I prefer dissecting equations, not people.”
He stared at me. “You’re fucking weird.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words died in my throat when Volkov swaggered into view. “Good work, Thorpe. Very…tidy.”
My jaw clenched. “I hope that wasn’t supposed to be an insult.” Ignoring Ryker’s warning nudge, I stared Volkov down. The corners of his mouth kicked up.
“It was a compliment, Attwood. A little different to the Volkov methods, certainly, but a compliment nonetheless.”
“How would you have done it?” Ryker’s tone was curious, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I didn’t like anything that involved extending my time in Anton Volkov’s presence.
“Hmm. Pliers, perhaps. The loss of a fingernail before the cut. Saw through the bone, rather than a quick cut through the joint.”
Ryker nodded as if he were filing it away for future reference, while I did my best to remain impassive.
“Nothing to add, Banks? Or was it all too much for you?”
Banks. This asshole was trying to goad me into an argument, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“What about a scalpel? If you used a surgical one, you could drag it out. Peel the skin away, then the flesh, bit by bit. Then you could use a pipette to drop acid onto the exposed tissue and sit back and enjoy the effects until you get bored. You could start cutting then. A small bone saw, or even a chisel, should do it.”
The two of them stared at me in open disbelief.
“What?” I shrugged casually. “My dad’s a surgeon. My mum’s a consultant doctor. My sister’s a qualified pharmacist and aesthetic practitioner, and they all work with needles and chemicals every day. I might have picked up an idea or two from them.”
“Fucking hell. That’s… Yeah. Don’t let my dad hear you say this shit. I don’t want him dragging you into his torture sessions.” Ryker shook his head. His voice was deadly serious. “There’s teaching someone a lesson, and then there’s sadistic torture.”
“Perhaps I underestimated you,” Volkov mused, a gleam of respect appearing in his eyes.
Yeah, you did. Not that I would ever dream of doing the things I’d described to anyone, even if they happened to be a criminal who had personally betrayed us.
There was a reason I was studying accounting instead of going into the family business.
But if it came down to it, I wasn’t afraid to get my hands dirty.
“You did underestimate me,” I said. “Don’t do it again.”
Ryker’s sharp exhale brought me back to reality as I kept my gaze locked on Volkov’s. Shit. I was borderline threatening the Pakhan’s heir.
“Be careful what you say to me,” Volkov warned, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a low purr. “I’ll see you on the ice. My future wife will be watching us from the stands, wearing my jersey.”