68. We’ll Kill You For This
68
WE’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS
AIDAN
T he glamour and perfection of the Russian mansion do not extend to the shadowy depths of its basement. No, the Russian Lion has himself his very own private dungeon and torture chamber where he can delight in torturing his enemies within the confines of his own home.
It’s freezing. There are no windows, but a cold draft has somehow found its way into the dark room, wrapping around my bare chest, my shirt was the first thing to go when they shackled me to an ice-cold metal chair, the feet of which are bolted to the floor. A familiar drain is cut into the stone.
I should consider myself lucky to have scored the chair. A variety of chains decorate the dirty and blood stained walls. A wall of instruments comprises the entire far wall. The Russians sure seem to enjoy prolonging death in the most gruesome ways imaginable.
“You dumb fuck,” Petr mutters from where he stands under the rack of various sharp tools, picking up a hammer and looking it over. The tool is still coated with someone else’s dried blood.
I test my restraints for what is likely the hundredth time; the ropes have already cut into my skin. Blood leaks from the raw wounds, dripping down to the floor.
Petr clicks his tongue, setting the hammer back down and picking up a dull, rusty knife. “Should’ve known better than to mess with the boss’s plans.” He turns back to me, running the dirty blade between his fingers. “We thought we could leave you boys alive after, you know, killing your father.” Petr’s icy blue eyes flash maliciously and I grind my teeth. A dirty white rag cuts deep into my lip, keeping me silent.
A cruel smile graces the Russian consigliere’s face as he reaches out and grabs hold of my jaw, wrenching it up so I’m forced to look at him. “Still crying over daddy Ace? Wanna hear how we made him go boom?” His smile widens when he sees my eyes flash with a mixture of rage and pain.
He drops my jaw, moving his hand down and slashing his knife hard against my chest. Again. I bite down on the gag and lift my chin, breathing hard but refusing to scream out from the pain of the dull blade cutting through my skin.
“That’s my specialty, you know?” Petr holds up the knife, watching my blood drip off the tip with delight. “Car bombs.”
I glare back at him. A promise of death.
“They were all the rage back in the day. Maybe I’ll bring them back into style. One car bomb at a time,” he laughs, enjoying this. He sets his knife back down on the table, trading it for a thick metal rod. “This would be a fun toy to use on your little girlfriend.”
I tense in my seat, and Petr notices. Excitement is his expression grows at my obvious distress. He looks me in the eye as he thrusts the rod suggestively in his closed hand, a wicked grin on his face.
My fists tighten, putting further stress on my already abused wrists as my knuckles go white, losing feeling in my fingers.
“Adrik has to give her to Cole,” Petr drawls, coming closer, “but she’s embarrassed him, so I’m sure Cole will give us the green light to punish her. Teach the little bitch to mind her place.” He whips the rod back before driving it hard into my side, probably crushing a kidney. I let out a groan of pain and work to catch the breath the hit stole from me.
“Or maybe we’ll scare her a little first. That first car bomb wasn’t intended for her—she was supposed to be somewhere else—but maybe this time we’ll make her the target.”
Petr continues on, but I stop listening, wondering what he meant when he said, “ The first car bomb wasn’t meant for her? ” A car bomb killed Rory’s mother. Rory had been too close, was thrown back hard from the impact. It fucked up her head and almost ended her ice career… Her life.
My eyes lock on Petr and I see him notice when I connect the dots. “I’ll end her dreams for real next time.” I lunge for him, only to collide viciously with the ropes binding me, and I’m thrown back in my seat, heaving.
Petr erupts in laughter. Succeeding at his goal to rattle me.
The sound of the steel door wrenching open interrupts our lovely little chat. The large menacing frame of Nikolai Kostalov fills the doorway.
“Petr, you’re needed upstairs,” Niko cocks his head toward the hall, snapping his fingers like he’s commanding a dog.
Amusement fades from Petr’s face, his expression darkening. His hold tightens on the metal pipe for half a second before he simply lets it fall at his feet. The clanging of metal against stone is nearly deafening in the small space.
“Da, Nikolai,” Petr mumbles before stalking past him.
The Russian heir doesn’t bother stepping out of his way, making Petr squeeze around him to exit the room.
As Petr’s footsteps fade away, Niko turns his attention to me.
I lift my chin, breathing in deep as stormy blue eyes inspect me, locking me in. I can’t look away. The color so similar to his sister’s—my heart constricts at the reminder of Rory.
Niko’s hands slip into his pockets as he moves casually into the room, looking over the selection of torture tools hanging on pegs along the wall. He turns to face me, staring into my eyes for a long second before stepping forward, pulling a wicked-looking knife out of his pocket.
Niko Kostalov has a reputation for the things he does with that knife.
I sit still, refusing to look away as he approaches. I swear there’s a slight flash of amusement in his eyes before it’s gone, making me think I imagined it.
He brings the sharp knife up to my face and I feel the warm metal scrape against my cheek. I let out a breath, and with it, the dirty white cloth falls from my mouth.
Stunned, I stare at the fabric, now strewn on the concrete floor, before looking back up at Niko. He’s retreated a few feet. Watching me intently, he leans up against the cell’s wall.
“What’s your game with my sister?”
Whatever it was I expected him to say… that was not it and so I hesitate for a second before I respond, “I’m not playing any games when it comes to my wife .”
Niko’s eyes narrow at my choice of address for Rory, but I just glare back at him.
“Why didn’t you give her back this time?” The Russian heir uncrosses his arms, absently playing with the knife in his hands. “Like last time… could’ve saved your own skin.” He points his blade at me, “We’ll kill you for this.”
“I know,” I clip out, “but I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.” Testing my restraints again while Niko watches.
“And what promise is that?”
“To protect her.” My eyes flash. “To keep her safe… to keep her far away from you,” I scowl at him.
“You think she needs protection from her family?” Niko growls out, circling me. The sound of his boots echoes through the dark space.
“I know she does.”
“Tell me where she is.” He stops circling me, blue eyes gleaming.
“No.” My jaw locks and I watch fire ignite in Niko’s eyes. The same way it does in his sister’s when she gets angry.
He steps toward me, leaning in. Bringing his knife—not to my throat—but to my stomach, threatening to gut me and leave me here to die—slowly. “You’d rather die than tell me where she is, puck boy? Give up all those hockey dreams, leave your brothers and sister behind?”
My jaw ticks at the mention of my family, but I trust Koen with their lives, even if I’m not around to help. “Looks like it.” I steel my spine, keeping my eyes on the Bratva underboss as he digs his knife in between two ribs and I feel blood pour from where the tip has broken skin.
“Last chance,” he mutters, frustration breaking through his icy fury.
I snap my jaw shut and bring my eyes up to his. Calmly waiting for him to push in the rest of his blade. To gut me like he’s been dying to do for years. Stormy blue… so much like his sister’s . But the cut doesn’t come. Niko doesn’t remove the blade from my abdomen, either.
Instead, he looks pissed off, staring down at me in obvious frustration. When he finally moves, he moves quickly, slashing at the ropes binding my wrist. One pass tears the rope clean through and he moves on to the other side.
Confused, I watch him warily. My eyes flicker back over to the display of torture tools but then Niko pockets his knife.
“She loves you too, you know.”
I don’t say anything, looking between Niko and the open door behind him, wondering what the fuck is going on…
Niko sighs, “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”
I stare at him, my mind working. He knew. There was only one way for Niko to know what’s between Rory and me is real. My blood turns to ice and I lunge for him, slamming him up against the stone walls, my arm up against his windpipe.
“Where is she?”
“Where is my wife?” I demand, my jaw tightening… already knowing the answer before he sighs, opening his mouth…
“Upstairs.”