CHAPTER 9
WOLFE
The rumors about some drugs being dealt in Volkov territory has me out on the streets today. I could be with looking after our woman, which is what Hendrix is doing, but instead I’m looking for pieces of shit. It would be great if the guys I’m looking for knew the shit mood I’m in and stopped their bullshit, but I know I won’t be that lucky.
I guess it could be worse, I could be checking out warehouses like Dominic is doing. That job is like searching for a needle in a rust covered haystack, but considering we know how Morozov operated by hiding in plain sight and using warehouses, it’s a good place to keep an eye on.
The only good thing is that I was given some damn good intel. I’m at the second spot where the deals have been reported with my eyes on a man who screams shifty. I think even the most inept cop could spot this guy from a mile away and know he’s up to no good.
Instead of calling them, which would be amazing if I could, I’m going to have to deal with them since it’s related to the threat against Kirill and his crew. Which means it’s a threat against Baker. I’ll be damned to leave my blood brother’s life in the hands of cops who are bound by red tape and the legal system. No fucking thank you.
I slip from the truck that I’m driving about half a block from the dealer. He’s so intently watching the street for people to peddle his poison to that he has no idea I have him in my sights. What a fucking idiot.
The fact that he’s been telling his customers that he’s one of Volkov’s men has me seeing red. My footsteps are silent as I come up on him. It’s not the best idea I’ve ever had to pick this idiot up in the middle of the day, but the people in this part of town who would care don’t want this shit on their streets. They won’t go to the cops.
The closer I get to this guy, the harder it is not to laugh. I’m at least double his size and I’m not only talking about height. He looks like he could be knocked over by a stiff wind and that is being generous. Taking him out and to Volkov’s interrogation room is going to be a breeze.
I pull my knife and tuck it against my forearm, before throwing my arm around the idiot’s shoulders, the knife pressing against his throat. “You’re going to walk with me and not say a fucking thing. I have some questions for you, ones you’ll be answering.”
False bravado makes him puff up his chest even though it’s more adorable than menacing. “I’m not telling you shit,” he insists, trying to sound hard.
I chuckle and shake my head as I lead him back to my truck. “You don’t understand,” my tone is placating, like I’m speaking to a wayward child. “You’re not really going to have a choice in telling me everything I want to know. You won’t be able to help yourself,” I taunt him.
“Fuck you,” he grunts.
I press the knife against his neck harder letting it dig in, a small sliver of satisfaction hitting me when a rivulet of blood slides down his neck and stains the collar of his ratty as fuck t-shirt. The way he stiffens tells me that it must sting like a bitch. Good. I’m just getting started.
He goes quiet, which is just fine as far as I’m concerned. He doesn’t need to talk right now. It’s probably for the best because his bullshit has less of a chance of pissing me off further if he keeps it to himself.
When we get to my truck, I open the back door to the cab to get him into the second seat. Before I force him inside, I grab some zip ties. Once he’s secured, I push him inside and then make sure he can’t try anything funny by using the ties and locking his hands down. Yeah, I’m not going to be surprised by this little shit.
“I was just doing my fucking job, man,” he tries to reason with me.
My lip curls back in a snarl. “I’m not letting you go. You’ll tell me what you know. I don’t give a fuck if it was a job to you, it’s a shit one and you’ve been tarnishing Volkov’s name in the process of your little job,” I sneer the last word to let him know just what I think about his employment.
The way he pales has me grinning from ear to ear as I slam the door closed. I whistle a little tune as I walk around the truck and get in. Now, one might think that I rush away from the scene of my little abduction, but that’s not my style. No, that’s the kind of shit that has people paying attention to you and wondering what you’ve been up to.
I sit in place for a few minutes and watch. There’s still no one around and the traffic is minimal at best. It’s kind of a shame because this neighborhood could be thriving, but the people who live here are struggling. They work their asses off, and not a job like this fuckface in the back has, but they can’t get ahead.
It’s fucked up.
Especially when you have assholes like Mikhail and his minions who increase the crime in these areas and prey on people who are just trying to live. The cycle continues when kids get involved, and there’s no way that this guy hasn’t been selling to kids; I don’t even have to ask to know the truth.
When we get to Volkov’s building that he uses for the more grey areas of his business on the edge of the warehouse district, I’m struck by the huge brick building. Most of it is used for storage, but it’s what is in the basement that I’m after.
Once the large bay doors are opened and I drive in, it only takes me a few minutes to drag the little cockroach down to the perfect torture room. Not only is it soundproofed, but it’s fully stocked and set-up to be cleaned up easily.
Yup, perfect.
I don’t necessarily enjoy torturing someone, but I’ll be making an exception for this guy. While I’d normally call in Dominic and Hendrix to be here with me, they’re busy doing their tasks and I don’t need their help. It’s obvious that he’s going to break without any issue.
The way he’s sniveling is proof enough. I’m a little surprised he hasn’t pissed himself yet, but I have no doubt that it’ll happen soon.
When I get him strung up, the zip ties still around his wrists looped over the hook hanging from the ceiling, I flash the guy a smile. It’s all teeth and, I’m sure, not in any way reassuring.
His lips thin as he presses them together like he’s trying to hold back words. While I might admire him for it, I’m too annoyed and frustrated that I even had to go and track this dickhead.
“Well,” I clap my hands together, the sound echoing around the room and making my captive flinch, “since you don’t seem willing to start the conversation, I’ll put you out of your misery.”
He barks out a laugh, clearly not understanding the meaning of my words. “I told you I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Oh,” I hold the word out like he’s an idiot, “you think I mean that I’ll just go ahead and kill you and put you out of your misery.” The cocky look on his face drops like a fucking stone in water and I can’t help but laugh. “Naw,” there’s a tease in my voice, “I’ll just tell you what I know already.”
“Fuck you,” he chokes out.
The way his arms start to shake is comical, but I don’t comment on it. He’s already getting enough shit and is starting to feel the pain. I don’t need to rub his face in it. It won’t change what is about to happen here.
“I know you’ve been dealing for Mikhail Morozov.” I pause, watching as his face pales, but he doesn’t say anything. I almost admire his resolve, even if it is stupid. “I know you’ve been telling people that Volkov and his crew are behind the drugs hitting the streets instead of baby boy Morozov.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. I do work for Volkov.”
He puffs his chest up like he’s a big man, but it’s a front. It’s in the way his eyes shift around the room. He’s nervous and it fucking shows.
I make a humming sound and stride over to the other side of the room where there’s a cabinet made for a garage workshop which holds a whole host of tools of the trade. I almost bark out a laugh as I realize just how similar the tools are when it comes to what I’m about to do and what you would find in a workshop. I guess there’s no need to fix something that’s not broken when it comes to storage.
I take in the multiple hammers, the sledgehammer, the rubber mallet, the various wrenches and shears mixed in with the knives like they belong next to each other. The nail gun and blowtorch both catch my eye. When I glance over my shoulder, I make eye contact with my captive and grin wide.
He’s trying to peer over my shoulder to see all the options I have in front of me. My frame is blocking most of his view. Which is only going to make his fear ramp up.
I tap my chin like I’m thinking and mock him, “There are so many choices. I don’t know where to start.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he tries to sound tough, “I’m not going to talk.”
I hum softly as I shift just enough for him to see what I have to work with. It’s not easy to stop myself from barking out a laugh when I hear his audible as fuck gulp. A rapidly growing wet spot on his jeans has me twisting my face up.
“Thank fuck you didn’t piss yourself in my truck,” the disgust is clear in my voice. “I would have been pissed as fuck.”
“You don’t need to do this,” he tries to bargain with me, but it’s far too late for that shit.
I grab a pair of metal shears and let out a sigh like I’m torn on what I’m about to do. I’m not.
“You’re the one who asked for this,” I justify to him.
“I didn’t,” he insists.
With a slow shake of my head, I step up to him, steady his hand and cut off his pinkie all while staring at him, a neutral mask on my face. His screams ring out in the room, making me internally cringe. He’s loud as fuck and shriller than I was anticipating.
If only I could wear earplugs in, but that would kind of go against being able to hear him spill his guts.
“You’re the one who said that I couldn’t get you to talk. I don’t do well with challenges. You,” I fake concern for him, “asked for this.”
Only when his screams die down do I grip his other hand and cut that pinkie off as well. I swear he screams even louder the second time. His arms are shaking, then his entire body. When he droops, his head falling forward, I heave out a heavy sigh.
“They always go unconscious,” I mumble to myself.
I walk to the other side of the room where there’s a big sink. I drop the shears into them, knowing they’ll be cleaned or disposed of properly. I lift a bucket and fill it up, making sure the water is on the cold side.
After tossing it over him, he comes to with a gasp. Immediately he starts whimpering in pain and I roll my eyes. His eyes are bloodshot when they meet mine and I give a little wave in greeting.
“Welcome back,” my voice is chipper and whatever color was left in his face drains completely.
Good. He needs to know just how deep the shit is that he’s waded in.
“Fuck,” he groans, “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”
I cross my arms across my chest and smirk. “Gotta say, I’m surprised you held out for both fingers.”
As he tells me everything he knows, which does include working for Mikhail—like we didn’t already know that—and using Volkov’s name around town as a cover for who his boss really is, tears and blood drip from his chin.
“I’m just a distraction,” his voice starts getting weak.
I perk up at this, not expecting it.
“A distraction for what?”
He takes a long blink and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just know that I’m a distraction from something else Mikhail is doing. I don’t,” he swallows hard and his brows furrow together, “know anything else.”
After studying him for a moment, I find that I believe him.
Without a word, I grab one of the knives from the tool cabinet. He doesn’t open his eyes when I step up to him, but his face goes slack like he’s accepted his fate. It doesn’t make me feel guilty about what I’m about to do, but it does earn him a sliver of my respect.
My movements are quick and concise as I slit his throat. I don’t walk out until he takes his last breath.
Hopefully, Hendrix is done watching over Kirby because he’ll want to be with me when I meet with Volkov and give an update. If this drug shit was a distraction, what is really going on in this city?