Chapter 30
Idon’t enjoy getting my hands dirty like this anyway. When I was younger, I used to revel in cruelty, but now I’m disgusted that I even have to get close to people like Carson.
“You can make this easy for yourself and everyone in this room if you just comply,” I say, standing in front of him with three people to either side of me. We’re in his basement, a dingy little place with only one light hanging from the ceiling.
Carson shakes his head, unable to speak because of the dirty rag we stuffed in his mouth. He tried to bite one of my men when he did it, and he was backhanded so hard I was almost certain we had killed him.
But he’s awake again, and not as easy to crack as we first assumed. The Red Hitters must have a strong hold on him, preventing him from speaking freely without fearing for his life or possibly the lives of people he cares for.
But he hasn’t experienced a Bratva interrogation. We don’t stop until we get the truth, and we don’t let people go as a reward. Their reward is death, and by the time we get finished with them, they’re begging for it.
“Carson,” I say, stepping closer to him. I can smell the fear clinging to his skin, a mix of sweat, body odor, and something sour. Scared people always stink, and I want to cut his throat just to replace the stench with blood.
Carson is trembling, but there’s not much he can do to soothe himself when he’s hanging from the ceiling by his wrists. I don’t know why he’s trying to draw this out. It’s not going to change anything for him.
“You’re going to give us the location that the Red Hitters use for their meetings,” I say, grabbing his face and forcing him to look into my eyes. “If you don’t, I’m going to pry it out of your head after I cut your fucking skull open.”
I see fear in his eyes, but he’s still not screaming through the rag in his mouth for mercy.
I turn to one of my men, holding out my hand. “Find anything useful in the kitchen?” I ask.
He smirks, laying a butcher knife in my palm. My fingers curl around the wooden handle, and I turn back to Carson with a grin. “Have you considered what a lobotomy would do to your willingness to talk?”
He shakes his head, trying to pull back from me.
“I think we’re just going to skip the interrogation, actually. Let’s get to the fun part,” I growl, grabbing his head and pressing the blade into his forehead.
I’m not just doing this to scare him without doing any harm. I fully intend to kill him in the process, but he must be alive long enough to tell us what we want to know.
I slice into his forehead, cutting a line across his skin until I feel the blade connect with his skull. I’m not going to be able to saw through it with a butcher knife because it lacks serration, but I want him to believe I’m doing it. He’ll be able to feel the blade scraping against his bone.
The screaming starts, but I don’t stop until blood is running down his chin and dripping onto the dusty concrete floor.
I take a step back, swinging the blade to my side and glaring at Carson. “You want to skip the lobotomy? It might be easy for you to talk.”
I’m almost disappointed when Carson nods, but then I remember that Lily is waiting for me in the van. The sooner we get out of here and back home to safety, the better.
“Take the rag out of his mouth,” I order one of my men, nodding at the dangling body in the center of the room.
Carson flails a bit at the beginning, but goes limp when the rag is removed and used to wipe the blood from his eyes.
“Okay, so let’s make this quick. I don’t have all day,” I say, looking at my watch.
Carson coughs, his voice strained and scratchy from the pain. “I’m not the guy you’re looking for. I swear! I’m just a nobody. They don’t tell me meeting locations or anything like that.”
“Don’t play with me,” I growl, swinging the butcher knife at him and sinking it into his arm.
Carson howls in pain as I yank the blade back out, causing him to bleed at an alarming rate. He won’t last long this way, but that’s what I’m hoping for. If he thinks he’s going to die, he’ll beg to be saved, and any information he has will be spilled for a chance at survival.
“That’s a nasty wound you have,” I mutter, shaking my head at the mess he’s making on the floor. “You really should tie it off or you’re going to bleed to death.”
“Yes, please,” he gasps. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Don’t let me die!”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Carson,” I reply, trying not to lose my patience and kill him on the spot. “Talk first, then I’ll help you.”
He looks at his arm, realizing how bad it is, and starts to panic for real. He can barely get his words out, scrambling to come up with something in the few seconds he has before he starts to black out.
Once he goes to sleep, he’s never going to wake up.
“I don’t know the location, but they meet at the main police station and drive together in unmarked cars from there. You can track them easily,” Carson blurts.
It’s a stupid thing to do, but I wouldn’t put it past the Red Hitters to behave in such a reckless way. They’re a lot messier than they need to be. I think they enjoy getting away with it, to be honest.
Still, I’m not willing to accept Carson’s answer just yet. He might be holding something back, giving us a piece of the truth without revealing everything.
“I don’t believe you,” I say. “Try again.”
“Please, man, I’m begging you,” he squeals, looking back and forth between his arm and me frantically. “I’m telling you the truth. Tie my arm or I’m going to die.”
“Then die,” I reply, turning away from him and addressing my Bratva colleagues. “Come on, guys. It’s time to leave.”
“Don’t we want to dispose of him?” one of them asks, peering around me to get a better look at Carson as he flails around, trying desperately to break free.
“Leave him here. I want to send a message,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Carson screams, but his voice is already weak. He can barely speak by the time we reach the stairs, and when I turn the light off in the basement, I can’t even hear him breathing anymore.
He’s gone, and soon the rest of the Red Hitters will follow in his footsteps.