Chapter 39
KATE
Idon’t take the gun.
I want it, more than I can say. I want to fold my fingers around the grip. I want to shove the saliva-soaked barrel up Tarasov’s fucking arse. I want to feel him tremble, hear him plead, know he’s finally going to pay for all the bad decisions he’s made over his lifetime.
But he needs to suffer more.
I glance at Cole. “Cameras?” I ask him.
He crosses to a panel on the wall. After flipping four switches, he says, “They’re on.
” He points out the glinting lenses, floor and ceiling.
That’s for Tarasov’s benefit. I learned where they were weeks ago, when Cole tied me to the bed.
“Motion activated,” he adds, understanding that we’re teaching my prisoner.
“Video and audio?”
“Yes.”
“Color or black and white?”
“Color.”
“Excellent. And just to be certain… This room is soundproof?”
“Completely.”
“The only ways in and out are the staircase there and the elevator in the corner.”
“That’s it.”
“There’s no way past the gate.”
“Only if someone with access works the biometric controls.”
Someone with access… Like I had, when I let Megan and Tarasov enter weeks ago. When I gave the gobshite the power to terrorize us, to tie us up in our own home, to force Cole to work for the bratva, and to hand over his Picasso.
Today, I start to balance the accounts.
First off, I cross to the refrigerator that hums against the wall. I take out a bottle of chilled water, Voss, because my prisoner deserves only the best. I crack the top and hold it to his lips, tilting gently while he guzzles down every drop.
I can’t have my captive getting too dehydrated. Not if he’s going to last.
“Hey, shitehawk,” I say to Tarasov, as if we’re having an ordinary conversation. “You have a choice to make today.”
He’s still man enough to glare at me. That will change. I can be patient.
“A choice,” I repeat, as if he might not understand the word. “Like the ones you gave me when you dragged me, blindfolded, to the toilet. Like the ones you gave me Friday night, when you bargained over Viktor.”
Cole stiffens at that. Now he knows all about the Bad Men. But he doesn’t know what I did to convince Tarasov to take the coding bait. I’ll tell him later. He deserves the truth. It will help him accept what I’m about to do.
I take my time, crossing to the armoire. I know the contents of all its drawers; I’ve paid attention every time Cole brought me to this room. I open a drawer and take out a tool he’s never used on me. It’s one I wouldn’t stand for. I’d use my safeword—red.
But Tarasov doesn’t have a safeword. All he has is a choice.
Holding the device in my left hand and the gun in my right, I say, “Here’s your choice,” I say. “One of these is going up your back bum. You get to decide. Will it be the gun?” I show him the gleaming pistol, still slicked with his own spit. “Or will it be the cattle prod?”
Tarasov twists within his bonds. He yanks his hands in their cuffs, digging tempered steel into the soft flesh of his wrists. His feet scrabble at the floor as he tries to back away.
“Call her off, Wolf,” he says, eyes frantic as he looks over my shoulder.
Cole doesn’t say a word.
“Eyes on me, ya gobshite. Ya’ve got two options. Gun or prod. If I decide, yer gettin’ both.”
Tarasov’s eyes close. His head lolls between his outstretched arms. “Prod,” he finally whispers.
I deliver what he asked for.