Octavia
I step out of the car, the cold biting at my face. Adriano falls into step beside me, his jaw tight, his arm no longer bleeding, which means he’s slapped on a temporary bandage of some sort, though he’ll definitely need stitches.
Markev stays a pace behind us, silent.
“Tell me everything,” I say again.
Adriano reaches for the warehouse door, but before he can open it, Markev’s elbow sinks into his stomach.
Adriano grunts, rolling his eyes.
“Infantile,” he mutters, as Markev opens the door and I step inside.
“Was that really necessary?” I ask.
“Yes,” Markev replies from behind me. “No one opens my woman’s door but me. What am I here for?”
I roll my eyes.
Inside, the air is damp and cold, though that’s nothing new given how much rain this island gets.
Two men are strapped to chairs at the centre of the room, their wrists bound, ankles chained. Their faces are bruised, their eyes bloodshot, but they lift their heads at the sound of us entering.
One of my men stands guard along the wall. Another waits by the door.
They nod in greeting as I pass.
I stop a few feet from the men restrained in the chairs.
“What brings you here, gentlemen?” I ask.
Silence.
I glance to my right, where a table is laid out with everything I might need. I pick up a blade and turn it slowly between my fingers, watching their eyes track the movement.
“You crossed onto a private island,” I continue. “My men checked. You had no business being here. So I’ll ask again, what brings you here?”
Nothing.
I exhale.
This is already becoming tedious.
The first man’s jaw tightens. The second stares straight through me, stubborn.
I sigh, disappointed.
I step closer and set the blade against the first man’s throat, not cutting yet, just applying pressure.
His breath stutters, sweat beads along his hairline.
“Last chance,” I say quietly.
He jerks his head in a desperate lunge, driving himself into the edge. The blade sinks deep. The sound he makes is wet and broken, and he slumps forward, chains rattling as blood spills onto the concrete.
I look at him, taken off guard.
“Well,” I say as I straighten, “that was unexpected.”
I turn to the second man.
His eyes don’t flicker. “I’m dead either way,” he says hoarsely. “But if I die here, at least my daughter lives.”
The words land hard.
A daughter.
Someone threatened a child.
He isn’t going to speak. That much is clear.
Markev’s gun is suddenly in my hand. I raise it and pull the trigger.
The second man drops forward and stills, as the room falls quiet.
“Well,” I say coolly, “that’s another dead end.”
“Clean this up,” I tell Adriano. “Station men at the port and the airstrip. Question everyone who enters or leaves the island. Anyone who even feels wrong, take them in. Keep digging. I don’t like this.”
He nods, looking pale but steady. “Yes, boss.”
“And go get stitched,” I add. “You need to be seen by a doctor.”
He smirks. “I knew you cared.”
I smile, because I do, but I can’t afford to show weakness, especially when people are already testing my authority.
I turn away and walk out without looking back. Markev follows.
My thoughts keep circling.
Whoever is behind this is powerful. And whoever they are, him, her, them, people are afraid.
Afraid enough to die.
These men are usually cold blooded, self-interested. Assassins don’t sacrifice themselves unless they’re given a reason.
But their handler knows exactly where to apply pressure, knows their weaknesses well to make them choose death over giving up anything useful.
That unsettles me.
And I don’t like being unsettled.