18. Rashid
RASHID
"That's my father." Emory launches off the desk and grabs for her clothes on the floor. "Why is he here! You just made this deal with me and?—"
"Get dressed and go to Aleksandr's room. Stay there until I come for you." I don't have time for her being petty. What's done is done and she's agreed to stay with me. I flick my wrist and she growls at me as she snaps her bra in place.
"You promised me he wouldn't be hurt. You gave me your word." She pulls her shirt over her head and yanks her pants up, but her hands shake so badly she can't get the button through. "What sick game are you playing?"
"I told you I have to deal with him. But you can't be in this room when they bring him in. Get dressed and go." My tone is stern as I glare at her, but she doesn't seem to get the point. I want her out and I am not taking no for an answer.
"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's happening to him." Emory is so stubborn it makes me rethink wanting her around permanently.
But if she's going to dig her heels in and ruin this, I'm going to have to do things the hard way. I walk over to the door and open it, glancing out at the guard tasked with following her. Krispin looks up at me ready for orders.
"Take her to the boy's room. Keep her there. I don't want to hear a peep out of her either."
Krispin steps past me and reaches for Emory's arm, but she rips it away from him.
"Don't touch me. Rashid, tell him to keep his hands off me." It's comical that she thinks I'm going to change my mind. I can see how frantic she is, probably terrified I'm going to hurt the old man, but I gave my word. I'm not fond of it, but once it's given I don't go back on it.
"Go with him, Emory. Now."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you're going to do to my father."
Krispin grabs her arm again harder and she shoves at his chest.
But he outweighs her by a hundred kilos; there's no way she's getting away from him.
He drags her toward the door as she digs her heels into the carpet trying to resist.
"Get off me! Rashid, you son of a bitch, you promised me!"
I suck in a breath and adjust my slacks, smoothing the creases and straightening the fly.
Emory's voice fades down the hallway the farther away she gets. Mr. Rostov is going to tell me what he knows and I'm going to make sure I get every ounce of information he's got.
Gusev has been at my throat for years; the fact that he has suddenly been able to make effective strikes against me is infuriating.
I'm getting to the bottom of how Rostov got this information and I'm doing it today.
Devid and two of my men drag the old man into my study and leave him crumpled on the carpet between them. His lip is split and bleeds down his chin, dripping to my rug. And he looks weak and tired, maybe hungover. It's apparent he's aging in a very unhealthy manner.
"He put up a fight at the hostel," Devid says. "Took a swing at Mikhail."
"Get him in a chair," I grumble, already eyeing the bloodstain Marta will have to wash out. She's not fond of cleaning up after wet work, so I try to keep it out of the house.
Devid hauls him up by the back of his coat and drops him into the armchair near the window. Oleg slumps forward and presses a sleeve against his mouth, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes that can barely focus.
"Do you know who I am?" I ask him coldly. Not surprised at his answer.
He nods. "Krasnov." The old man's voice is hoarse, maybe from screaming. I'm not going to ask my men how it got that way.
"Good. Then tell me how you got my shipping routes and who you gave them to." For now I'm calm, thanks to Emory and that incredible sex. My body is still rippling with the aftereffects. I walk over and plant my hands on the armrests of his chair, leaning over him.
"I worked at the port," he says, shrugging before he wipes the blood off his lip with the back of his hand.
"I had access to the cargo manifests and the scheduling logs.
I knew which trucks were yours because your men used the same rotation every month.
" It's believable but not entirely true.
We switched patterns and our shipments didn't come from the ports.
We're moving product through Afghanistan, and he fucking knows it.
"You’re lying to me," I say calmly, knowing damn well I can't hurt the man. My word is my reputation; if I break it, no one will ever trust me again.
Oleg trembles, and as if nothing is beneath him his bottom lip quivers and his eyes well up. "Please, my daughter..." He reaches for me as if I can offer some comfort, but he doesn't realize I'm his enemy, not his savior.
"Where did you get the information," I hiss, leaning back from his touch.
His head drops but he mumbles, "I don't know the man's name. He was Afghani... I bribed him and..."
Fucking despicable. He's talking about Farid, I can tell.
This fucker got in my source’s head and paid him off to get intel to take me down.
My blood curdles.
And to think I mourned that sick bastard too, paid for his wife to be relocated. And now this?
"And you sold that information?" I ask calmly as pieces start to fall into place. Farid sold information to Rostov who passed it on to Gusev, and that's how things got compromised. I can make changes to adjust, but that won't get my product back, and it likely means a war to reestablish myself.
"I had to," he slurs. I can barely make out the words. "Gusev was going to kill me. He was going to kill my daughter and my grandson if I didn't give him something, and your routes were the only thing I had that was worth anything to him."
"What did you give him?" I demand. "My schedules? My truck rotations?"
"I gave him what I had, okay?" He won't look at me. He stares at the carpet between his feet and sways back in the chair like he's going to be sick. "I just wanted to protect my family."
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
He raises his head and I can see he's barely holding on. His pupils are blown wide and unfocused and the skin around his mouth is crusted with dried blood. He smells like he crawled out of a bottle and slept in a gutter, which probably isn't far from the truth.
"But you have to help me," he says. "Krasnov, please, they took my daughter."
"I didn't bring you here to help you. You ratted on me."
"I know, I know, but Emory's out there somewhere and I think Gusev took her," he says, now sobbing. He lurches forward, gripping fistfuls of my shirt in desperation. "She has a little boy, Krasnov. He's only eighteen months old and those men have them and I don't know where."
This man is a coward, and a worm, but he loves his family. I know the feeling of wanting to protect what's yours, but I'd kill men for touching me like this. I eye Devid, and he and Igor come over and plant the old drunk back in his chair as I step away.
"What did you give Gusev besides my routes?" I ask him.
He shakes his head. "I don't know. I can't remember. I can't think right now." He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and trembles.
"Try," I order angrily. Any other time and this would be a far different scenario. Devid is probably wondering why I haven’t cut off his fingers yet or gutted him.
"There were contacts maybe," he slurs again. "Men at the port. Customs, I think. And someone in the harbormaster's office." He breathes shakily and mops his face up then pleads with me again. "Please, my daughter. He has her and?—"
"How many contacts?"
"I don't... two maybe. Or three. I set things up for them but it was months ago and I was drinking through most of it.
" I'm getting to the end of what I can drag out of him.
The man is spent, and half-gone. "I can give you more if you let me think.
If you let me sleep for a few hours and eat something I can remember the names and the schedules. "
Devid catches my eye from across the room; the expression he gives me tells me he thinks I'm going soft, but this man has information I know will be useful. I have to keep him around for more than just the fact that I gave my word to a woman.
As much as I want to backhand him and force the intel out of his mouth, I'm not sure how successful I'll be. He needs to sleep and sober up, and he needs to know his daughter is in good hands or he'll be a blubbering mess the whole time anyway.
"Take him downstairs," I tell Devid. "Put him in the basement room and lock it. Give him water and something for his face but nothing else. No phone and no visitors until I say otherwise."
Devid glowers at me as he hauls Oleg up by the collar. The old man's legs give out and the guards have to drag him. And the whole way down the hall, he calls out Emory's name, pleading with me to find her and make her safe.
I sit down and run a hand through my hair; the old man is useless tonight but if he sobers up and his memory comes back he could hand me the keys to Gusev's entire operation.
And if I keep him alive and under my roof, Emory has no reason to run.
Her father is here, her son is here, and she has nowhere else to go.
But the fact remains that he exposed me to my enemies.
His debt to me is greater than any debt he may ever have to Gusev.
If Emory thinks for one second that I might truly punish the old man for what he's done, she'll try to take my son and run.
It's a fine line, and I have to walk it carefully.