The Russian with the slashed face kept staring, not saying a word.
“We still got those fire ants?” I asked, looking toward Rael.
How the fuck he obtained them, I wasn’t sure, but there was a whole colony of the nasty insects in soil that he kept as fucking pets.
“Yep.” He flashed a sinister grin. “This is gonna be fun.”
Rael disappeared into the room across the hall, rustling around with containers and junk. He reappeared with a jar of honey and a container of the ants.
“You know what’s cool about these?” he asked casually.
Mammoth shrugged.
Ex finished his beer and lit up a smoke. “I’m guessin’ it’s the fact that they like sweets and flesh and oils.”
“Yep. Components of the human body,” Rael agreed.
Fuck. That was enough for me to keep my distance.
“And they sting,” I added.
“It’s a vicious venom too.” Rael looked so fucking happy you would have thought he just got laid.
As he approached the Russian, I stepped back and gave him plenty of space. Rael opened the honey and let it drizzle over our prey, chuckling as the Russian squirmed, fighting his restraints. He still didn’t utter a word.
Once the honey was closed, Rael opened the lid on his container and let the ants drop onto our prisoner, careful not to let any of them fall to the floor. They seemed to latch onto the blood and honey, and bared flesh like it was a feast. The Russian bucked and wiggled, but there wasn’t enough give on the chains for him to escape the fire ants or their merciless stings.
After a few minutes, his mouth opened, and he began yelling, cursing, and threatening us in every way possible. Red welts appeared on his skin as the minutes dragged on. His body shook violently, but nothing dislodged those ants.
“How the fuck are they still feeding and stinging?” I asked, fascinated despite my impatience for answers.
“Well,” Rael replied, scratching at his whiskers, “I feed them blood and honey, honeydew, and other insects. I think they’ve developed a taste for it.”
Holy shit.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Mammoth deadpanned.
Done with the wait, I walked back up to the Russian. “Did you hit my woman?”
“Yes.”
He was going to die, but at least we were getting somewhere.
“Who ordered the hit on Tawni Baker?”
“Sergei.”
Resnikov. No surprise there. “Did he have an associate? A guy named Sid Bullard?”
Mammoth frowned, and I knew he didn’t like it that I hadn’t filled him in on the connection.
“Yes. He’s close to Sergei. War buddies.”
Snorting, I found that information amusing. “Where are they?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why not?”