What makes matters worse are the guards Vladimir brought with him; his three senior soldiers, the ones he uses for extreme torture, and there are two of Sergei’s merciless guards as well.
If he went as far as to gather the strongest he has, this is more serious than I originally anticipated.
“No presents? What happened to the Russian hospitable nature? But fine, whatever. Do I at least get something to drink at my late welcoming party? I’ll even settle for your beloved vodka today. See? I’m not so difficult.”
“You’re going to answer our questions, and you’re going to answer them truthfully.” Vladimir’s no-nonsense tone booms in the silence of the space.
“I’ll happily answer. What are your questions?” I maintain my smile, making sure it’s neither taunting nor threatening.
I don’t want to kill them, because it’d be a fucking hassle to hide the bodies and come up with excuses, but if they keep getting on my nerves, that’s exactly what will happen.
“Come with us.” Vladimir motions at the warehouse.
“I would rather we talk here. I have a thing against rusty warehouses. Do you know how many germs are in places like these?”
“Cut the sarcastic attitude and follow us.”
“I vote no.”
“This is no fucking democracy. You don’t have a choice.”
“I beg to differ. I do have a choice. In fact, I choose to walk away from here without answering any questions. You lost your chance, Vladimir.”
I attempt to leave but the guards close in on me, and I tighten my hold, calculating who to shoot first. Probably the bald head, one of Vladimir’s closest soldiers and possibly the strongest. If he’s gone, I’ll have a better chance of finishing off the others.
Vladimir shakes his head and they stop in their tracks.
What the fuck?
They don’t even retrieve their guns, remaining frozen in place.
“I said I’m leaving.” I try again and pause at the slur in my voice. I’m not the type who drinks until I get drunk, because that’s equivalent to letting my guard down and signing my own death certificate.
Back in the restaurant, I only had two glasses of wine, which I can tolerate perfectly, so what’s with the slur at the end of my speech?
“The fuuuck are you doing?” I point my gun at the bald head. “Geeet youuur weapon.”
The slur is getting worse, not better.
“Don’t waste a bullet on him,” says Vladimir—or the twin that just appeared by his side. “Our work has already been done for us.”
The gun slips from my hand and drops to the ground. It’s the first time I’ve lost control over my weapon. It’s like my hand has no strength to hold a gun.
Our work has already been done for us.
My vision blurs, and the seven men turn into fourteen. That’s when the dooming realization hits me.
I’ve been poisoned.
My body swings back and I slam against one of the guards before I fall on my knees to the ground.
As the world spins around, the pieces slowly come together.
There’s only one person who could’ve poisoned me today: the one who poured me my second glass of wine.
My wife stabbed me in the back and threw me to her pack of wolves.
9
Kyle
My eyes open slowly, my lids sticking to each other.
The first thing I notice is that I’m sitting down and completely bound to a metal chair.
Plain gray walls surround me, and rusty metal machines flicker in the corners. I shake my head; no, they’re not the ones moving—it’s my vision.
I try to move, but thick ropes hold me in place. I’m sitting on a metal chair, my hands bound behind my back and feet strapped to the metal.
This isn’t a new experience for me. With enough wiggling about, I can flip the chair backward then bend one of its legs, and once I free my ankles, I’ll have more leeway to release myself.
Before I can act on my plan, I’m surrounded by the lucky seven who captured me. They didn’t even bother to take me to one of their compounds and just moved me inside the warehouse. If the location holds no importance, then it should mean my life or death doesn’t matter.
Vladimir steps forward, handing his jacket to one of his underlings, and makes a show of rolling his sleeves to his elbows and revealing his Bratva tattoos. While doing so, he watches me with his usual grumpy, brooding expression that makes him such a bore.
“I didn’t know we were close enough to play kinky games, Vladimir. Before we start, my safe word is Let me go.” My tone is humorous, but it doesn’t camouflage the taste of betrayal burning down my throat and over my chest.
Rai didn’t only poison me, she also handed me over to her men so they’d finish the job.
I’m supposed to be mad, to let my anger take over, but any semblance of it is squashed by that fucking burning feeling.