Rip

“I tip my hat to the architect.”

Nixon was already opening the door to the warehouse by the time Frank and I made our way out of the car, the rest of the bosses followed in silence, the only sound was our footsteps against the dusty cement floor.

We stopped in front of a second door, still metal, but brand new. Nixon punched in a code, the door unlocked, making a sucking noise as he pulled the five inch contraption from the wall and allowed us all to get in.

There was nothing comforting about the sterile and bare room.

A single light illuminated a man sitting in a metal chair, his hands zip tied behind him, his mouth gagged.

Blood caked down his cheeks.

The minute he set eyes on me, he started shouting profanities against the gag, rocking in his chair back and forth.

“Hmm,” Tex tapped his chin. “I’d say he’s pissed you’ve come over to the dark side.”

“Fu

“Gag on or off?” Tex asked, being more helpful than I expected.

Mil, Frank, and Chase stood near the door, each of their hands trained on a gun, watching, waiting.

“We need information, therefore we need it off, just expect lots of spit and snarling, that is until I can sedate him.”

“Suki!” Boris gnashed his teeth then spat at my feet. “Suki!” He kept repeating the word over and over again, boring me to tears. Russian for traitor. Then again, he was truly calling the kettle black. After he’d found out as much as he could from Petrov, he’d started selling secrets to the FBI resulting in a few unseemly arrests for Petrov at a few of his ports in San Francisco. Boris was lucky the Italians had retrieved him before Petrov lit him on fire as well and forced him to jump off a building while still breathing. He’d been a Byki set on a future where he wasn’t simply an enforcer for Petrov but one of his most trusted individuals, leading his own band of criminals around the United States.

Selling secrets was not the way to earn trust.

“Boris” I said his name calmly. “Do you remember me?”

“You.” His accent was thick. “The Doctor! Petrov will kill you for this!”

“What makes you think… he has not sent me to deal with our embarrassments?”

Boris seemed to process this information, his skin paling more, the world would end before Italians and Russians would join forces but he didn’t need to know that. I just needed to plant a seed of doubt to get him calm enough so I could manipulate him.

“But—” Boris eyes fell to the bosses behind me. “He would rather be in prison.”

“Perhaps.” I shrugged and rolled up my shirtsleeves, then very calmly breathed in and out, over exaggerating my gestures so that Boris would mimic without thought. It was always easy to manipulate those who were weak minded, and Boris’s mind was Play Doh.

It would be so easy to reach into the depths of his consciousness and squeeze.

Then again, it was easy for any of Petrov’s soldiers.

Because every Byki was controlled… by me. Another reason that Petrov had decided I needed to live—he had fifty remaining soldiers who he had tested and altered with brainwashing, allowing me to test my theories on them until I owned them.

And I could turn those very same men on him, by the simple snap of my fingers.

By simply willing it.

“Boris…” I tilted my head to the right, my eyes searching his. “What have you been up to?”

He squirmed in his seat. They always did when you made eye contact.

“Spokoystviye,” I barely whispered it before he blinked and then, blinked harder as if he couldn’t keep his eyes open. “Ah, there, that’s better. Don’t you feel better, Boris?”

“What the hell kind of voodoo did he just do?” I heard Chase mumble behind me.

“It’s the word for calm in Russian,” Frank explained, surprising me with his knowledge of my language. “It’s probably one of his triggers.”

“Boris.” I slapped him on the side of the head. “No sleeping, Boris. I’ll let you sleep when you give me answers.”

“I’m tired,” he replied.

“Of course you are!” I laughed loudly. “You’ve been up for seven days straight!”

“I have?” He shook his head. “Makes sense, so tired.”

“And hungry. You’ve been complaining about your lack of food for days now… but the worst… is the thirst, is it not?”

Immediately he croaked as if he had no spit left in his mouth. “It feels like sandpaper.”

“And it will continue feeling that way until you give me the answers I need, not the ones I want to hear, but the truth, do you understand, Boris?”

He nodded, or it appeared to be a nod as his head fell forward, chin touching his chest. “Yes, Nik.”

“Sergio Abandonato. You broke into his home… twice. How?”

“Which… time? Will I get water?”

“One answer, then we shall discuss water.”

“Andi.” His head fell forward again.

I slapped him on the right cheek. “Stay awake, and explain. Did Andi know she was helping you?”

“No.” He started crying. “Thirsty, Nik, give me water!”

“Boris.” My tone was demeaning. “Vody.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “Good job, Boris. You’ve had your water, now tell me about how you broke into Sergio’s house.”

“Andi had a listening device sewn into her suitcase, a camera was positioned near the handle. A gift from her adopted father, it was brought in and left in the entry by the kitchen.” Boris took a deep breath. “It was dumb luck.”

“And the second time?” I demanded.

“Stupidity!” Boris yelled. “He did not arm the house. Italian thought he hit the right buttons, it malfunctioned. The alarm did not go off when it should have. Our plan was to trip the alarm and grab him, we knew we had seconds, and that we could disarm at least five of the men left behind. He would send men with her, not with himself.”

I sighed. “You’ve done well, Boris.”

“Thank you for the water.”

“You’re welcome, Boris.”

“One more question and I’ll allow you sleep.”

“So tired, Nik.”

“I know, Boris. I know.” I leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Is Petrov done with the Italians?”

“For now.” Boris answered quickly. “Licking wounds... his daughter needs his help.”

“Daughter?”

“Maya.” Boris chuckled. “He’s going to kill her.”

“Thank you, Boris.” I slid a knife from my pocket and cut off his zip ties then handed him the same knife. “Thank you for your help.”

“Can I sleep now?”

“Of course, Boris.” I took a step back. “You will never wake up again.”

“Thank you!” Tears streamed down his face. “Oh, thank you.”

Another step back. “Slit your throat.”

Before the men behind me could say anything, Boris ran the edge of the knife across his throat then fell to his death in a pool of blood.

“We could have shot him,” Tex offered.

“I could not allow Russian blood to be on Italian hands.”

Boris’s arteries continued to pump blood through severed veins… I watched, indifferent, the medical side of me taking over as he hiccupped, struggling for one final breath.

Death, in my experience, should always be swift.

With a sigh, I walked over to him, grabbing the knife from the floor and severed the rest of the carotid artery beneath his left ear. The blood pumped more quickly, the gurgling stopped, and he went limp as the last remnants of life left him.

“Gotta admit,” one of the guys said, I couldn’t tell who without turning around. “Something extremely calculating about knowing exactly what artery to cut. Know any other tricks?”

I turned to find Chase staring at me, a smirk across his face. The man loved new ways of torture, I was surprised he wasn’t kneeling next to me pointing at the bloody mess and asking questions like an eager student.

“Plenty.” I stood, wiping the knife on my slacks, and making a mental note to burn the pants later, no loose ends. “But it would take a lifetime to teach you, and with the way you run your mouth I don’t count on you living very long.”