27. Chapter 27

27

Dimitri

T he taste of her lingers on my tongue, a fucking distraction I don't need. Wren's at my safe house, probably snooping through my shit. Should bother me more than it does. Fuck .

Focus. There's work to be done.

I stalk into the dungeon, Erik at my heels. The sorry bastard who tried to grab Wren is strapped to a chair, face already a mess of bruises and blood. Good. Saves me some warm-up.

"Rise and shine, asshole," I growl, backhanding him hard enough to snap his head back.

He groans, eyes fluttering open. "Please… I don't know anything…"

"Wrong answer." I grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. "Who sent you after the girl?"

"I swear, I don't know! They just gave me a photo, told me where to find her!"

Erik leans against the wall, arms crossed. "Fascinating. And did these mystery employers have names? Or do you just take jobs from faceless voices?"

The guy sobs. Pathetic. "It was all through encrypted messages. I never met anyone face to face!"

I release his hair with a shove. "The Skull Collectors. What do you know about them?"

His eyes widen. "Who? I've never heard of—"

My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish. Blood and a tooth spray across the floor.

"Try again," I snarl.

Erik sighs dramatically. "D, darling, do you want information or just to kill him? Because at this rate, we'll be mopping up brain matter before lunch."

I shoot him a glare. "Both."

Turning back to our guest, I grab a set of pliers from the nearby tray. His eyes go wide, fixed on the metal glinting in the low light.

"Last chance," I growl. "The Skull Collectors. What do they want with Wren?"

"I swear to God, I don't know who they are! Please, I was just told to grab the girl, that's all!"

I lean in close, voice low and dangerous. "Wrong. Fucking. Answer."

The pliers clamp onto his pinky nail. He screams as I slowly pull, the nail separating from flesh with a wet, tearing sound.

Erik winces theatrically. "Messy business, that. Almost puts a fellow off his appetite." He pauses, then adds with a smirk, "Almost."

Blood drips from the guy's mangled finger as he sobs. "Please… I'm telling the truth… I don't know anything else…"

I toss the pliers aside, grabbing a hammer instead. "Then you're fucking useless to me. Why don't you tell me why I shouldn't hang you from the Kremlin with your own intestines?"

" Pozhaluysta, pozhaluysta, ya prosto poluchil soobshchenie … I'm just here with a message, I swear!"

Cutting him off, Erik pushes off the wall, eyebrow raised. "Speaking of useless, what's this I hear about you stashing our little pole-dancing friend at your place? Bit risky, isn't it?"

I grunt, not taking my eyes off the sobbing mess in front of me. "None of your business."

" Au contraire , my violence-prone friend. When you start making moon eyes at the very person we're trying to protect from shadowy skull enthusiasts, it becomes very much my business."

The hammer comes down hard on the guy's kneecap. His scream echoes off the walls.

"I'm not making fucking moon eyes," I growl.

Erik chuckles. " Da , and I'm about to dance the Nutcracker ballet. Tell me, does she do a little dance for you when you get home? Shake that talented ass of hers?"

I whirl on him, fury blazing. " Suka , you want to keep that smart mouth of yours, you'll shut it. Now."

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but that shit-eating grin doesn't fade. "Easy there, tiger. Just making conversation. Although I do wonder… what would our illustrious leader think of you playing house with his prize?"

My hand tightens on the hammer. For a split second, I consider burying it in Erik's skull instead.

A whimper from our guest snaps me back. Right. Work to do.

I turn back to the sorry fucker in the chair. "One last time. Who wants Wren?"

A weak sob escapes him, and he shakes his head. "I don't know… please… I was just following orders…" Tears stream down his face, snot runs from his nose, and the unmistakable scent of urine fills the air as he loses control of his bladder, his fear and shame on full display.

Pizda . Useless. Fucking useless.

The hammer comes down again and again. Bone crunches. Blood sprays. Eventually, the screaming stops.

I step back, chest heaving. Erik whistles low.

"Well," he says, "I'd say that's a wrap on our information-gathering session. Shame we didn't actually gather any information."

I wipe blood from my face with the back of my hand. "Dispose of this. I need a fucking drink."

As I storm out, Erik calls after me, "Give my best to the missus, won't you? Do try not to track blood on her stripper pole!"

It takes every ounce of willpower not to turn around and beat him to a pulp, too. Instead, I slam the door hard enough to rattle the hinges.

Wren's waiting. And we're back to square fucking one with the Skull Collectors.

Der'mo , this is a complete mess.