I ease out from under her and put a pillow in my place. She whimpers in protest, and my chest tightens.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I whisper. “I promise I’ll be back before you wake up.”
I kiss her forehead, then slip out of the room.
I make a pit stop.
“Benny.” My voice is low and commanding.
His head snaps up, instantly ready.
“I need you to watch Margot. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Benny understands. He jumps up immediately and follows me to the bedroom. He sniffs her, checking for himself that she’s okay. Then, without hesitation, he plants himself between her and the door, waiting for me to set up his bed.
I do as I’m told.
Once I’m sure Margot is protected, I head out.
I have guards stationed at the top of the stairs and surrounding the house. No one gets up here without my say. It’s shoot on sight. I’m not taking any chances.
***
I walk into the warehouse and see both men tied to metal chairs. As promised, Roman hasn’t touched them yet. They’re shirtless, wrist and ankles cut from the tight rope binding them. They’re stripped bare for maximum exposure.
Roman leans against the wall like this is routine. I guess for him, it is.
“How is she?” he asks, his voice steadybut serious.
“Sleeping. Barely. Let’s make this quick. I don’t want her waking up alone.”
He nods. Then, without warning, he picks up a bucket and sloshes cold water over them. They jolt awake, sputtering and coughing.
“We’re going to have a conversation,” Roman begins coolly. “You’ll answer every question. Lie? You suffer. Refuse? You suffer. Give us what we need? Maybe we let you go. Understand?”
It’s a lie. They’ll die for what they did to Margot.
The one on the right, the older one, laughs. It’s wet and phlegmy, a smoker’s rasp. “We are not scared of you. When my boss finds us, you will be the ones screaming.”
Roman’s smile is nefarious. “I’m not scared of Viktor. He fears me.”
Their smirks vanish. Their Pakhan’s name wasn’t supposed to come out of our mouths.
“Viktor fears no one, you fools.” The other,the one who held Margot down,says, but his voice falters.
“Zatknis, durak,” The older one hisses.
Roman moves so fast, it’s a blur. A knife slams into the older one’s hand. A scream rips through the warehouse.
“English only,” Roman orders.
“Who the fuck are you?” The dumb one mutters, eyes darting around the room as if it’ll give him answers.
Roman steps forward. “Roman Montclair. This is my brother, Matthias. We want to know why you were after Margot Peterson.” Roman’s smile is sinister.
They pale instantly.
That’s the power of his name.
