A Pole and a Gun

20 - Eyes on me

♤ DIMITRI

It took some time to break down the bastard with the use of my knuckles. My men had secured Pavel in our warehouse with no one noticing. At night, it was the only place where we could make some noise and no-one would be able to hear our enemy scream.

After two hours of carefully placed kicks to his legs, blows to his stomach and face until he coughed up blood and wore two black eyes; he still wouldn't budge. I admire his tenacity; I look for the same quality in my men. Loyalty and endurance. When captured by a contrary party, being able to bite through the pain and still not spill a word, it was commendable.

But we have ways to make our captives speak. There are certain tortures designed for stubborn people like Pavel. The fact that he put Trixie in danger makes my blood boil, and my sanity hangs on a frayed thread.

We dunked his head into an ice bucket, but Pavel just bit down on his cheek to get through the pain. Waterboarding isn't the way to break him, we have to apply the nastier techniques.

"Still not going to tell me what I need to know?" I menace, trailing the sharp point of a hunting knife over his leg.

"Go to hell," Pavel spits blood on the ground.

"We are there," I plunge the tip into his pants, cutting the skin and causing him to hiss. "Your own personal hell," my voice is low, wicked, ready to break bones and bruise flesh. "You're not getting out until you sing and I have all the time. I can be a very patient man."

I motion to Kristof to bring me the box. My guard knows not to mess with me when I'm in the zone and takes his seat by the door in silence, leaving me to a game of breaking the mind of this piece of shit. I'm enjoying this. It's been a long time since having someone to tear apart bit by bit until they are nothing more than a bloodied mess.

Opening the unsuspected, battered toolbox in front of his eyes, I wait patiently until he recognizes some items. Small knives and pliers are on the upper layer, along with some devices to pull out toenails and steel wires to cut off appendages like fingers.

I hear him swallow and blood trickles down his temple, blending with the nervous sheen. Fucker is sweating like the pig he is.

"What should we do, Kristof?" I drag him into the game. "Break his fingers?" I grab Pavel's thumb in a firm grip, making him shudder uncomfortably in his seat. "Pull out his nails?" he braces himself, but I hear the whimper part from in between his pursed lips.

The scenarios I'm planting in his head distract him so he won't see my next move coming. I grip the knife in my hand tighter and slam it in his leg, twisting and burrowing it deeper.

His mouth is wired open in shock and a gargled scream leaves goosebumps on my skin. I'm finally getting somewhere.

"Motherfucker," Pavel recovers through gasps and grits his teeth together. I tied him to the chair with zip ties and rope. He can't break free. Not in his current state, anyway.

His strength to fight is still there, though, so I crouch down to meet his eyes. "What does Sergei want?" I shout.

He braces himself for my next blow as I turn around but I decide to leave him to simmer. Like I said, I have nothing but time.

After five hours, my knuckles are bruised and sore. My mind is riding on the high of torture and the games we played while attempting to crack open the shell of our captive. I decide to keep him alive and instead have Pavel delivered to Sergei with a missing pinky. It sends my message clearly.

His screamed words keep replaying in my mind, 'He wants the girl dead, it's the only leverage you have against him.'

So Sergei knows about Trixie. I had my suspicions, and taking her to Sunday brunch is a power move that I need to play out right.

I knew his younger brother would be there, and I tried to ignore the way he eye fucked Trixie from the other side of the table. Instead, I concentrated on reading the room. Focused on the other people in my own family who could be involved in this.

Apart from the little shit, I don't believe the others had any idea what was going on. My father, Andreas, had extended his trip and I could count on his brother Aleksei to keep the basic deals sorted.

Kristof is driving us home and my thoughts are cut short when we arrive in the silence of my private garage. I let my head fall back against the seat and silently crave a shower. And Trixie.

The elevator doors open and I hear the soft giggles of the woman that has my stomach in knots. Resigning from going to clean up first, I head towards the enticing sound that drifts over the hallway.

She keeps me grounded.

While I look like a fucking mess, stained with the blood of another man, I know she will calm my senses and provide solace to my jumbled thoughts.

Until I reach the door and hear she is laughing with Nox and jealousy wracks through my chest like a madman.

I kick open the door and the sound rattles Trixie. She's staring at me like a deer caught in headlights while I scream out, "What the fuck?"

I don't fucking care that they are drinking my vodka, or that she is sitting in my chair. I hate the proximity of another man who isn't me, near her.

"She is mine!" I growl. A must-mate instinct overshadows me as I saunter over to my desk and wrap my aching fingers over her slender wrist.

"Calm the fuck down! I'm ye friend. Dinnae really think I would tap that while it's clear that ye want her?" Nox points his finger at me, while his other hand is holding me down by my shoulder. "Even if ye cannae admit it to yourself." He scoffs.

"Fuck you," I seethe.

"Wankstain," Nox mutters behind me as I drag Trixie away.