Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
He blinks hard under the harsh light and tries to lift his chin, but his throat bobs when he swallows and his eyes are red from crying. He’s young, only in his mid-twenties at most. He has a clean haircut and a new, expensive jacket. He’s trying to look tougher than he is, but the crying gave that away.
“You’re Viktor Kovalev,” he breathes out with the appropriate amount of reverence.
“I am,” I answer.
He forces a laugh, though it comes out weak. “Mikhail is going to—”
“What?” I ask him harshly. “Tell me what your boss plans to do to me, and I promise that you’ll get the same treatment.”
He swallows hard and shuts his mouth. I pull a chair from the corner and sit in front of him, close enough that I can hear his shallow breathing. My elbows rest on my knees. My gun stays holstered. I don’t need it yet.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
He hesitates, then answers. “Pavel.”
“Pavel,” I repeat. “How long have you worked for Mikhail Grinkov?”
He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but his eyes keep darting to my hands. “Long enough.”
“That’s not an answer,” I say patiently.
He exhales sharply. “A few months.”
That’s nothing. He’s not even been with the organization long enough to be considered for brotherhood. His pride is his biggest weakness, which means I can easily exploit it.
“What do you do for him?” I ask.
“I run messages,” he says.
“Who do you report to?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “No one.”
I stare at him for a moment, then nod once. “You can lie if you want. It just costs you precious time, and you don’t have much left.”
He keeps his mouth shut.
I stand and walk to a metal table by the wall. There are tools laid out neatly. I like to be organized in situations like this. I pick up a pair of pliers and set them down again. Then I pick up a bottle of water and walk back over.
Pavel’s eyes track the water like he’s been in the desert for months. I unscrew the cap and hold it up to his mouth. I give him just enough to wet his throat, then I pull it away.
He breathes hard through his nose.
“What is this?” he asks carefully.
“This is me giving you a chance,” I say.
His gaze sharpens. “A chance at what?”
“A chance to keep your hands,” I answer calmly.
His face goes paler.
I sit back down in front of him. “You were involved in the breach.”
He shakes his head fast. “No,” he answers quickly. “They would never let me be part of something that big.”
“That might be true,” I reply. “You knew about it, though.”
“I didn’t,” he insists. “I’m not that high up.”
“You’re tasked with carrying important messages for Mikhail,” I say slowly. “Messages that no one else is privy to. That must make you feel essential.”
His mouth opens, then shuts it. He’s thinking. He’s weighing his options. He’s trying to decide if I’m tricking him.
“The thing is, Pavel, even if you weren’t involved, you know more than the men who were. You were vital in getting the word spread. So, I’ll ask you again. Tell me who coordinated it.”
He laughs again, brittle. “I don’t know.”
I nod once. “That’s fine,” I say casually.
I stand, walk behind him, and grab his left hand. I hold it steady, then I take the pliers and clamp them around his ring finger. I don’t rush. I give him time to understand what is happening.
His breath spikes. “Wait.”
“I waited,” I say calmly. “There’s no more waiting.”
He starts to panic, voice cracking. “I don’t know anything, I swear I don’t know anything.”
I squeeze.
He screams so loud his throat goes raw in an instant. The chair jerks under him. His shoulders strain against the ties. The bones crush under the weight of the pliers.
Pavel sobs hard and gasps for air. “Stop, stop, stop.”
I release the pliers and step back into his line of sight.
“You can still help yourself,” I tell him. “Tell me who coordinated the breach.”
His whole body shakes. “I don’t know.”
I don’t argue. I don’t threaten again. I take his other hand.
His eyes go wide. “No, please—”
I crush another finger.
This scream is worse. It rips out of him like his body is trying to detach from itself. He starts babbling, words slurring, begging, promising, swearing. I let him get it out. I let him realize begging doesn’t change anything.
When he finally starts to quiet, I lean in. “Who coordinated the breach?”
Pavel sobs and swallows. “Dmitri.”
The name matches records that we pulled earlier, and it tells me Pavel isn’t just yelling out a random name.
I keep my voice steady. “Dmitri who?”
“Solinaya,” he whispers.
“Good,” I say.
Pavel shakes his head, tears running down his cheeks.
“The only thing I did was carry something, I swear to God,” he sobs.
“What did you carry?” I ask curiously.
“A phone,” he says. “A burner. Dmitri said it had to get into the house. He said the girl’s father needed to speak to her.”