Page 56 of Ruthless Vow
“Mr. Kovalev,” he says, voice cracking. “I don’t want any trouble.”
I grab him by the collar and yank him out of his chair. He stumbles and tries to recover his dignity. He fails. I slam him into the wall hard enough that the framed photo behind him cracks.
“Where did they take her?” I ask.
His face goes pale. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he manages to cough out.
“You do,” I reply.
“I swear I don’t,” he insists. “I’m not high enough up to know anything. They let me deal with the money and don’t tell me shit.”
“Then call your boss,” I say.
He swallows. “I can’t.”
“You can,” I reply. “You are going to call the person you answer to, and you are going to put it on speaker. If you try anything clever, I am going to shoot you in the head and burn this place to the ground while your customers dance out front.”
His hands shake as he reaches for his phone. He dials.
A voice answers on the second ring, irritated and bored. “What?”
The manager’s voice wobbles. “It’s me.”
“Why are you calling?” the voice snaps.
The manager’s eyes flick to me, and I squeeze his throat slightly as a reminder.
He forces words out. “We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” the voice asks.
I speak into the phone myself. “The kind where I’m in your club and your manager is about to die.”
Silence.
Then the voice on the other end turns cautious.
“Viktor Kovalev, I presume.”
“Yes,” I say. “You are going to tell me where she is.”
A short laugh, brittle.
“You think I know where Mikhail keeps his fiancé?”
“She is not his,” I reply.
The voice tightens. “You’re in deep, Kovalev. You’re going to get everyone killed.”
As an answer, I shoot the manager in the knee. He screams, loud enough that the music out front almost isn’t enough to cover it. Almost. My men shift to the hallway, weapons up, ready for the sound to draw attention.
I keep the phone close.
“You hear that?” I ask.
The voice on the other end goes quiet.
“Tell me something useful,” I say.
