Page 110 of The Darkness is Calling

Has blood spilled somewhere, or does it smell like rotten meat?

It is expired meat we want to throw away.

Does it have eyes?

Well, what? Lambs don’t have eyes?

Is someone screaming?

A box of water probably fell on an employee’s foot.

Practical and uncomplicated.

The room where the two prisoners are being held has decent ventilation, but after a night like this, the place smells of urine and tobacco, after my brigadiers waved their cigarettes in front of their faces, probably to stir their appetite a little.

“We sprayed them with the hose for a bit, but apparently it wasn’t enough,” one of my men excuses himself when he sees my nose wrinkle for a second.

“No problem. The stench will soon be replaced by something much more... aromatic,” I tell them, heading straight for the iron table.

Almost five feet long, it has a beautiful selection of tools neatly lined up on it, winking at me and communicating with my hungry voices.

I choose a pair of pliers, opening and closing them twice as I turn toward the two men and study them again.

Lean bodies. I could even say they are almost as massive as Yaroslav, with tattoos on their chests and arms, but no symbols affiliated with any mafia group.

The first thought that comes to me is that they are mercenaries. I don’t care where their mothers are from. What interests me is who the fuck sent them.

“My birds are telling me you two are very quiet,” I say calmly, approaching their pale bodies.

Both are shivering because of the bucket of ice thrown in their faces a few minutes ago, not because of fear.

“A quality I admire too, but only in my men. I respect it in everyone else, though today it may be your greatest enemy.”

I play with the pliers between my fingers, a little over three feet away from their chairs.

“You are going to die either way. Your choice is whether you want to die quickly, or whether you want to give me the chance to play with you according to the scale of what you did last night. So?”

Their jaws clenched, but their chins are lifted with arrogance.

They are rather cute. They truly believe they will survive my charm.

“Wonderful,” I tell them, a small victorious smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

The door opens, and Sasha storms into the room, carrying two huge bags of popcorn in his arms. Behind him, Dima holds a bottle of vodka.

Yaroslav, who was already here with me, shakes his head and sighs at our younger brother.

“Popcorn, knyaz13? Seriously?”

“I know this will be a damn good show,” he answers with enthusiasm in his blue eyes. “I have chocolate too, but I’m not giving you any.”

Then he drops onto one of the chairs by the door and asks us quickly. “What did I miss?”

“They don’t want to cooperate,” Yar answers, stealing one of the popcorn bags from his arms and taking a seat beside him in another chair.

“I told you we needed nachos too,” Sasha scolds Dimitri, who remains standing beside the two of them.

“Hold this for a moment,” I tell Sasha, handing him the pliers.