Page 71 of Devil's Retribution
“This wasn’t a planned visit. Unfortunately, it was necessary. Come with us, please.”
He turned and blinked up at me. The bluish-tinted lenses of his glasses made his pale face look almost creepy. “Sir?”
“Come with us into the back office.” My voice stayed low, calm—but all business.
We stared at each other.
He suddenly tried to make a break for it, lunging past me on his way out of the cubicle. Alexei and I both grabbed an arm and he jerked to a stop, struggling frantically as a trapped mouse.
“None of that, now, you’re being disruptive,” I said, still appearing the picture of calm as we frog marched him toward the back office. “Try to keep your voice down.”
He wasn’t yelling words, exactly, just little, panicked explosions of sound that only got louder as we reached the door and dragged him inside. Then we tossed him into a chair, and I pulled out my gun, flicking off the safety. “Shut up.”
His mouth closed at once.
“Good. Now. I think you can guess why I called you into this meeting. But in case you’re as stupid as you are dishonorable, we caught you red handed. We know you are passing information to Igor.”
He stared up at me in terror as Alexei frisked him, tossed aside a pathetically low-caliber revolver, and handcuffed him to the bolted-down chair he was in. “What are you going to do to me?”
“That depends on how cooperative you are,” I said, putting on a smile that I would never have shown in Emma’s presence.
Chapter 28
Viktor
It took some time and a little persuasion, but by the time we emerged from the back office, Sergei had spilled everything he could plausibly know. He’d shown some spine for a desk man, holding out until my knuckles were aching and he was a battered mess, but the end result was inevitable. Especially when I got very direct with him about his leak endangering the lives of my nephew—and my woman.
After that, he’d started spitting out everything he knew in a desperate bid to keep his life. And because Igor was cocky and a creature of habit, Sergei had also provided us with the means to finally get to him.
While my lieutenants marshalled their men and got ready to take action, I sat in a sedan with darkened windows and held my pistol to Sergei’s head while he called Igor.
“It’s late,” my nemesis grumbled. “What is it?”
“I have some new information for you about the cartel meet next week, but it can’t go through our servers.” Sergei was doing a good job of pretending to be calm.
“So? Tell me on the phone now, my shows are on.” He yawned.
“It’s too much. We have to meet,” Sergei insisted.
‘“Can’t it wait?”
“They’re moving against you, Igor,” he said insistently. “They’re getting cartel help. I need to—”
“What? Fine, I’m at the Santa Monica Hills house, get over here. You had better not be drunk.” He slammed the phone down, breaking the connection.
Santa Monica hills. I knew the place. We’d drunk together on its patios, once upon a time.
I nodded to Sergei. “Very good. Now, you’re going to take the wheel while I sit behind you. Drive normally. When we get there, behave normally with the gate guard, you give any hint to them and you’re a dead man. You will have two pistols on you at all times.”
Alexei hurried over and I let him in the back seat. I sat directly behind Sergei while he caught his breath. “Is everything ready?” I asked him. He nodded.
“Drive,” I told Sergei.
He drove. I could smell his fear as we made our way up those winding roads, but my mind was only half on him. My rage had shifted focus.
Igor. Letting you live was a mistake I intend to rectify. Tonight.
The mansion sat on a grassy hill overlooking the water, just uphill from a swathe of empty lots from a fire four years ago. My men were to head up the hill in the dark and hit them from the back and side while we rolled in through the front door.