Page 112 of Power's Fall
Dahlia didn’t want to.
“Faggot,” Vadisk replied.
Montana scowled, then turned his attention back to the compass, adjusting their direction slightly.
Vadisk ignored Sinaver’s outburst. “Even if you do have this so-called proof, it is very easy to doctor photos these days. We will only claim your photos, your videos, are fake. We have nothing to fear from you.”
“And how do you plan to protect the others like you?” Sinaver asked. “I know all about your secret society. I will expose all of you.”
“Society?” Vadisk asked, feigning confusion. “What the fuck are you rambling about, old man?”
Sinaver took objection to Vadisk’s insult, his chest puffing out indignantly. Dahlia suspected Vadisk was goading him on purpose because while he wouldn’t answer their questions outright, he was just arrogant enough to still want them to know how clever he thought himself to be.
“I know that you are part of a society, one that embraces immorality, encourages people to engage in twisted sex acts. I saw you!” Sinaver said again, speaking in circles.
Vadisk looked the man dead in the eye, planting the seeds of doubt about their societies. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. The three of us are in a polyamorous relationship because we care about each other. We came to Crimean Sky, on vacation, because we heard stories that in the past, the resort was accepting of people like us, and Dahlia wanted to film there for her show.”
Vadisk spoke the lie so calmly and casually, Dahlia almost believed him. A quick glance in Sinaver’s direction proved he was starting to question what he knew as well.
“No!” Sinaver insisted, even though he sounded less convinced. “You’re immoral, disgusting…”
Dahlia mentally checked out because it was obvious Sinaver had exhausted his list of insults so that all he could do was repeat himself.
“Someone catch me up,” Montana said, so Dahlia gave him a quick summary of everything that had just been said.
“I vote we shoot the asshole. We’d be doing the world a favor,” Montana suggested. He’d been unable to eavesdrop on Nikolett and Vadisk’s phone call, so he’d missed the memo that they had to let the man go.
“We can’t,” Vadisk said, though it was apparent sparing the man was going against the grain. “We don’t know what that would cause.”
Montana didn’t look happy with that decision, but he was distracted before he could put up any counterargument. “We’re almost to the rendezvous point. If you hope to get something more from him, now would be the time.”
But Sinaver was beginning to sound like a broken record, repeating the same insults without offering anything of value.
Vadisk ran his fingers over his beard. “I think we’ve gotten as much as we can.”
“There’s not much you can ask without revealing how much we already know, or confirming the existence of the societies,” Dahlia said quietly.
Vadisk nodded. “And I don’t have the time or tools to torture information regarding our new enemy out of him.” He was careful not to use the Spaniard’s name because there was always a possibility Sinaver might recognize an English word or two.
Dahlia studied Vadisk’s expression, searching for some glimpse of humor, something that might let her know he was just joking about the torture.
One look told her he was deadly serious.
“Time’s up.” Montana pointed to the horizon, a ship appearing.
Sinaver began to fight against the cuffs, a pointless endeavor. He’d obviously come to the realization that help wasn’t going to arrive for him before they made good on their escape.
If he did speak English, he would have known he wasn’t in danger of being killed. His panic proved he thought they were planning to dispose of him.
Given all the pain this man had caused over the years, in his blackmailing victims, in his village, Dahlia felt no guilt in letting the man suffer, thinking he was about to die.
As the ship grew larger, Dahlia noticed the Turkish flag, several people standing on the deck. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath, too afraid to believe their rescue was truly imminent, until one of the people waved and called out Vadisk’s name.
Montana slowed the boat, carefully maneuvering them alongside the Turkish vessel, people on the other boat holding bumpers in place to protect both vessels. Montana caught the rope someone tossed over and tied it off on the catamaran, leashing them together.
Then he dug into his pocket. It took her a second before she realized he’d retrieved the keys to the handcuffs.
Sinaver was still fighting to get out of the chair, tossing one insult after another at them, calling them everything from scum to garbage tomudaks.