Page 67 of Midnight Sanctuary
“No,youlisten. You sold my sister. Polina Bugrov. Remember her?” When he doesn’t respond, I pull out a gun and press it to the center of his forehead. “I said, ‘Remember her’?”
“Y-yes. Yes! I remember. Please, God, don’t shoot.”
“Describe her to me.”
“G-g-ginger hair. H-hazel eyes. Freckles across the b-b-bridge of her n-nose.”
“And young,” I snap. “Don’t forget that. Who did you sell her to?”
“If I tell you, will you l-let me live?”
“Why don’t you tell me what you know and we’ll find out?” I press the gun harder to his forehead and he shivers as the cold metal grinds into his skin. Sweat beads around the tip like a little crown of diamonds.
“Oleg Agapov!” he gasps quickly. “P-please don’t shoot. I’ll d-do anything.”
“Oleg Agapov,” I repeat. The name sounds familiar.
“He came to me,” Drozdov says, talking fast. “Word got around that I had the girl and he entered the bidding war.”
“Bidding war?”
Drozdov’s eyes flit around the room. He’s the last one left. Every single one of his men lies dead or dying around him. “I s-sometimes like to draw out the bidding process. Take a week or two to drive up the price. Y-your sister was p-popular.”
“When was she sold to Agapov?”
“Y-yesterday.”
“Thanks for your cooperation.”
I lower the gun and he sighs in relief. But it’s short-lived—the sigh dies on his lips when I headbutt him so hard that his eyes go glassy before rolling back in their sockets.
Disgusted, I mop his sweat off my forehead as I rise back to my feet. “Gag and chain him. Load him up into one of the jeeps. He can join Alan and Sobakin in the shed for now. Where’s Dimiv?”
“Downstairs, boss,” Stepan answers, pointing me in his direction. “We found a hatch door leading to the basement. Dimiv was exploring.”
I walk down and make a left. A grimy carpet is rolled up to one side, revealing an open hatch door. I shimmy down through the narrow opening and descend the stairs to the space below. I have to crouch to move beneath the low ceiling.
“Dimiv? You down here?”
“‘Round the corner,” he calls back.
I follow his voice to a pair of twin beds, each one holding a young girl whose restraints have just been soldered off thanks to Dimiv and two of my men. Both girls are dressed in matching cotton nighties and wearing matching terrified expressions. The one on the left has dark eyes and even darker hair. The one on the right is white-blonde with soft blue irises. Both are bruised to shit. I’d wager every penny I’ve ever earned that neither is even old enough to drive.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” I assure them. “We’re going to get you two back to your families.” The girls exchange glances. “But before we do that, I need to ask you some questions first.”
I keep my distance from both of them. They’re not likely to be very comfortable around men anymore. They have the unconscious bastard upstairs to thank for that. I intend to make sure he pays for his sins.
“Were there any other girls being held here?” They shake their heads in unison. “When were you brought here?”
“L-last night,” the brunette says softly. “I think. We were drugged. We woke up on these beds.”
Goddammit.
I turn to the side and Dimiv drifts towards me. “They moved Polly before they brought in the new girls,” I explain quietly.
“Did he talk?” Dimiv asks, lowering his voice to match mine.
“Yes. I have a name. Oleg Agapov.”