Page 2 of Flames of Ruin

“P-Please, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he stammers, holding his hands up. “I-I have more money than you could imagine.”

I chuckle to myself, grabbing him by his coat. “McCollough, I don’t need your money, but you will give me exactly what I want.”

Reaching into my pocket, I grab the syringe and shove it into his neck. His eyes roll into the back of his head as his lids flutter closed. Quickly, I drag his limp body into the back of my SUV and close the liftgate.

I walk around and climb into the driver’s seat, ripping my mask and gloves off. The car roars to life and I make the fifteen minute drive across town, to the outskirts of Edinburgh. What was once home to the abandoned electronics manufacturing plant, Vanguard Industries, that I had closed down thirteen years ago is now home to my favorite persuasion spot.

***

Leaning against the dirty concrete wall, I wait impatiently for Anderson to rouse. The only source of light in the room is from the orange glow of the rusted branding iron being heated up by the small iron furnace. The shape of a dragon at the tip of the iron illuminates a bright orange hue casting a small glow on the wall.

His eyes begin to flutter open, and I see the beautiful fear play across his face as he realizes his fate. He tries to struggle against the cable ties that are tying his hands together and the rope that straps him to the chair, but it’s useless.

I chuckle.

They always try, and they always fail to escape.

“McCollough Anderson. You really give us scary crime lords a bad rep,” I say as I lean forward. “You couldn’t even fight back. You fuckin’ pussy.”

He scoffs, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Threatening the man who has the choice to either kill you quickly, or make your death slow and painful. Not a smart move,” I taunt him as I wiggle my finger in his face.

I grab one of his fingers and bend it at the middle knuckle. The bone cracks and his screams bounce off the tunnel walls.

“Now. You’re going to tell me who these new players are that want to try to overtake Edinburgh.”

“I’m n-not going to tell y-you anything.”

I nod. “Hmm…suit yourself.” Gripping his hand again, I snap three more fingers. His agonizing cries increase in volume as the pain registers in his brain.

“I can do this all night, Anderson.”

“O-Okay. F-Fine. I only know of one n-name.”

Searching his face and knowing the amount of pain he is in, I decide he is telling the truth. I squeeze his hand as a reminder to keep talking.

“Ah! Fuck…It’s Parshikov. Dimitri Parshikov.”

My ears burn at the mention of his name. I’m throttled back to thirteen years ago, and the face of the one who has haunted me for so long flashes through my mind.

Standing up straight, I let go of his hand and grip the back of his head, pulling it back. I shout, “Why has he returned?”

“I-I don’t know. I swear,” he chokes out, his chest heaving as his breaths become labored.

“Wrong fucking answer,” I snarl as I grab the hot iron from its holder.

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, I rip it open. Buttons scatter across the floor. With a forceful growl, I press the iron hard into the middle of his chest.

He lets out another agonizing cry as the smell of burning flesh fills the room.

Pulling it away from his skin, I throw the iron to the side. It clangs to the ground beside us. Reaching into my back pocket to grab my knife, I fling it open. The silver blade glints as the light reflects off of it.

Letting go of his head, I rip my mask off.

His eyes grow wide with recognition. “Y-you’re the…?!”

Before he can finish his sentence, I grab his jaw, chuckling, “Yeah, Anderson, I’m The Dragon and your game is over. Say ‘Hi’ to my father for me, will ya?”

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