Page 33 of Under Control

“Again?” the guy whimpered.

“Oh yeah. Again.” Alex pulled him up by his collar and punched him hard in the face. Then he shoved him against the wall and kneed him hard in the stomach. The guy tried uselessly to defend himself, ducking his head and shielding it with his arms, but Alex’s kicks broke through that no problem. There was a loud crack too—Alex broke more than the guy’s guard.

Alex kind of lost himself in the heady violence of it, until Espinosa shouted, “Alex, enough! We have more important things to do!”

Right. Right. Tracht.

Alex spat on the guy and turned to Espinosa. “Let’s go.”

He couldn’t help but notice that she was completely shaken. Good. Maybe that would make her play nice.

===

They dragged Tracht out of the room. By then he had to conclude that he definitely had a head injury, because he was woozy and nauseated.

“I would advise having a doctor see me,” Tracht said to the goons escorting him. “I am liable to throw up soon.”

“Funny, that’s just where we’re taking you,” one goon said. Tracht didn’t respond, trepidation rising inside him. He distracted himself by observing his two escorts.

They were moderately attractive, Tracht thought, in a working-class sort of way. One of them had a crooked nose that reminded Tracht of Alex, which was probably the only reason he considered that particular goon the more attractive one. Neither of them had any scars, and they clearly didn’t put as much money into their hair as Tracht did for Alex’s.

They were also both very visibly hairy, which Tracht found distasteful.

As far as thugs went, Alex was much preferable.

It was fairly stupid of him to be putting his hopes into Alex, Tracht thought. Alex was hardly the best thinker, and Tracht hadn’t given Alex much to go by. He would gladly have Alex on his side if they were in a brawl, but the likelihood of Alex figuring out where he was were slim.

Espinosa would call security, hopefully, and that would be that. There’d still be the matter of cleanup afterwards. Tracht would have to call a lawyer and tell Vasilis about everything that had happened with the Nilsens. Anna would yell at him. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too mad—he’d stress the importance of the Nilsens’ aid in saving Johan. Yes, and with enough money, most of the rumors could be quelled.

Atalanta dock management wouldn’t be happy about it though. It would probably mean more scrutiny for all of his shipments in the near future. That would mean slower offloading, possibly less favorable docking positions.

It was hard to think with the headache. Hard to pay attention, too, and Tracht almost rammed into one of the goons.

“In here.” They opened the door and shoved Tracht inside.

When they’d said they were taking him to a doctor, Tracht had assumed a medical station akin to what he had on board the Sigrun. It was nothing of the sort. It reminded him a lot more of the many, many therapists offices his mother had sent him to throughout his youth.

He found this room as tasteful as those of his memory.

Iglesias was already in the room, sipping on a glass of champagne, and another man stood with him. The doctor, he supposed, although the man wore no lab coat or any other indicator of his profession. He looked to be about the same age as Tracht, perhaps a few years older, with curly silver-tinted black hair and a white beard.

“Good, you’re here,” Iglesias said. “I told the doc about how much of a liar you are, but we figured out there was an easy solution.”

Strangely, Tracht was relieved that it was only men in the room. Whatever they were going to do to him would be worse if a woman were involved, he was sure of it. His mind supplied him with all the images of what he would do if the situation were reversed, and he had to admit there was an irony to the revulsion he felt.

“You are aware of who I am, yes?” Tracht said. “My brother-in-law runs Lysander Corporation. Not somebody to trifle with.”

“As if I give a shit,” Iglesias responded.

Admittedly, it had been a long shot. But Tracht had grown a bit used to having Vasilis’s name protect him from most consequences.

What a mess he’d gotten himself into. All over a bondservant, in the end. All because he’d been unable to simply wait for the hostage negotiators to do their jobs.

Then he thought of Alex, cut up and bleeding, catatonic, and it all was still worth it. Which didn’t help him now, but Tracht had to admit he’d brought it on himself. “Very well. I admit I’m curious as to what you intend to do to me. I’m already fairly beaten up, and the headache I’m having makes me worry I’m concussed.”

“Man, you love to talk.” Iglesias nodded at the doctor. “I’m so ready to test this thing out on him.”

“I think he’d make an excellent subject,” the doctor responded. “Won’t help us recover the container though.”

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