Page 49 of The Bait

“What do you want?” Rozga asked as they walked. “Who are you taking me to? I won’t talk so you may as well kill me now.”

Asher rounded on him in a millisecond, in his face and seething with rage. “You have no idea what you’re about to endure,” he whispered. The wildness in his eyes even scared Harry a little.

He was fucking livid.

Harry nudged Rozga with the muzzle of his rifle. “Walk.”

So they walked on, down into a valley, through a creek, and up onto the other side. About half a mile later, they came to a small entrance in the mountainside. Covered by trees and overgrown forest, the tunnel entrance was almost fully concealed. It was old concrete, cracked and crumbling, the entrance was five by three feet. Inside was roomier, more cave-like, made of dirt and rock. It was cold and damp and smelled of earth and rot.

Rozga stopped at the entry, and he turned to Harry, pleading, as if he was the good cop in this good-cop, bad-cop routine.

“Get in the fucking hole,” Harry said, kicking him into the tunnel.

He stumbled in, still clutching his bleeding shoulder. He fell and staggered back on his ass, leaning against the wall. Asher took out an LED lantern from the backpack and put it on the ground, then turned his attention to Rozga.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about the kidnapping of a Mr Oh Yunho and Lucas Edwards. And Vadik Istomin, the Russian man responsible, and the Chinese kid computer whiz that works for him.”

Rozga shook his head. “I don’t know . . .”

Asher took one of the hunting knives and unsheathed it. “Yes, you do.”

Rozga eyed the blade. “I don’t... I mean, I... he’ll kill me. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Asher laughed. “Okay, first things first. You don’t need to worry about him killing you. You’re already a dead man. And I know exactly who I am dealing with. Do you know who you’re dealing with? Do you know who I am?”

He shook his head. He was sweating despite the cold, and whether his paleness was from blood loss or fear, Harry couldn’t say. Maybe it was the mood lighting.

Asher leaned over him, the hunting knife pressed into Rozga’s cheek. “Do you know how many bullets almost hit him just now?” Asher asked, pointing his free hand back to Harry. Rozga’s eyes went to Harry, then back to Asher. “Do you know how many of your men fired bullets at him? Almost killing the man I love most in this world?” Asher said.

Oh Jesus. So that’s what he’s mad about.

“They weren’tthatclose,” Harry mumbled.

Asher looked at him like he’d lost his damned mind. “You have wood chips in your hair from where they hit the tree by your head, Harry. By your head!”

Harry brushed the bits of wood from his hair and sighed. “You could have let me get more kills than twenty-seven percent.”

Asher’s nostrils flared, and Rozga made the mistake of speaking. “Look, I?—”

Asher had the knife pressed to the corner of Rozga’s eye so fast he couldn’t even blink. “Look at what?” Asher said. “I will cut out your fucking eyeballs if you tell me to look one more time.”

“Asher,” Harry whispered. “We don’t have time.”

“Asher...” Rozga mumbled, his eyes wide, recognition dawning. “Asher Garin. Who works with Oh Yunho...”

Asher smiled. “The one and the same. Now you know who you’re dealing with. Tell me about Istomin, and for every second you choose silence, I’m going to choose a tendon in your body and slice it. The pain will be like nothing you can imagine. There are about four thousand tendons in the human body and we don’t have that much time, and truth be told, I’m not that skilled with a knife, so hopefully you won’t bleed out before I’m finished.” Then Asher took the knife and pressed the tip to Rozga’s kneecap. “Honestly, that’d be a blessing for you.”

Rozga looked at Harry, panic clearly starting to kick in. “He’s insane.”

Harry chuckled and squatted down next to him. His smile faded slowly. “Call him insane one more time, and I’ll start ripping your tendons out with my fucking hands.”

Rozga looked between them like a psychopathic tennis match.

“Oh Yunho,” Asher said. “Where is he?”

“I-I don’t know,” Rozga stammered.

“Wrong answer,” Asher said. He pulled Rozga’s boot off and held it up. “Did you get a group discount on these? Because those three idiots you sent to kill us in Australia were wearing these. They’re dead, by the way. Gutted like fish.” Asher tossed the boot, twirled the knife, then lifted Rozga’s foot and sliced through his Achilles.

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