Page 46 of Sunrise Malice

The man groans. He lifts his chin and stares at me defiantly. “Dusan will make you pay for this, you swine, you unwashed?—”

Jean backhands him into silence. “Watch your mouth,” he snarls.

I nod at Jean and dismiss him before approaching my Serbian captive. A part of me wonders if this man is related to Dusan as well, but I push the thought away; I’m far beyond stopping this fight now.

I had sympathy for Dusan. I never wanted this battle. Grandpère forced my hand and pushed me into a war I still don’t believe will be profitable.

But my wife was nearly hurt, and I can’t forgive that.

“How long were you watching my apartment?” I ask, approaching slowly.

“I don’t know. Hours.”

I press the edge of the knife against his shoulder and flick my wrist. A thin line appears in his skin and he sucks in a hissing breath.

“Were you trying to hit the girl with your truck?”

“Fuck no. My idiot partner’s gun jammed and I was distracted.” He hesitates, cocking his head. “She dead?”

“Lucky for you, she is not.” I give him another slice, just for fun. “Tell me where my drugs are.”

“Fuck you.”

“Try again.” Another slice. He groans, lips pulled back in a pained grimace.

“I’m dead either way. You’re going to kill me if I don’t talk, or Dusan’s going to kill me if I do. I might as well die with dignity.”

He’s got an extremely good point. Most of my basement visitors don’t reach that conclusion until it’s much too late.

“From where I stand, you have two options. Die here and now, or take the chance that I’ll let you go. What’s it matter if you give me what I want? It isn’t like Dusan’s going to come save you.”

“Fuck you,” he says, but there’s a lot less force in his defiance now.

I grab one of his hands and shove the knife between his fingers.

I yank, slicing the sensitive skin, cutting open the webbing.

He screams and I do it again before I let him go and step back.

“One more time. Where are the drugs?”

“I’ll tell you, just please don’t do that again,” he moans, and starts rattling off a location. I take out my phone and type the location into the notes app before pressing the blade of the knife against my captive’s throat.

His eyes go wide with terror.

“You should never have come anywhere near my wife,” I say very softly. “Who told you where I live?”

“I don’t know. Please, you said?—”

“Who?” I snarl at him. I feel my control slipping as I remember the deep mourning in Brianne’s eyes while she sat at the hospital next to Kim’s bed.

“Please, nobody told me anything, I don’t?—”

I yank the blade across his neck, severing the arteries. He dies choking on his own blood. I kick the body over and leave it to drain into the floor. My men will deal with him later.

I put the knife back on the plastic and leave the basement. Weariness floods me, but at least I have a lead on the drugs. I send the location to Jean and tell him to scout it out.

“Were you busy down there?”

---