Page 134 of Knights Game

“Who are you calling?” Roman asks, pulling more of the papers from the case file towards him.

Levi answers.

“All good on your side?” I ask.

“If you’re asking whether there have been any more surprises, no, but I would say nothing about this is good. Duchess is about ready to declare war on the Russians.”

“Calm her, we can’t afford to make rash decisions, patience is needed.” And I need fucking answers.

“I’m trying, but you saw her, she hacked that poor bastard to fucking shreds. She wants revenge.”

“She’s got quite the temper,” I muse, rubbing my top lip, my mind going a million miles an hour. “Some things have come to light this evening. If you can leave her, I need to see you.”

If John did kill my mother and Layla’s parents then I want to confront him, confront them.

Levi may have only been a child when she died, and likely oblivious, but that doesn’t stop him having been told since. The only way to know for sure, is to confront them both, together.

“I’ll call you in ten,” Levi replies and hangs up.

Roman looks at me. “The fuck?” he says, but I hold up my finger as I dial another number.

“Luca, my boy.” John's deep baritone voice comes over the receiver.

“We’ve got a problem. Levi and I need to see you.” There’s shuffling in the background. “Are you at the house?” I ask.

“No, the clubhouse.” Of course, the clubhouse with all the other Covenant members. “I’ll be back by nine tonight.”

“See you at nine at the house then.”

I hang up, throwing the phone onto the large, dark oak table. My study is the complete opposite to the rest of the apartment. With antique furnishings, and large floor to ceiling bookcases, with books encased in traditional leather fill it. The type you would find in grand old, listed houses. But it’s all a façade, behind the walls sits another room.

A room no one else knows about.

A second entrance to my place, along with a soundproof room which will soon house a Russian.

Who I hope will give me some more of the pieces of the puzzle.

I wipe my hands with a rag, saturated with blood. “I’m bored of this Alexander.”

“I will tell you nothing, Knight. You’ll pay for this!” the man exclaims, spitting, the mixture of blood and saliva landing on my shoes. His mouth oozes with the damage from the molar I’ve just extracted. He hangs onto consciousness, his face marked by bruises and streaks of blood, head swaying back and forth. Bennett stands to the side, propped against the wall watching as I interrogate this piece of shit.

He came bagged and cable-tied, already beaten. Smelling salts woke him and he’s been wrestling with the binds that dig into his wrists ever since, leaving red angry welts.

“You’re the bastard son to some whore,” Alexander says in a thick Russian accent.

I’m over the room in a flash, landing him with a brutal backhand, and the fucking bastard just laughs, his blood-soaked teeth grinning manically at me.

“Do you know how they train us?” he says, his face contorted in a mad expression. “We are sent to the coldest, darkest places on earth, we are starved and tortured daily. Held in the ultimate stress positions, with the sounds of babes played constantly. We are held in the dark, and then strobe lighting is turned on, we are waterboarded. And you think this, this pathetic attempt at torture will break me?”

I pull his head back, holding a knife to his throat.

“You may not value your life,” I whisper into his ear, “but, do you have ones you care about? Can you imagine me doing to them what I do to you?” I run the knife along his cheek, slicing his skin like it’s nothing more than paper, my eyes narrow and I lean close.

And I see it.

A small flicker of doubt.

“Will your daughter hold out as well as you.”

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