Page 40 of Bloody Lace

That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it, though.

15

DIMITRI

By the time I reach the docks where Vik took the man who accosted Evelyn at the wedding, I’ve calmed down a bit. I also feel a little guilty for being so upset with her about the dog. I’m nothappyabout this new furry addition to our house, and I’m even more annoyed that she didn’t bother to tell me about it. Additionally, I’m pissed that Gus was charmed into keeping it quiet as well, and I have every intention of having a firm talk with him about it when I have the time.

I need to know what’s happening with Evelyn.Nothingshould be kept from me, even something as seemingly innocent as her pet. It irks me that anyone in my employ would think that it’s acceptable to not give me the full picture of what’s happening, at all times.

It makes me think I might need to take a firmer hand, to make sure the men working for me understand that my word is final. That I should be respected in all things. That very soon, I won’t be the heir any longer, but theirpakhan.

It’s not really the dog that’s making me angry. It’s the lack of respect in not telling me—from her, from Gus, from anyone else keeping things from me. It’s the fact that I came in my bathroomsink last night, on my wedding night, instead of inside my wife. It’s the fact that I slept next to her last night, warm and soft and so fucking tempting, and the space between us might as well have been an ocean for all the good it did me.

I can’t touch her, and I shouldn’t want her, and she’s driving me insane after being married to her for a single day. I’m starting to wonder if, for all my compunctions about being locked to a woman like Nicci in marriage forever, if that might not have been an easier path.

Easier, maybe, but not better. I would have been miserable with Nicci, trapped with a woman who I could barely stand to be around, seeking out secret pleasures elsewhere because I didn’t want to touch her unless I absolutely had to. The problem with Evelyn is the opposite. I like being around her too much for either of our good. Even when she argues with me, when she doesn’t listen, when she infuriates me, I still feel something hollow when she walks away. And I want her so much it fucking hurts. It feels like an itch I won’t ever be able to scratch, a craving I can’t satiate.

All of that adds up to me being frustrated and irritable by the time I reach the docks, eager for someone to take it out on. Which is bad news for the man being kept inside.

Vik is waiting for me by the entrance, leaning back against the cold metal wall. Out here, this close to the water, there’s no real snow, just filthy slush that sloshes against my boots as I walk. I changed clothes before coming out here, into suit trousers and a black button down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the tattoos on my forearms. I want the man inside to know that he’s speaking to someone in charge. That the man who decides his life and death has finally arrived.

“He hasn’t talked,” Vik says, pushing away from the wall. “But we haven’t leaned on him that hard, since you said not to, boss. Figured you were wanting to do the honors yourself.”

“Good.”I’m glad someone listens to me.Vik is unwaveringly loyal, a quality that I’m coming to appreciate more and more. “He’ll talk soon enough.”

When I step inside, the acrid scent of piss hits my nose. The man is sitting in a chair in the back third of the warehouse, a tarp spread out underneath him. Standard procedure, and something I learned long ago—sometimes psychological torture is worse than physical. Since I told Vik not to lean on him too hard yet, the man will have been staring at that tarp since he was dragged here last night, wondering what’s going to be done to him that would necessitate an easy cleanup. Wondering if it’s going to be his body rolled up in it when it’s all over, if that body will be whole or in pieces.

Someone took his suit jacket off. He’s in just his shirt and the poorly tailored trousers he had on at the wedding, his feet bare, his arms zip tied behind him to the back of the chair. I can see where sweat has soaked through the pits of his shirt, despite the cold, and the dried stain on his dark grey trousers that tells me he was scared badly at some point enough to wet himself. From the open toolbox on the nearby table, I can guess that Vik, or one of the men, made a show of setting up for me.

More psychological torment. But in my current mood, I don’t have much patience for mind games. I want to know what this man wanted with Evelyn, beyond just what he told her. I want to know what the Crows are planning when it comes to my fuckingwife.

And then, I’m going to stop them.

The man’s head comes up as I walk towards him, his eyes bloodshot. “Looks like the big boss man came to visit,” he says in a sarcastic voice, and I chuckle, walking towards the table to see what Vik’s laid out for me. Pliers in a few sizes, a serrated hunting knife, a small bonesaw, a torch. My usual tools. Vik knows what I like to do, when it comes to getting information.

Althoughlikeis maybe the wrong word. I don’t get any great pleasure from torture. Satisfaction in getting answers, maybe. But I’m also a man who believes in doing his own dirty work. I believe that I shouldn’t ask others to do what I’m not willing to do myself. And sometimes, doing it yourself is the best way to make sure it’s done right.

That’s true for paperwork, torture, and any number of other things in life.

I glance at him as I pick up the first of the pairs of pliers, hefting its weight in my palm. “Good. You recognize that I’m the boss. That will save us both some time.” Technically, my father is the boss, but this is an instance where we don’t need to split hairs. For all intents and purposes, I’m the only boss that this man needs to worry about.

Clicking the pliers together, I step closer to him. His gaze flicks to them, and I see the hint of fear in his bloodshot eyes. He wasn’t prepared to face this. Which should make my job easier. “What were you doing at my wedding, speaking to my wife?”

The man swallows hard. “I was told to deliver her a message. I did. That’s all. I wasn’t going to lay a hand on her?—”

“That’s good. Maybe I’ll reconsider removing yours.”

There’s more than a flicker of fear in his eyes now. “I’m just a messenger. Haven’t you heard that saying—don’t shoot the?—”

“Hm.” I click the pliers again, setting them back down and reaching for a larger pair, one that can handle teeth. “I had planned on finishing this off by shooting you. A quick, clean death. But I can consider other means if you prefer.”

“Wait—no. I didn’t mean—” The man’s voice wavers, his eyes widening. “Please. I’m no one. Just a messenger, like I said. My death will mean nothing to them, it?—”

“You looked like you enjoyed delivering your message. You enjoyed looming over my wife, frightening her on her wedding day. Feeling like the big bad gangster. I bet they make you feelsmall, back in the Crows. The guy sent to deliver a message, knowing there was no way you were getting out of there. You’re right, they don’t care what happens to you. But you were hoping you’d get out. You were hoping you’d get to go back and tell them how well you frightened poor little Evelyn Ashburn. And it made you feel sogood, didn’t it, seeing the fear in her eyes?”

“No, I?—”

I grab the pliers and the knife and motion to Vik. “I don’t like liars.”

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