Page 17 of Twisted Knight

Matteo arched an eyebrow. “Are you questioningmyorders?Myorders? Are you forgetting who I am?”

How could I forget? And yes, questioning his orders was beyond stupid and yet, I couldn’t help but hold his eyes, just a few seconds longer. Maybe I did have a death wish after all.

“You pick him up; I play with him.” He gestured to the unconscious man by the overflowing dumpsters. “Unless,” His smile turned predatory. “I go pick him up and you play. Is that what you want, Domenico?”

I remained stoic but I cringed inwardly. I’d seen Matteo‘play’ a couple of times and it was something I never would have been able to do.

I sighed, opening the car door. “Pop the trunk open.”

Matteo snorted. “That’s what I thought.”

I walked down the alley and nodded my head to the two Russians waiting by the door to ensure successful pickup of the package.

I turned the guy over; there was no mark on him. I looked up, throwing a questioning look at the Russians.

The shorter one reached in his pocket to show me an empty syringe. “Work smart, not hard,” he said with his heavy accent; this one was from Mother Russia.

I pulled the guy up and huffed. Fuck, he was heavier than he looked.

“A little help?”

The biggest one reached for his cigarettes. “Not our job,mudak.We delivered you the package. It’s your problem now. Boss said to make sure we can’t find him.”

“That won’t be a problem,coglione.” He called me shithead in Russian; I was just returning the favor. “After the boss is done with him? Nobody would ever recognize him.”

I struggled to take him to the car, and Matteo decided to be a prime asshole and didn’t even come help me lift him in the trunk despite all my huffing and puffing.

The trunk itself was lined with black washable plastic and I was wondering how many body parts this trunk had carried to make plastic a permanent feature.

“Thanks for helping me,” I spat breathlessly when I joined him in the car.

“Oh, you needed help?” he asked me, starting the car and driving a little faster than I would have liked. I guessed the man was more excited to play with his prey than I anticipated.

“What do you think?” I asked, readjusting my clothes before putting some order in my hair.

“I think that the big, strong and brave Domenico Romero never needs anyone.”

The sarcasm was strong with that one… Asshole!

* * *

I took a sip of the drink Matteo served me as I waited for the Albanian to wake up.

Matteo had tied him to a chair in the middle of the room over an hour ago, and both of us were getting a little impatient now.

I leaned back on my chair and looked around Matteo’s playroom. Well, that was what he called his basement—the playroom. It had nothing to do with thatFifty Shades of Greycrap. No, it was far from being that type of playroom.

I looked at all the instruments he had on the far wall. This basement was nothing more than a torture room.

Matteo sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. “Seriously, what the fuck did they give him?” He growled with frustration. “Do you think he’ll wake up if I cut his pinky?” he asked, reaching for the pruning shears on the metal table.

Everything in this basement was made of metal and concrete. My eyes drifted to one of the drains on the floor, just under the Albanian. The drains that became useful when the room was hosed down to make all the blood disappear after one of Matteo’s ‘discussions.’

That was the moment the Albanian grunted and lifted his head, blinking rapidly.

“It’s like he heard you,” I teased Matteo before taking another sip of my drink.

“I know.” He cocked his head to the side, putting the shears back on the table. “If only he had waited a minute longer; I was really looking forward to it.”

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