Page 65 of Isle of Pain

“What’s the status?” I ask. It sounds like a bark even to my ears but I don’t have time to give a shit or be polite.

“Barychev and four of his best men. Amsterdam’s pakhan, his second in command and two of their soldiers.”

“Seven to their eight, I’d say it’s reckoning day,” Dante jokes and Irina hisses at him.

The next half hour is a blur, the element of surprise a considerable advantage.

We storm the farmhouse, two of our enemies immediately down from our bullets. Irina takes down two more men, one with a bullet straight to the head and the Amsterdam packman with a knife directly jerked into his eye. It’s savage and blood sprays on her alabaster face.

“Fuck, she’s hot,” Dante says loud enough for everyone to hear and I grimace. I don’t need to know his lustful thoughts. But even I can admire Irina’s skills. Not that much of an air-head after all. Giulia and her might have more in common than my sister-in-law thinks, but I won’t tell her that. I value my tongue too much.

Bullets wheeze around us and force us to take cover, but Aleksei’s sniper skills are not match for Barychev’s last two standing men. I advance on him where he crouches behind a makeshift barricade. Before I can get to him, the bastard stands and shoots directly at me. My body bows back with the force of the impact, my right shoulder immediately on fire. Something sticky and warm flows on my front and when I look down, I see that it’s my own blood.

Fuelled by rage so hot it burns through the pain, I stand and press my hand from my valid arm on top of where the bullet grazed the side of my shoulder. I ignore the wetness of the wound and take the knife from its holster at my thigh. Determined steps get me in front of a crouched Barychev, who uselessly presses the trigger, his gun empty and his eyes flaming with fear. I slash the knife across his face and he yelps in pain.

“Tie him up,” I order no one specifically, and one of Dobrev’s men execute my command in seconds. I’m barely aware of the dead bodies around us, blood pouring on the floor like the perfect ink for my next canvas.

“Sit down,” Irina barks but I don’t even look at her, keeping my gaze fixed on my prey. With a heavy press on my shoulders,I’m seated and alcohol is poured on my shoulder, bringing my attention to Aleksei and Irina, working in tandem around me.

“Don’t touch me,” I bark and Dobrev removes his hand immediately, holding them up in surrender.

“Well, I’ll need to touch you to stitch you up, you moron,” Irina says as hands me a piece of wood and pours alcohol on her hands. “Bite this.”

“I’m not putting this in my mouth,” I tell her.

“Your loss,” she says and it’s the only warning I get before a needle pierces my skin and Irina ties a couple of stitches around the wound, sealing it shut.

Fire holds me captive, radiating from my shoulder, where I can feel Irina’s touch, all the way to my chest and legs. I hate it but direct it to Barychev as a reminder of why I’m here. I refuse to pass out even as white edges my vision and stars dance around me. I’ve known pain before. This is just a short halt until I can get back to my girls. I keep my gaze trained on my enemy. He’s the reason I’m here. He’s the reason I’m away from Marie and Ember. He’s the reason I’m in pain. And he’ll pay for it ten fold.

Irina steps back a few moments later. The breath I take tastes cold and fills me with renewed energy. Painkillers are shoved down my throat, followed by a burning clear liquid that I cough half out. “No alcohol,” I sputter and spit. The makeshift bandage on my shoulder feels wrong, scratching the unblemished skin around the wound.

“You’re still bleeding, take a break,amicio,” Dante says but I ignore him.

Standing, adrenaline making me feel invincible, I walk to Barychev, tied and gagged on a chair in the middle of the room we’re all in, his allies dead at our feet.

“You know what I should be doing right now?” I ask him. It’s rhetorical but he shakes his head nonetheless, a mix of fear andarrogance flickering in his beady eyes. It hasn’t registered that he will die in pain yet. That’s what always happens and I usually don’t delay the inevitable but now, I feel unhinged, unleashed, untethered. “Fucking a baby into my woman until everyone knows she’s mine and I’m hers. But instead, I’m stuck here with you.”

An unhinged laughter escapes my throat and my victim shudders, closing their eyes as if I’m an illusion, a nightmare that won’t be there when he opens them up again. Too bad I am very real and ready to exact my revenge. “You’re keeping me away so,you, my friend, are going to suffer. Now, tell me where Misha Petrov hides and I’ll consider making it shorter.”

I take hold of his jaw and carve a hole in both cheeks, sticking the useless pieces of his skin into his throat. Eventually, he swallows then throws up all over himself. I jump back just in time and put on the painter's suit in a frenzy. My movements are jerky and uncoordinated but I don’t care. I also don’t care that I have an audience. I stuck the piece of wood Irina wanted me to bite into right through the two holes of Barychev’s cheeks. It opens his mouth just enough for me to grab hold of his tongue with pliers I had in my backpack.

“We need Petrov’s location, idiot,” I hear Irina yell in the background.

Hot rage pours through my body feeling my need for vengeance and pain. I’m breathing hard but removes the pliers from Barychev’ mouth, focusing once more on my goal.

With the only two knives I had in my backpack, I carve and slice and dissect, pausing enough to repeat my questions. I don’t have any of the stimulants I’d need for Barychev to stay awake and present long enough so I use all the intimidating techniques in my arsenal to make him cave. And I don’t have to force the terrifying way I must look, crazed and dressed for slaughter. I flay half the skin of his face before threatening to go to a place noman want to be threatened with. Barychev’s eyes roll into their sockets.

“Amicio, slow down. He’s gonna fucking croak before we get what we need.” Dante’s approaching in my periphery and I turn round, bloody knives in hand, tapping the butt of the handles against my legs frenetically.One, two, three. One, two, three.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

Marie needs me. I need to make that man pay for keeping me away from her. My breaths come out laboured, sweat dripping down my back inside the plastic of the suit, and I know it’s blood I feel lazily dripping down my forearm almost to my wrist. I shake my head and close my eyes but I don’t see a way out. I turn back to Barychev.

What he sees in me has him white as a sheet. He caves and whispers a coordinate. As well as a prayer for death. Though I’m not ready to give it.

“Fratello.” My brother’s voice filters through my haze and I turn. Impeccably dressed in a burgundy suit, his hair in a bun, he looks so out of place but he doesn’t care walking through all the blood splattered around me. I’m about to turn back to my victim when he lands a hand on my shoulder and I hiss in pain.

“What happened to you?” he asks, lifting his hand up again, concern filtering through his words.

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