Page 66 of Dirty Roxie
Ronan
Andrei, fool that he is, tries to run after Daria shoots Viktor. He barely makes it a step before Mack, the only one of us tall enough, hits him over the head with the butt of his gun, knocking him out. I make a quick call to Roberto for body clean up, and he says to expect a crew soon. I’m going to owe the man anything and everything he asks for before this is over.
After he hangs up, I realize I hadn’t thought of how to transport a restrained, non-walking Andrei.
“I will ask if the resort has a wheelchair,” Roxie says. Once again, I’m impressed by her ingenuity. By the time she returns, Roberto’s crew has arrived, and I realize he must have some leverage with the resort, as we’ve not seen security anywhere, even with the gunshots.
One of Roberto’s men hands me a slip of paper with an address on it.
I look at him questioningly.
“Almacén abandonado.”
Roberto obviously anticipated everything I might need, including the location of an abandoned warehouse in which to torture Andrei. And if I know Roberto like I think I do, there will be instruments already set up for me to work with. It hits me, like a slap to the face, just how much I’ve had to rely on others through this entire quest for vengeance where Andrei is concerned. I would not have been able to do it otherwise.
I’m just not sure if this means I owe them all a huge debt of gratitude. Or if it means I have . . . friends.
* * *
The third punch I land on Andrei’s face splits the stitches in my side. Roxie had warned me to wrap my mid-section before going after Andrei, but I ignored her. Convinced that it wouldn’t be a problem since I’m in fantastic shape. A few punches wouldn’t do any harm—I was wrong.
I’d like to think I underestimated the fury behind each hit, but I think it also has to do with Roxie’s amateur stitching, which is not to blame her. Because she’s still right, I should have wrapped everything first. We make do, tying my shirt around my waist by the arms, leaving me shirtless to deal with my traitor.
I throw ice water at his face to revive him.
Because I was right, Roberto had everything here that I could need to inflict as much pain as I’d like. Including the means to winch him up by his wrists. Leaving his entire body as my playground.
“Tell me why?” I ask him.
“Yebat’ tebya,” he returns in Russian.
“Fuck me?” I chuckle. “I don’t think so, Andrei.” I check out the myriad of devices that Roberto has here, many I’ve no idea what to do with. But this exercise with Andrei has as much to do with me physically exorcising my demons as it does with inflicting pain on him. So, I stick with the basics.
Wood club. Ice water. My fists.
I spend more time on his face and midsection, using my fists until he’s barely recognizable and I’m tired.
“Tell me why and I’ll stop.” My breathing is heavy.
His head lolls back, bloodied and broken. “You think you special. But not.” He spits to the side, a blend of phlegm and blood. And maybe a tooth.
“We the same. Raised same. All same.”
“Yet somehow you still ended up working for me, Andrei. Why is that?”
Andrei shrugs, then winces. “I deserve more.”
“You deserve shit.Der’mo!” I see red. Something that hasn’t happened since the night the men murdered my mother. All I can do is strike out repeatedly.
Images overlap in my mind.
Mother lying on the floor, bloodied and beaten.
Andrei thinking he deserves more when he’s done nothing to earn it.
Father doing nothing to stop the men. Ever.
Men spurting their release on my mother’s face when she’s too weak to do anything but take it.
