Page 17 of A Pawn in the Game
“I see you guys are having fun.”
Marko turns to me, looking flustered. “S-she asked me to play a game,” Marko responds, clearing his throat. “And I don’t really know how to play. So she’s teaching me.”
“That’s fine.” His shoulders relax at my words. “I just brought you some things.” I place the bag on the bed. “So you can shower.”
Her eyes widen and she swallows, before saying a quiet, “Thank you.”
I dip my head and get the hell out. Her thanks creeps up my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She shouldn’t be thanking me. I’m holding her captive.
And giving her a chance to shower is in no way a thanking ordeal. It’s just a basic human necessity. I’d hardly want my men to suffer her stench otherwise.
The second delivery of the day is less peaceful. No Russians appear in flesh, but once again, they went behind our backs, trying to poach on our territory.
The abandoned warehouse we meet at isn’t ours. It’s where our arms smuggler keeps his merchandise and where we did our drop-offs for the last seven years.
As soon as Ivan and I enter the place, I can smell something’s up. Liz, the main guy, is fidgety, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hair seems to have receded even further since the last time I saw him. Liz is short for Lizard, which I know is ridiculous, but you know, criminals and their little nicknames.
I plaster a wide smile on my face, one that is so unnatural it probably looks scary. “Liz, my man. Got the goods?”
“Uhm, yeah. I have it right here. But we have a problem.”
“Do we?”
Liz nods profusely, wiping his hands on his pants.
“And what would that problem be?”
“The Russians.”
“I see. And why would the Russians be a problem for me?”
“I might owe them some merch.” I level him with a glare. “It wasn’t me. A foot soldier of mine did it.”
“You’re responsible for your men.”
“Of course, I am. And I have him handled. But what’s done is done?”
My ears perk up at his words. “You have him handled?”
“Yup, he’s cuffed upstairs. I’ll make sure he gets punished.” Our eyes connect, and I know he’s loyal to me.
“And my goods?”
“Like I said. I have it all. I just don’t want you thinking I’m playing double agent.”
My chin dips. This is a massive fuckup, but I’ve been working with Liz for years. And I’m leaning towards trusting him. Besides, we’ll see what the little shit says. “Take me to your guy.”
His throat bobs as he swallows his spit. I follow him up the metal staircase. The steps clink beneath our boots, Ivan walking right behind me. We realize this could be a trap. My right hand rests on my gun, willing to take no chances.
But as Liz leads us to the room furthest to the right, I know he was telling the truth. A skinny guy in ripped jeans and a wife-beater thrashes in the chair. He looks like he’s in his early twenties, young enough to have his whole life ahead of him, but old enough to know better. Ropes are tied around his wrists, ankles and mouth, stifling his screams. His eyes are blue and wide, his pupils blown with fear. A powerful stench of urine permeates the room, evident by a wet stain on the front of his jeans.
I motion my head to the guy, and Ivan approaches him to untie his mouth.
“No! Please! I haven’t done anything!” The muffled sounds turn to words as soon as his mouth is free. I sigh, wishing we could have done this without the screams. Two more of Liz’s menare in the room, but they’re smart enough to know not to interfere. This isn’t their jurisdiction.
“What’s your name?” I ask the young guy.
“T-Tommy,” he answers, his heartbeat almost visible through the thin cotton.
