Page 51

Then, all hell broke loose.
In the end, it could barely be called a fight. It was more a massacre. They descended on the warehouse like a plague, scorching the earth with blood, leaving a trail of destruction behind.
It didn’t take long for them to burst inside the warehouse. Hector was immediately hit with the smell of fish. There were rows and rows of fish containers that led to a path inside.
The heavy odor intensified as they neared the hall and came across three men standing in the middle of it.
He didn’t bother to tell them to drop their weapons. Their eyes were fixed on the firepower behind him. He wasn’t sure which of the three was Pachenkov. It could be any of the three slick motherfuckers, but his bet was on the one with the pooch and balding hair.
“What? Fish got your tongue?” Kristoff asked.
“Kristoff, you son of a bitch,” Pachenkov spat.
Itwasthe one with the beer belly.
“Actually it’s ‘son of a whore.’ Mymatushkawas a hard-working lady of the night, not a bitch. I should cut out your tongue for that insult.”
“Sorry, shit, I mean... I meant no disrespect, Kristoff. So, what brings you here?” Pachenkov asked, an uneasy smile on his face.
Hector shook his head. The dumb fuck actually thought he could talk his way out of this.
“I’ve come to buy fish. I heard you have the best in town.”
“What kind of fish?” Pachenkov stammered.
“Take an educated guess. Hint; it’s not canned tuna.”
“Not a shark either,” Damon said darkly. “We already have one of those.”
“We’re looking for a little mermaid,” Angel chimed in.
Sick and tired of their fish talk, Hector grabbed Pachenkov by the throat.
“Where’s Zoe?” He pulled out his knife and held it to the sweating man’s eye. “I’m gonna scoop your eyeballs out, if you don’t start talking right the fuck now.”
Pachenkov gulped and pointed at a door partly hidden behind a few barrels.
He let the man go and together with Damon, they moved the barrels. He opened the door and found the room shrouded in darkness.
His hand went to the wall, trying to find the light switch.
“Zoe?” He wasn’t sure what he would find inside. He prayed it wouldn’t be the little girl’s body. “Zoe, it’s Hector.”
He heard a sniff, then a small voice. “Wolfman?”
He finally found the light switch. Huddled up in a corner were four children, ages ranging from six—Zoe’s age—to maybe twelve.
When Zoe saw him, she got up on her tiny legs and launched herself at him. He dropped to his knees just in time to take her in his arms.
Her shoulders shook as she cried into his shirt. He looked at the other kids. The fear in their eyes made him want to skin Pachenkov alive.
“We’re gonna get you out of here,” he tried to reassure them.
Zoe looked up from under teared eyelashes. “Are you taking me home?”
“Yes, baby girl, I’m taking you home.”
“I want Mary,” she sobbed.