Page 56 of Blood & Snow

Someone who's had a gun to his head enough times to be comfortable with it and know when death is or isn't imminent.

I can't pull the trigger here unless I’m prepared to answer questions.

But I will take the risk if it means my own life is spared.

"Businessmen who launder money for the Brotherhood."

I gesture toward the street with my weapon.

"Walk to the black sedan. Get in the back seat. Try to run and I'll put bullets in your legs first."

They move toward my car while I maintain distance behind them.

One of them glances back once, like he’s trying to find a path to escape but the odds don't go in hisfavor.

They reach the vehicle and climb inside without further protest.

I slide into the passenger seat and Igor, driving, pulls the car into Moscow traffic, heading toward a safehouse in an industrial district where screams won't attract attention.

The entire drive is tense, my gun locked on the back seat.

Neither of them speaks, but I notice one of them uses his fingers to sign something to the other.

"Where are you taking us?" the tall one asks after several minutes.

"Somewhere we can have a private conversation about Brotherhood finances."

"We don't know anything about?—"

The lie dies when Igor brakes suddenly, throwing both men forward against the seat dividers.

Pain teaches honesty more effectively than threats, and it makes me chuckle darkly.

"Next lie costs you teeth," I say calmly as the car resumes normal speed.

"We both know what you do for Arkady's organization. The only question is whether you cooperate willingly or I extract information through alternative methods."

For the rest of the drive, they have glares on their faces and squared shoulders.

We park behind a warehouse that serves as one of several interrogation facilities scattered throughout the city.

The building appears abandoned from the outside but contains soundproofed rooms and equipment necessary for serious conversations.

"Out of the car," I order.

"Walk straight to the door."

My gun is still at ready, poised to end a life or take out a knee cap, whichever seems easier to me.

Though I need information from them, so knee caps would be my go to.

They follow my orders like men who understand theirsituation.

They are marching toward torture or death and they know it.

I unlock the entrance and guide them inside, past empty offices toward the basement stairs.

The air grows colder as we descend, and I notice the shorter one shivering from more than temperature.