Page 3 of Lethal Torture

Ivanov gulps.

“Let me be very clear. I want the names of the people you sell to. The names of the people you buy from.” I smile silkily. “And most of all, I want to know where to find all the girls we didn’t manage to rescue from the Avonmouth Docks last week.”

“That was you?” This time, real anger flares in his eyes. “I paid for those girls.” He strains against his bonds. “And don’t act like you’re better than me,” he snaps. “We both trade in flesh, Zinaida. Just because you dress yours up and put them behind gaming tables or up on a stage, it doesn’t change the fact that you run whores.” He tries to spit, but it just runs down his chin in a pathetic dribble. “Whether I get out of here or not, you’re going to die, you fucking bitch. I promise you that.”

I twist the knife a little, just to remind him it’s there. “But you’ve already tried that, Georgiy, haven’t you?”

He stills, his eyes widening with fear.

“A car bomb in Soho,” I say softly. “A sniper on the roof opposite my club.” Not by the slightest twitch do I let my fury show. “That last one was just plain clumsy, by the way. I don’t know where you hire your assassins, but you really should have vetted that one better.”

He stares up at me, his face a perfect picture of confusion.

“It was a mistake,” I say quietly, “letting me tie you up like this tonight. Were you hoping to get a selfie of yourself fucking me before you pulled a gun?” I shake my finger remonstratively at him. “A dangerous gamble, friend.” I draw a little blood with the tip of the knife, and he yelps.

“I don’t know anything about bombs or snipers!” Georgiy’s voice is high-pitched, his panic visible. “Do you think I’d let you tie me up if I was trying to kill you?”

I arch a cynical eyebrow. “Given that you promised me only moments ago that I’ll die, forgive me if I have trouble believing that.”

“Because you’d just admitted you stole from me!” There’s an edge of desperation in Georgiy’s voice that momentarily stills my hand. “But it was a threat, nothing more. I swear on my life, Zinaida, whoever tried to kill you—it wasn’t me.” His chest heaves, his terrified eyes staring directly into mine.

My eyes narrow.

I know men, and I know fear.

And instinct tells me that Ivanov, piece of shit though he may be, isn’t lying to me.

Not that it matters.

“Let’s start again.” I turn the knife. “Names.”

“I don’t have names.” The words spill out rapidly. “Not the ones you want, anyway. I get an encrypted message with the location of the container, a time and date and price. I pay in Mercura, and then I pick the girls up. The gate is left open, and there are no guards when we arrive.”

He’s not stalling, not anymore. He’s almost desperate to please.

There’s no chance this piece of shit is my would-be killer.I’m surprised he’s lasted in our world as long as he has.

“I want to know who is trying to kill me, Georgiy.”

“I don’t know!” he shrieks as the knife slices his flesh. “I don’t,” he gasps, shaking his head again. “I pay, and I collect. I can tell you who I sell the girls to,” he goes on eagerly, “but that’s it. That’s all I know. I’m just the distributor.”

The distributor.

Cold fury hardens inside me.

“That’s all,” he says pathetically. “It’s the truth, I swear it. There’s no more to tell.”

I tilt my head consideringly. “Sadly, I happen to believe that, Georgiy.”

Relief washes over Ivanov’s blunt features. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, then looks up at me with a hint of his old defiance. “So are we done here?”

I could almost laugh at his pathetic show of bravado.

“Oh, no, Ivanov.” I sip my Disaronno. “Unfortunately, I’m still going to have to kill you.”

His face goes ashen.

“Not because you tried to kill me.” I shrug. “If I went around murdering everyone who tried to kill me, my very civilized arrangement with Scotland Yard would be jeopardized. No, Georgiy.”