In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(110)

It had happened so fast. She still couldn’t believe it.

Pavel stepped forward. She’d only seen him once, eleven years ago. He and Sasha’s mother, Marya, had come to the place where the children had been held after their rescue. Pavel had looked bad then, and he looked worse now. His face was grayish, pitted, sagging.

He stared at his son with naked loathing.

“Traitor,” he snarled to Sasha. “Get down on the ground, like the turd that you are.” Bam. He fired a shot between his son’s feet.

Sasha danced back. One of Pavel’s men struck him against the back of his head, sending him stumbling forward. A kick to the small of his back planted him face-first at Pavel Cherchenko’s feet.

Pavel kicked his son in the face. Sveti cried out in protest, Sam flinched. Sasha did not make a sound. He drew himself into the fetal position, huddling to protect the most vulnerable parts. A trick they had learned with Yuri, and his thick boots. Yuri had liked to kick, even the little ones. Sveti and Sasha had drawn his attention away from the smaller children whenever possible. Sometimes at great cost.

Pavel hooked his son by the collar of his shirt and yanked him up without much effort. Sasha couldn’t weigh much more than Sveti did. He looked at Sam. “Put down your weapons, slowly,” he said in English. “Or he blows the girl’s kneecap off.”

The gun jammed deeper into the soft spot under her chin so hard, it was impossible to speak. She locked eyes with Sam, wishing she could tell him mind to mind how beautiful, how valiant he was. How grateful she was. How sorry that she’d gotten him into this.

The thoughts were locked in. A swarm of terrified birds frantically beating their wings against the bars of their cage.

Sam crouched and laid the Glock 19 on the ground.

“Kick it away from yourself,” Pavel said.

Sam did so.

“Search them,” the boss barked in Ukrainian. “Cuff him.”

One of Pavel’s men ran his hands over Sam’s body and made a triumphant sound when he found the ankle holster with the snubbie. He took the revolver and jerked Sam’s arms back, ratcheting plastic cuffs around his wrists. Josef ran his hands over Sveti’s body, pinching and groping. He growled when he found the pistol strapped to her leg, and pinched her thigh viciously as he ripped the Velcro strap loose.

Pavel walked over to Sveti. “So, my son. At last I have my hands on something you care about.” He lifted up a lock of her hair, fingering it. “So this is the famous Svetlana. Scrawny, ey? Hardly bigger than when you both came out of Zhoglo’s black hole. Have you f*cked her?”

Sasha did not answer. Pavel kicked him again, this time in the ribs. He shuddered but did not cry out.

“No, you have not f*cked her.” Pavel sounded exasperated. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you like girls? My men will be happy to try her. Josef can hardly wait. But he had better go last, considering what he has in mind.”

Sasha rasped the words, in one explosive breath. “Don’t hurt her!”

“Tell me where you hid the thermal generators, if you don’t want to see this cunt cut into stew meat.”

Tears rolled down Sasha’s face. He nodded, jerkily.

“Where?” his father thundered.

Sasha looked up. “Here,” he whispered. “I’ll take you to them.”

Pavel squinted. “You hid my generators on Camorra property? Shit-brained fool.” A kick to Sasha’s kidney. “Get up. Lead on.”

The seven of them formed an odd procession following Sasha. Sveti willed the boy on the bike to stay away. Magpies darted, insects hummed. It was warm, even at dusk. The smell of festering weeds in a ditch prickled her nose. Weirdly peaceful. Just their feet, crunching on gravel, broken glass as they walked around the decaying foundry.

Huge chunks of wall were missing, windows were smashed, the roof had caved halfway in. Birds swooped high in its vaulted rafters.

“Faster,” Pavel growled.

On the far side of the building was a large, asphalt parking space, cracked and sunken. Ramps and loading bays. A long, low building with many doors that could have been storage, garages.

Sasha led them to the last door, through the thick foliage that had grown up around it. Prickly pear, fig. A tangle of dusty, dry-looking vines covered everything, twining over the boughs of a wild orange tree that bristled with long, brutal thorns. They tore at her skirt and her legs as Josef dragged her along.

Sasha stopped. Josef pinned her against the concrete wall. Thorns stabbed into her back, her arm. A branch fell over her shoulder, draping like a stole. It stabbed its stiff spines into her neck.

Sasha indicated the metal door. Tried to speak. Choked on it.

“Where is the key?” Pavel demanded.

Sasha cringed. “I do not have it.”

“Who does?”

Sasha’s mouth worked. Sonia, he mouthed.

Pavel cupped Sasha’s head and slammed his face into the door. Sasha fell to his knees, leaving a bloody splotch on the door.

Pavel gestured to the man who carried a shotgun. He swung the weapon up, taking aim at the lock.

“Stop!” Sam yelled. “Holy God, there’s pulverized strontium-90 in there! You’re going to shoot right into it? Really? Do you want to die?”

The man with the shotgun hesitated, exchanging glances with Pavel. The vor shrugged and made a swift gesture.