Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(30)

How many days had he sat and fantasized about this very moment? How many nights had he lain awake, feeling like he was being suffocated as the days passed him by, and he had been no closer to getting his hands on the Albanian that was finally within grasp?

This was what he had been waiting for…

Mishca, with the help of his associate, had Jetmir strung up, his arms hooked into restraints, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground.

Helpless.

Snatching the barrier from his eyes, Mishca waited a moment, giving Jetmir a chance to focus on him, to take in his surroundings before he spoke.

“Hey,” Mishca said, smacking the man a couple of times to get his attention. “You’re going to want to focus for this.”

Jetmir, whose head had been slightly lolling on his shoulders, straightened, turning a glare on Mishca, the scar down the right side of his face pulling. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it!” Jetmir snarled as Mishca stepped away and turned his back.

Pausing mid-stride, Mishca faced him once more, canting his head to the side as his gaze flickered to Niklaus for a moment—Jetmir had yet to realize they weren’t alone.

“I’m not the one you should fear,” Mishca said with an air of casualness. Shaking his head, as though he almost felt sorry for the man, Mishca looked past him to Niklaus. “Don’t make a mess.”

The request was unnecessary. It wasn’t as though Mishca didn’t know what Niklaus was capable of. The man had made it quite clear he’d been keeping tabs on him.

By the time he finished with him, there wouldn’t even be anything left of Jetmir to identify.

With Mishca gone, the echo of the freezer door slamming shut still in the air, Niklaus got to his feet, circling Jetmir so he could finally face the one man he’d been tracking down religiously.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Niklaus said as he started rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, rotating his head on his shoulders to stretch the muscles in his neck.

There wasn’t a day that had went by since Jetmir had turned his life upside down that Niklaus didn’t think of how he would make this particular Albanian pay.

The blood.

The sweat.

The tears.

No one could possibly understand just how much Niklaus had sacrificed to get them both in this room. And more was just how much of himself he had lost in the process.

Over time, Niklaus learned to shut off his emotions.

Tracking the Albanians before they had touched down on American soil, it was almost laughable that his contract had been up around the same time that Jetmir and his crew thought to take on the Volkov Bratva. And instead of signing another, Niklaus had taken his leave for a short time so he could get Jetmir alone finally.

And the funny thing was, the one other person that had made it possible for this moment to happen was one of the people Niklaus had vowed to kill, but that was how it worked sometimes in their world.

Enemies one day, allies the next.

Reaching up, Niklaus tugged at his mask, then tossed it to the side, pushing the sweaty strands of his hair back out of his face. When he took Jetmir’s life, he didn’t want any confusion as to why this was happening.

Laughing bitterly, Jetmir said, “The brother? I was sure the Russians would have finished you off.”

Niklaus swung without thinking, glad that he’d had the foresight to tape his fingers up beforehand. That first hit wasn’t enough, not nearly, and before he knew it, he found himself swinging again and again, the blows carefully placed, not doing too much damage to any one area, but just enough that Jetmir had to be in excruciating pain.

By the time he stopped, Niklaus’ arms felt like lead, but he felt better at the sight of Jetmir’s bloodied face. Though he wished otherwise, Niklaus didn’t have time to torture him for days the way he wanted.

He had always pictured what he would do, the tools he would use, and how long he would spend making sure that Jetmir understood exactly the kind of monster he’d created.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to enjoy what he was about to do. If anything, they were going to reach the climax that was long overdue just a bit faster.

Walking backward, Niklaus picked up the container he’d left out in clear view, making sure Jetmir could see what it was before he unscrewed the nozzle and pulled out the hose. Taking his time, Niklaus began pouring the gasoline over Jetmir’s head, making sure he was completely soaked before dropped the container some distance away.

“For years,” Niklaus said casually, ignoring Jetmir’s earlier outburst, “I’ve studied you, learning everything I needed to know about you and your associates. Here’s one. You have a habit of setting your enemies on fire.”

“This is about the girl, no?” Jetmir asked, shaking his head to get dripping hair out of his eyes.

Niklaus didn’t respond because Jetmir was right, and because he didn’t trust what he would say next. There were very few things that sparked real emotion inside of him, and Sarah happened to be one of them.

Niklaus knew that if he would ask Jetmir what ‘the girl’s’ name was, he wouldn’t be able to give an answer.

“It wasn’t personal.” There was a slight grin on his face as he said this.

Despite the fact that he was drenched in gasoline and knew that he was facing death, he still taunted, almost begging Niklaus to overreact and make a mistake—that was usually how these things worked.