Valon: What Once Was (Volkov Bratva Novella)(31)

She was pretty, young, and probably had a life outside of all this, and if Valon was in Jetmir’s place, then he might have let her go, just to save himself the headache of a female crying, but the darker side of him knew that the best way to get the Russian to talk was to hurt the girl. Or at least, he hoped that would work. It all depended on what she meant to him.

Turning his attention back to the Volkov boy, he studied him, wondering when he would finally rouse. He hadn’t hit him that hard, but sometimes Valon didn’t know his own strength. Maybe he needed to work on that…

Just as he was about to look away, the boy stirred, a soft sound slipping past his lips as his head moved, jerking fully awake when he realized that he was being tied to the chair. Valon could practically smell the fear on him, but it wasn’t until the boy noticed his lover that he truly began to realize the true horror of his situation. He struggled anew, but he couldn’t break free.

The boy’s eyes went over each of them, lingering on Jetmir for some time. It was an easy enough guess as to who was in charge. Jetmir dressed the part in a charcoal gray suit with a long, black overcoat on top. The rest of them wore variations of jeans and T-shirts.

Jetmir studied him in return, nodding almost imperceptibly. “You did well.”

The compliment was aimed at both Valon and Fatos, for their work in actually finding and bringing him here.

Fatos, ever the eager one, ripped his mask off, smiling down at the boy. “It was nothing.”

The boy visibly paled under the insanity that was Fatos and for good reason. Valon had learned what he was capable of when he was bored. If he were inspired? There was no telling what he would do.

Since the mask no longer seemed necessary, Valon pulled his off, making eye contact with the boy. He wondered what he saw when he looked at him. Did he see the same crazy that he saw in Fatos? Less? More? They were two halves of the same coin, but Valon liked to pretend he was better than his counterpart was.

“Were you seen?” Jetmir went on.

“Nope,” said Fatos. “They were alone. He didn’t even have guards on him.”

Which had seemed strange to Valon. If this was the Bratva Captain, then wouldn’t there be at least one bodyguard with him at all times? Leaving the compound back in Albania, Bastian had felt the need to leave with at least three, not including Valon. But maybe he had left him behind because of the girl he was with.

Then he was stupid…

“How sure are you of this?”

Fatos readied to answer this inquiry as well, but Jetmir turned his back to him and looked at Valon for an answer. For just a second, there was a flash of fury in Fatos’ eyes before he hid it. Valon wished he hadn’t seen it.

Folding his arms across his chest, he briefly met the gaze of the boy before looking at Jetmir once more. “They were alone. Surprising, considering who he is.”

He hoped to convey that he thought it was strange, but the boy being alone was all that seemed to matter to Jetmir as he snapped his fingers, one of his men wheeling in a tray. Jetmir shrugged out of his coat and jacket, passing them both off to someone else.

“I am Jetmir Besnik, of the Besnik family, but I am sure you already know this.”

There didn’t seem to be any recognition in his eyes, but Valon kept this observation to himself.

“You possess information that I need. If you tell me, then I will release you and your friend here. If you do not, then I will force you to tell me.” His gaze shifted to the girl whose eyes widened in fear. “By any means necessary. Have you anything to say?”

The boy swallowed visibly, his eyes darting around the room as though he might find sympathy in one of them. Once, he might have found it in Valon, but that pity had been ripped from him the day the one closest to him took a knife to his back.

“I don’t know who you think I am, but if this is about money, I’ll give you everything I have. We—”

Jetmir sighed, shaking his head as though he was disappointed in the boy, but the boy was too afraid to do anything more than beg some more, not even when Jetmir reached for a pair of knives sitting on the try, turning them over in his hands as he stepped forward, and closer until he was just inches away.

“Please, make this difficult for me. I want to enjoy this more.”

Valon could see it in the boy’s eyes, the need to beg to get free. He remembered how he’d felt when he begged Bastian for anything, the weakness that consumed him. And though he pitied the boy for what he was about to endure, he didn’t pity his weakness.

In the blink of an eye, Jetmir stabbed the boy, just below his collarbone, a scream ripping free from the boy’s mouth as he tried to lurch away. Jetmir didn’t pull it free, just left it embedded in the boy’s chest, and before he could recover from that first assault, he stabbed him again, parallel to the first on the opposite side.

“Bleed for what you believe in,” Jetmir said in a low voice. “By the end of your time here with me, you’ll die for it as well.”

Jetmir stepped away, having said all he needed to say. As he turned his back on the boy, he looked to Valon, telling him everything he needed to know with one look.

It was his turn, and before Jetmir came back, he was meant to break him. By any means necessary.

Valon, for his part, kept his expression neutral.

There was a hook bolted to the wall, one Valon knew could hold the weight of the boy. If he was going to do this, then he might as well get started.