God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(84)
I slam my fist underneath the man’s jaw, sending it flying sideways, and ask for the dozenth time. “What are you telling Landon?”
I expect the guard to remain silent like before, but he breathes harshly as blood pours from his mouth. “Are you going to take his place in clearing my debts?”
“We might.” Eli’s manic attention slides to the guard and he tucks his phone in his pocket. “But if you don’t tell us what we want to know, not only will you lose us as sponsors, but we’ll also make sure you lose Landon. King money might be infinite, but it’s hard to come by for peasants like you.”
“You don’t even care to hide your identities,” the guard pants out, sounding barely coherent with all the blood that’s gushing from his lips and nose.
“Does it make a difference?” Eli releases the man’s wrists, strolls in front of him, and cocks his head to the side. “Who would believe a traitor cockroach like you anyway? Definitely not Jeremy. And if you think Lan has your back, then you’re in for a life lesson. My cousin has absolutely no fucks to give about anyone who’s not himself and his dick. The moment he realizes you’re no longer a useful pawn in his alleged grand schemes, he’ll discard you.”
“You’ll pay the debts?” He’s speaking to me, probably having figured out I’m the least unhinged, despite the galaxy of bruises I left on his face.
Poor cunt.
There’s no such thing as a sane King.
Still, I nod and step back.
The guard takes a few moments to rise to his feet, then lets his weight fall against the dirty stone wall and taps his pockets before he fetches a blunt.
It takes a few more moments for him to light it. We don’t interrupt, patiently waiting for him to divulge what he knows. As Eli said, it’s better to allow the prey to come out on its own since any form of coercion might have the exact opposite effect.
And from what I gather, this man holds no loyalty to anyone. Except for his debts. Probably due to gambling.
“Landon wanted to know about the Volkov family secrets, but he was particularly interested in one that reached the media but remained a cold case.” He releases a cloud of smoke. “This happened a long time ago, when I was twenty and had just recently left Russia to join the New York Bratva. I saved one of the leaders by putting my life in jeopardy and soon after, I was recruited by Adrian Volkov’s men. Back then, he had this pesky problem that scattered his attention from his duties as the strategist of the New York City branch.”
“Oh?” Eli leans against the wall, mirroring his stance, and even retrieves a cigarette, then shoves it at the corner of his lips but doesn’t light it. “And pray tell, what might that be?”
“His wife went”—the man circles his finger near his temple—“crazy.”
“Crazy?” I echo.
Is that what Annika meant when she said her parents had a dark start that she wasn’t a part of?
“The type of crazy that was kept under wraps even within Boss’s inner circle. We weren’t allowed to utter her name unless we wished for a one-way ticket to the Spetsnaz, or worse, a grave.”
“That’s an interesting story, really. I’m all for craziness.” Eli pulls his unlit cigarette from between his lips as if he’s smoking. “But I don’t see why that’s of importance in the current circumstances.”
“Her craziness drove her to commit murder.”
“Now, that’s a much better tidbit for drawing suspense. And?”
“The man she killed was a public figure. A mayoral candidate, in fact. The one who would’ve for sure won that year’s election, considering he was the people’s favorite. She stabbed him thirty-four times, repeatedly, long after he was dead.”
My ears buzz with a grating ringing sound and the walls start closing in around me. The onslaught is so sudden that I have trouble breathing. The collar of my hoodie scratches against my skin and my side where my tattoo tingles and burns.
“Sounds bloody brutal,” Eli says.
“Looked gruesome, too. I was sent with a few others to the murder scene to remove any incriminating evidence before the authorities came along. The man had an absolutely horrified expression, as if his soul had been extracted by the devil himself.”
“And?” Eli asks.
“There’s no and. That’s the incident Landon wanted details about. I told him that the murder of the mayoral candidate was swept under the rug and no one was convicted for it. In fact, his mask was ripped off in public. Turns out, he was never the righteous man the media had portrayed him to be. Many women came forward confessing that he’d sexually assaulted them, including the homeless he was supposed to be taking care of as the shelter’s director. He also kept a file full of videos and pictures of them that he held over their heads as a form of blackmail. His wife was also accused of recruiting suitable candidates for his sick tastes. It was the ultimate shaming event for him and his family, and all the vapid mouths turned to his wife. She lost everything her husband left her to loan sharks and was about to be prosecuted for abetting sexual assault. So she committed double suicide with her son. I heard he was just a toddler.”
I pull on the collar of my hoodie with jerky fingers, my breathing so heavy, I’m surprised they don’t hear it. When I speak, I don’t recognize the raw quality of my voice. “Name.”