Scowling, he trots downstairs and I follow close behind. Alan is huddled up on his side of the cell with a pillow placed over his head. He stirs and groans dramatically when we turn the lights on. Boris, on the other hand, looks alert and wide awake as Nikolai opens the cell door and struts in.
I have to hand it to him—the man is a workhorse. He’s been through two solid weeks of torture. He’s had parts of his body flayed, been deprived of food and water for days on end. He’s got a broken leg and probably a few broken ribs now, too. Even waterboarding him for endless hours did nothing.
Through it all, he’d stayed silent. If he hadn’t sold my sister into sex slavery, he might have earned my respect.
As it is, he’ll only earn more violence.
“Back to beat a dead horse?” Boris drawls. His voice gets raspier with each passing day. I like to think it’s the will leaving his body.
“Tsk, tsk. You’re not dead yet, Boris. Nor are you going to enjoy the sweet relief of death until my sister is back under my protection.”
He manages a bloody, toothless smirk. “Pain is all in the head.”
“We’re here to disabuse you of that notion. Nikolai?”
I move to the side to give him free rein. My brother steps in front of Boris and glares down at him. “Who did you sell her to?”
Boris simply spits at Nikolai’s shoes. Nikolai punches him in the face so hard, the man loses consciousness instantly. I roll my eyes. “You know the point is to keep him conscious, right?” I ask. “He can’t give us answers if he’s not awake.”
Grinding his teeth, Nikolai walks over to the tap outside the cell to fill the basin up with water. I stand back and let Nikolai do his thing. I give him fifteen minutes and by the end of it, Boris is unconscious again and bleeding from half a dozen new places. The open gash on his stomach looks sickeningly bad.
“I’m gonna have to get Grigory in here to see to that now.” I sigh, grabbing Nikolai’s wrist and pulling off the brass knuckles he slipped on ten minutes ago.
“Let him suffer,” Nikolai hisses as he pushes past me and storms upstairs, fuming.
I throw Alan a piece of stale bread before I follow Nikolai back to ground level. “Letting him suffer is one thing. Letting him die is another. If he dies, that’s it. The trail ends with him.”
“What does it matter?” Nikolai yells. “He’s not talking!”
I narrow my eyes. “Believe me now, do you?”
“What’s your problem?” Nikolai twists around. The brass knuckles have kept his fists clean but there’s a small bruise forming along the bridge.
I step right up in his face, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “Did you really think I was half-assing the job? That I just go down there every day to sing him lullabies and feed him grapes by hand?”
“Who’s to say? It’s not like you haven’t been distracted lately.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you have your own family now. A new family. And maybe that means your old family falls a little lower on the totem pole.”
I am this close to putting those brass knuckles on my own hand and beating my brother to a pulp. “Say that again. I dare you.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I’m not you, Nikolai. I’ve always been able to concentrate on two things at the same time. I can take care of Alyssa and still look for Polly.”
“If that’s the case, then why the fuck haven’t we found her yet?!”
“You’re blaming me?”
“As you love to keep reminding me, you are the fucking pahkan. Which means whatever happens or doesn’t happen is your fault. The fact that Polly was taken is your fault. The fact that she still hasn’t been found is your—”
“I’m warning you, Nikolai: stop right there or—”
“—I mean, for God’s sake, it’s like you don’t even care that she’s missing anymore!”
He should have stopped when I told him to.
I grab him by the throat and bang him against the closed back door. He slams into the tired wood so hard that the whole foundation rattles. It’s intensely satisfying having him under my thrall. So, just to get my point across a little clearer, I whack him back against the door a second time. He strikes the base of his skull and hisses in pain.
Good. Maybe that’ll knock some sense into him.
Apparently not, though, because he tries to fight back. I block his fist twice before I unleash a punch of my own. Unlike him, I find my mark.
I beat him to the ground just like I used to when we were kids. When he tries to get up, I kick him back down and put my boot on his chest.
“Stay down, Nikolai,” I hiss. “Stay the fuck down.”
He growls up at me but the defeat is evident in his face. He stops struggling, his hands falling onto the ground on either side of him.
“You know that I would do anything for Polly. Don’t you dare question my love for her again. Or my dedication to finding her and bringing her back home safely.”
I remove my boot and Nikolai gasps for air. I walk to the door before turning back to glance at Nikolai, who’s still sprawled and panting on the floor.
“Oh, and one more thing: fuck you for ever doubting me. I won’t forget that.”
Then I slam the door in his face.
25
ALYSSA
The smell of roasting meat and cheese hits my nostrils the moment I step out of my room. Chef must be preparing something deliciously on Uri’s orders, because the house has never smelled this good.
I follow my nose to the kitchen but stop short when I see the army of candles standing sentinel around the breakfast nook. Fresh flowers bloom in every corner and the overheard lighting has been dimmed to a romantic glow.
“Uh… Uri?”
He pops around the corner, wearing a black apron that reads Kiss the Cook. Not a bad idea, actually. If his face and apron weren’t enough of an invitation, the ladle in his hand definitely is.
“Did you cook?”
“Thought I’d give the kitchen staff the night off and make you something myself.”
“Is that… chicken parmesan I’m smelling?”
“Nothing gets past you, does it, narushitel?”
I walk in slowly, trying to decipher the determined, borderline manic expression on his face. He’s plating up our meals with the precision of a three-star chef but I still don’t trust that haze over his eyes.
“Uri, this is wonderful. But… are you okay?”
“Of course.”
I notice his bruised knuckles and reach for his hand automatically. He freezes while I examine his fist. “What happened?”
He pulls it out of my grasp. “Same old shit that always happens. All in a day’s work.”
“Then why don’t you look okay? Is it Polly? Have you heard—”
“I can’t talk about Polly right now, Alyssa.”
His tone is sharp and my mouth clamps shut immediately. That’s the look in his eyes. He needs a distraction. He needs to focus on something other than what he considers a personal failure. I so badly want to go to him, pull him into my arms and hold him for as long as he needs. But I know from experience that trying to comfort him is a surefire method of pushing him away.
So instead, I swallow the words that are on the tip of my tongue—It’s not your fault. She’s going to be okay. You’ll find her soon—and I let him take control.
“Can I do anything?”