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.
But Niklaus rarely made mistakes…and he wasn’t about to start now.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the black, metallic zippo lighter that was familiar to them both, one he had found on Jetmir as they drove him here. Niklaus could just see his reflection in it, including the dead look in his eyes.
He remembered that expression, it was the same kind that Valon had stared down at him with right before the torture.
Torture didn’t always break a man, it molded him.
Maybe tomorrow he would let that worry him.
“Two,” Niklaus went on as though Jetmir hadn’t spoken. “Your organization consists of dozens of ruthless, arrogant men who are only loyal to the highest bidder. Want to know how I know this?”
Reaching up, Niklaus moved his hair to the side, showing Jetmir the tattooed lines starting just behind his ear, descending down onto his neck in parallel lines.
“Each line represents a single person who had been there the night you had them snatch me off the street—the ones you ordered to torture me for days.”
Currently, there were nine lines inked into his skin, and Jetmir would make ten.
The last line…
“It was just business,” Jetmir said, though he didn’t bother to apologize for his actions. He was a proud man, this Niklaus knew, and despite having wronged so many people in his short life, he wouldn’t be apologizing for any of it.
Niklaus understood.
Smiling, Niklaus slowly flipped the top open, the flame crackling to life.
As though he’d been speaking it his entire life, Niklaus met Jetmir’s wary gaze as he said in perfect Russian, “Oko za oko—An eye for an eye.”
Tossing the lighter, now it was Niklaus’ turn to watch its rapid descent to the ground, never taking his eyes from both it and Jetmir as it finally clattered, the flame igniting instantly and racing toward Jetmir with a vengeance.
In seconds, the flames engulfed him, his screams echoed, but there would be no one around to hear him die.
No one except Niklaus.
There was something mesmerizing about watching his skin charring, the acrid scent that used to always make him nauseous coating the air, and the way his muscles seized in unimaginable agony.
And yet, despite the fact that Niklaus watched this with unwavering dedication, he had never considered that he might have lost a piece of himself long before he had ever made it out of that building years ago.
* * *