Page 68 of Nightfire

“My men went to the shelter, where that woman indoctrinated you. They were going to talk to the woman, tell her how she was making a mistake and had to stop.”

Consuelo panted, black eyes shiny with hatred. Had Nikitin been the kind of man to care, it might have bothered him. But he’d been hated by the best. One whore’s hatred didn’t mean anything at all.

“You hurt her!” she screamed, spittle flying.

Nikitin averted his head, stepped back from the spittle, full of distaste. “The fact is,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “my men never came home. I have no idea what happened to them. I need to know from you where they are.”

Nikitin was aware of the fact that Consuelo might have no idea what had happened to Lyov and Ivan. But women, like primitive tribes, had some kind of jungle system of information, which spread among them like a virus.

He had no alternatives. He was alone here, in this strange world. Dmitri was muscle. Decent muscle, true, and he’d been well-trained, but his English was minimal and he had limited use outside enforcement.

So he was reduced to waterboarding whores.

Nikitin drummed his fingers on his thigh, the only expression of frustration he could allow himself.

He had no resources here in this country, none.

He had resources back home. Pirat, the best hacker in Russia. Nikitin had no idea where he lived or even what his name was. It made no difference. Pirat was a genius and always came back with an answer.

Except now. Pirat had hacked into all the hospitals, all the police stations, all the news feeds, because surely two men could not just disappear into nothing? And yet they had.

Nikitin desperately needed to keep this news from the vory back home. The deal with the Meteor Club was the first of a massive invasion planned. Lots of money was involved and the vory did not want even a hint of trouble.

Losing two men into the void was the very definition of trouble.

Chert!

This whore had to know something. “Again,” he said.

Dmitri placed the cloth on her face.

The whore started keening with terror, which was exactly what he wanted. He watched dispassionately as the water was poured, the cloth sucked in as she tried to breathe. He judged the right moment, just before drowning…ah. He lifted his finger and Dmitiri lifted the cloth.

Tears were streaming down the whore’s face, she was choking for air, trembling all over. She was screaming, but had very little breath, so it came out more a gurgle than a scream. She was terrified.

And she wasn’t talking.

Dmitri moved to place the cloth over her face again but Nikitin held up a hand. Dmitri stopped, obediently.

Nikitin inched his stool closer. “Tell me everything about this woman who is spreading discontent among you. Her name is Chloe. Chloe what?”

Even bound, she was able to shrug one shoulder. “Mason. I think.” He opened his mouth to tell Dmitri to start again when she spoke. “No one uses last names at the shelter. It’s forbidden. So I don’t know her last name for sure and no one else would. I just saw an envelope in her purse once. It said ‘For Chloe Mason. That’s all I know.”

“She’s a volunteer?”

The whore nodded. “They all are.”

Nikitin didn’t truly understand that. Volunteer to work with whores? For free? What would she get out of it? But he had long since resigned himself to the stupidity of humankind. Volunteering to work with whores was right up there with the men he’d seen who’d destroyed themselves over the love of a woman. Or what they thought was love.

Nikitin didn’t understand that, either.

No matter, there were plenty of things he did understand just fine.

“What else?” Because there was something else, he could tell. “What else do you know about this woman?”

The prostitute’s throat worked, the sign of words not wanting to come out. “Again,” he said quietly to Dmitri.

“No!” The prostitute screamed. The skin over her left breast was trembling with the rapid beating of her heart. “There’s something else, the only thing I know.”