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“You can go if you want to.” Pavel’s eyes flicker with concern. “You’re looking pale.”
“Because you’ve just dropped a fucking bombshell on me,” I hiss, glaring at him.
“Are you staying or going?” he asks, no apology for shocking me or anything.
“I’m staying!” I say stubbornly, trying to stop the title that’s started spinning in my brain from this new tidbit of information. He nods and starts to walk again. “Pavel?”
He stops and looks at me. “Yes?”
“Are you going to tell me Uncle Matteo’s still alive, too?”
“No. He’s dead.” Pavel doesn’t mince his words. “Probably thanks to your father and best buddy Ivan Belov.”
“Seriously?” My shoulders slump. “I doubt my father would murder his twin.”
“You don’t know the real nature of your father,” Pavel reminds me. “Now, are we going to torture this motherfucker that hurt our Stacy or not?”
I want to smile at our Stacy part. “Let’s go torture the motherfucker that hurt our friend and rubbed his fucking dick on my ass.”
“What?” Pavel stops going dead still.
“Fuck, did I say that out loud?” My eyes widen.
“Isabella, when I ask you what happened and things like this happen, you need to disclose everything.“ Pavel’s eyes bore into me. “I don’t care how embarrassing or irrelevant you think it is. Understood?”
I nod and swallow. “Are we going to do the torturing of him now?”
“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” Pavel asks me.
“I set Zeus on him.” My eyes widen. “Oh, and he knew my name.”
“Anything else?”
“No.” I think. “That’s it.”
Pavel looks at me for a few seconds and turns, and we walk a little further.
“How fucking long is this tunnel?”
“Long,” Pavel says over his shoulder, stopping by an open door, and we turn in.
Pavel turns so I can enter and I stop, seeing the man who Davey identified as Donald Whitman chained to the stone wall. He looks dazed, and blood oozes from a gash on his head.
“Did I do that?” I whisper to Pavel.
“You did.” Pavel nods. “Nice shot.”
I’m not sure if thank you is appropriate right now or what the proper response to that would be. I just bashed a man in the head with a metal bucket. My stomach lurches, but I swallow, making myself remember who this man might be and what he did to my best friend.
“Come to finish what we started, Isabella?” Donald lifts his head, giving me a crude sneer. “I don’t like to be the sub, though.”
“You f…”
Pavel stops me. “Don’t take the bait, Isabella. That’s what he wants.”
Okay! I glance at Pavel. This is the first torture scene I’ve been to. In all the survival training I’ve done nearly my entire life, there wasn’t a Torture 101 class.
“You’re not allowed to torture people,” Donald tells us. “Unless it is consensual, that is.” He gives me another suggestive look. “You could all go to jail for this.”
