Page 99 of Full Throttle

Jer’s eyes snapped to me. “Detroit.”

What?

“What?” I asked, my eyes widening a bit.

“Sullie and Ryan used to be close,” Jer told me.

Ryan basically ran The Pit back in the day. When I’d started going, he was stepping down. “Holy shit.”

“What’s Collin doing?” Lee asked.

Jer looked over to him. “He’s with Ivan.”

“Let’s ride,” I said, heading towards the door. I didn’t have to look back to know the boys were following me.

Kavi was playing cards we didn’t even know he fucking had.

Ivan’s screams could be heard from outside the building as I unfolded myself from the Dark Horse, shutting the door. Leon looked over his R-35 to me. “You got your cigarettes?”

My jaw tightened. “I don’t need one to kill this son of bitch.”

Another car door shut behind us, and I heard Jer’s voice. “Oh, he’s not asking for you, Cain.”

Dontell appeared on the other side of my car. “Stevens might need one.”

I looked back up to the old, crumbling building as another scream from Ivan echoed throughout the morning air. “Then yeah, I got some.”

We headed inside, Leon and Jer trailing behind Dontell and me. They were discussing something about shipping, and when we entered, the conversation faded away.

Months ago, Victor was hanging in the same spot Ivan was currently in, and we were cutting his skin off. It was the day the guys saw my covered Bratva tattoo for the first time.

“Ivan,” Collin scolded from the center of the room. “Ivan, Ivan, Ivan.”

As I moved closer, I saw Collin picking up a blade from his table, holding it in the air to inspect. “I like to think I’ve been a decent host, have I not? I did give you some water yesterday.”

A gargled sound came from the older man. Ivan wasn’t like Kavi. He was foolish enough to think he was untouchable in Russia. Kavi usually did all the traveling, bringing a team of men with him while Ivan stayed behind. While Kavi was trying to run his empire, Ivan was getting his dick wet and stuffing his face. He was out of shape, and his age was catching up to him.

“Dontell,” the Mafia King called. “If you would be so kind as to lower our guest to the ground.”

Dontell shot us a look before he went to the wall and, as the chain lowered, I moved around to Collin’s left, my eyes never leaving Ivan’s. His face was drenched in sweat, but free of any new bruises or cuts. There was a thick piece of duct tape over his mouth. My eyes scanned the rest of him. He was still in his suit and shoes, the only thing missing, his tie. My eyes flicked over to the table to find two of the tools were covered in blood already.

“Now,” Collin sighed, stepping up to Ivan and yanking his head up by his hair, "was or was I not a gracious host to you, Ivan?”

The Russian’s eyes were red rimmed, his pupils blown. I widened my stance and crossed my arms, grinding my teeth. Jer stepped up behind his brother-in-law, murmuring something. Collin nodded once, his eyes still on Ivan. “Answer my question, Ivan,” he demanded calmly, his voice taunting. “Was I a good host to you?”

I saw a flash of metal and a second later, the blade in Collin’s hand was against Ivan’s ear. With his other hand, the Mafia boss ripped the tape from Ivan’s mouth.

The man’s mouth opened instantly as Collin stepped to the side just in time. Ivan spit something out of his mouth, his spit bloody, and then, he vomited—violently. My eyes dropped to the concrete floor, my stomach twisting.

“Fucking hell,” Leon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Jer’s eyes never left Ivan’s, and when I looked over to Dontell, he looked—impressed. My eyes went back to Ivan—more specifically, his bound hands above his head.

That explained the bloody tools.

Taking a deep breath through my nose, I looked to the three fingers on the ground in the middle of pool of bloody vomit.

“You ready to talk now, or do I have to feed you again?” Jer asked.

---