Page 82 of Fury
Greyson spits blood onto the plastic sheeting. "Touch her and I'll kill you," he promises, his voice deadly quiet.
Volkov merely smiles. "Bold words from a man in your position." He turns back to me. "The recordings, Ms. Bennett. Diane claims you have copies hidden somewhere as insurance. Where are they?"
"I don't have them," I repeat, desperation creeping into my voice. "I never did. Diane is lying to save herself."
This time, Volkov nods to one of his men, who steps behind Greyson and delivers a brutal punch to his kidney. Greyson grunts in pain but doesn't cry out.
"Stop it!" I beg, straining against my bonds. "Please! I'm telling the truth!"
"Perhaps," Volkov concedes, rising from his chair to pace between us. "But you understand my dilemma. Ms. Mercer insists you are the one with the recordings. You insist it's her. Someone is lying." He pauses, retrieving something from a bag near the door. "Fortunately, I have ways of determining the truth."
He returns with a small case, opening it to reveal a collection of instruments that gleam wickedly in the cabin's dim light. My stomach turns at the sight.
"Mr. Reed," Volkov says conversationally, selecting a thin, curved blade. "Perhaps you can persuade Ms. Bennett to be more forthcoming. Tell her what happens to people who withhold information from me."
Greyson
Blood pools in my mouth as I watch Volkov approach Livie with that fucking blade. Every cell in my body screams to break free, to tear these men apart with my bare hands. I've never felt rage like this. It's beyond fury, beyond hatred. It's consuming everything except the desperate need to protect what's mine.
"Don't you fucking touch her," I growl, straining against the ropes until they slice into my wrists. The pain is nothing. Nothing compared to the terror of watching Livie bound to that chair, her eyes wide with fear she's trying desperately to hide.
Volkov turns to me, that snakelike smile still playing on his lips. "Ah, Mr. Reed. I wonder what information you might be hiding to keep Ms. Bennett safe."
"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Just don't touch her."
"Greyson, no," Livie protests, shaking her head frantically. "We don't know anything!"
Volkov's eyes narrow as he studies us both, calculating. Then his expression shifts, a new strategy forming. "Interesting. Perhaps we've been approaching this all wrong." He gestures to one of his men. "Bring me the girl instead."
My heart stops as the goon moves toward Livie. "What are you doing?"
"Testing a theory," Volkov replies, setting down the blade and picking up something that looks like pliers. "Ms. Mercer held out quite impressively when we questioned her directly. But when we threatened someone she cared about…" He shrugs. "Well, the information flowed much more freely."
The realization hits me like a sledgehammer. "No. NO!" I roar, throwing my weight forward so violently that the chair nearly topples. "You touch one hair on her head, and I swear to God?—"
"You'll what?" Volkov interrupts, his voice hardening for the first time. "You are in no position to make threats, Mr. Reed." He nods to his man. "Begin with her hand. Let's see how cooperative Mr. Reed becomes when he watches Ms. Bennett suffer."
The man grabs Livie's bound hand, forcing her fingers flat against the arm of the chair. I've never known fear like this, pure, paralyzing terror that freezes the breath in my lungs.
"Wait." Volkov raises his hand, stopping his man mid-motion. "Perhaps we should try something more… psychological first." He nods to the third man who's been standing silently by the door. "Show Mr. Reed how valuable his woman truly is."
The man approaches Livie with a predatory smile that turns my blood to ice. He circles behind her chair, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders before sliding up to stroke her hair. His fingers trail through the dark strands, twisting them around his knuckles as he leans down to inhale deeply.
"Such beautiful hair," he murmurs, his accent thicker than Volkov's. "So silky."
I'm shaking, every muscle rigid with hatred as I watch his hands slide down to caress her arms, his fingers lingering at the delicate skin of her wrists above the ropes.
"Don't you think she's lovely, Mr. Reed?" Volkov asks, watching my reaction with interest. "My associate certainly thinks so."
The man continues his exploration, his hands now trailing along Livie's collarbones. She sits perfectly still, her eyes locked on mine, silently urging me to stay calm. But there's nothing calm left in me, only rage and the desperate need to tear this man apart.
I feel the rope at my right wrist giving way slightly. The constant strain has loosened it, creating just enough slack. I continue the subtle movement, flexing my hand while keeping my expression fixed in fury, which isn't difficult under the circumstances.
"Come here, Volkov," I say, my voice a deadly whisper. "Let's talk, just you and me. Man to man."
Volkov raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "You have something to tell me?"
"Information. About the recordings." I force myself to sound defeated. "But only to you."
