Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“What of me?” Sanderson shrilled.

“You will…” Valik paused with a cruel smile. “Dispose of the problem you have caused.”

“Wait…”

The servant disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind a tense silence.

Dimitri covertly shifted forward. If he could distract the nobleman, he might be able to overpower him before the dolt could squeeze off a shot.

“Well, Sanderson, it appears that you have been left to bear the punishment for the sins of others.”

“I will not—” Sanderson gave a dangerous wave of the gun as he noticed Dimitri’s slow advance. “Stay back.”

“I could be of assistance.”

“Aye, you truly do believe me to be an idiot.”

“I have no interest in you or your lack of intelligence, Sanderson,” Dimitri soothed. “My purpose in coming to England was solely to destroy Count Nevskaya. If you cooperate, I will speak to Alexander Pavlovich in your defense.”

Sanderson licked his lips. “What would you have me do?”

“Return with me to Russia.”

“Russia? Why?”

Dimitri took another sly step forward. Still too far away to strike, but ever closer.

“I want you to confess all you know of the count’s involvement in the slave trade.”

The man jerked, his eyes wide. “We have never been involved with slaves.”

Dimitri could not hide his revulsion at the ridiculous protest.

“Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?” he mocked. “Do you perhaps choose to refer to your sordid business as kidnapping defenseless children and selling them to be abused by disgusting lechers?”

Sanderson frowned in puzzlement. “They are just peasants. What good are they except to become whores?”

Dimitri stilled, his finger twitching on the trigger of his pistol. Unlike his companion, he was a deadly shot. One bullet and the twit would be a rotting corpse.

Then, he sucked in a steadying breath, reminding himself that the only means to bring an end to the trafficking of Russian girls was to ensure his father was exposed as a monster and driven from society. And for that he needed Sanderson alive.

“I doubt the good citizens of England would so readily agree,” he warned. “In their current mood they might very well stir up a riot if they are not satisfied with your punishment. Have you ever witnessed a man ravaged by a mob? It is a nasty means to die.”

Sanderson trembled, the sweat dripping from his ruddy face.

“And what would traveling to Russia achieve?”

“If you confess to the czar, he might be willing to offer you sanctuary in Russia.”

“So I can live like a heathen in some frozen village far from decent society?” Sanderson looked as if Dimitri had threatened to geld him. “Never.”

“So you would rather be the source of scandalous ridicule as you are paraded through the streets on the way to the gallows?”

“No.”

Overcome with his terror, Sanderson stumbled backward, his hand tightening on the pistol. Dimitri leaped to the side as the deafening sound of a gunshot filled the small chamber, but it was a heartbeat too late as the bullet sliced through his upper arm.

Landing on the hard ground, he struggled against a tide of blackness as the shocking pain ripped through his body.