Trapping Sophia (Disciples 6)

Watching the old man cough and wheeze, I figure I might be able to get more out of him than he wants. He’s definitely got questions. I can satisfy him all I want with answers. It’s not like he’s going to be able to talk after we’re done with him.

Even if he could talk…

Fuck him. He’s lucky we’re not killing him.

Well… maybe not exactly lucky since he’s going to live inside a shell of a body with no way to ever communicate to the outside world.

Tipping my head back and taking a long swig of the water, I wait for him to watch me. He needs a dependency here because I really don’t have the time to dig deep enough into his brain to fuck with it.

I wipe my mouth off with my forearm and ask, “Ready to try that again or would you like to drool like a useless old fuck?”

The daggers he stares at me are pretty fucking funny if you ask me. He’s only torturing himself, honestly. He knows it and his pride knows it.

Moving the bottle next to his lips, I allow a small amount to dribble onto his eager lips and tongue.

No need to drown him yet. I can do that later with a bucket…

Pouring a little more into his mouth, I say, “You get to say fuck you one more time then we need to talk.”

“Fuck you,” he says with a small laugh.

“Good, now let’s get down to the business at hand. Just tell me when you need another drink,” I say.

“Where am I?” he asks again.

“America. Garden City to be precise,” I answer. “My turn, where were you?”

He takes a long time to answer. Probably gauging his chances on getting away with dishonesty. “I was in Saint Petersburg.”

That’s a lie.

No clue how I know, but I do.

“Gabriel, remove the big toenail on his left foot. Lies aren’t allowed here today,” I say and motion to the pliers.

“One big toenail coming up,” Gabriel says.

Good, he’s playing the part I need him to play. I’m the boss to Andrey right now and he needs to know it.

“No, no. I tell truth!” Andrey stammers.

He lets out a bellowing scream as Gabriel rips the toenail from his foot.

Looks like the numbing agent fully wore off.

Good.

“Now,” I say quietly to Andrey as he whimpers in pain. “No more lies. I can tell.”

Moving away from the table with the bottle of water in my hand, I walk over to Simon and murmur, “He’s going to lie a bit more. A truth serum might work. See if you can get me a water bottle dosed with it. Preferably sealed.”

Nodding his head without saying a word, Simon stands up from his laptop and heads out of the room.

Walking back to Andrey, I take another swig of the water before helping the whimpering man take another drink.

“No lies,” I say. “Where were you last?”

“Tirana,” he says.

“Albania?” I ask, and I know I’m right.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“Why?” I ask.

No answer.

“Gabriel, remove the next toenail,” I say.

“No, no! I was there visiting a doctor,” Andrey stammers quickly.

He’s partially telling the truth. But why go there for just a doctor’s visit?

I nod to Gabriel and he yanks out another toenail.

The scream goes on longer this time, but it does eventually end.

I glance down at the toe and see that Gabriel took a bit more toe than nail.

“Oops,” Gabriel grins at me.

Looking back to Andrey, I say, “I’m bored with your lies and partial truths. We’re going for the fingers next. Whole fingers. And I’m taking the middle finger first so you can’t flip me off.”

“What day is this?” he asks me out of the blue.

“Wednesday,” I lie.

Why would he care?

“What year?” he asks.

“Twenty-twenty,” I say with a smile.

He’s been out for a while, I bet, if he’s asking this.

Big round eyes look up at me. “This cannot be! What month? What month?!”

“April,” I answer. “Your son had you out for a long time before we got to you, huh?”

Just like that, Andrey falls into himself, devastation clouding his features.

“What was the deal you were making in Albania?” I ask suddenly.

“It was…” he says before he shuts his mouth firmly.

Yep, he just slipped there.

“Remove the finger,” I say.

“Shqiptare!” Andrey screams out to me after we take off the third finger and cauterize the wound.

Albania, that’s new.

We’ve heard of the Albanian mafia, but we’ve never actually run up against them. They’re scumbags if you ask me. Dealing in drugs, arms, human organs, and human trafficking. They’re also crazy fucking violent and walk around with huge chips on their shoulders.

Plus, they can hold a fucking grudge like no other.

Somehow the Rastovs have formed a little camaraderie with the Albanians.

That’s not good for us.

“Well, all we’ve got left is the eyes and ears,” I say to Andrew as he finishes cauterizing the wound where the old fuck’s tongue used to be.