Fifty-Nine

Mikhail

"Pakhan," Rurik speaks calmly. "Maybe he has a use. Alive."

I ignore him at first. My chest heaves with rage. I feel the anger and adrenaline mixing into a lethal cocktail. I want to kill Bianchi because I don't have Zakhar in my grip. I want to make him suffer for daring to mention Desmier. I take a step toward Bianchi, my hand flipping the pliers to the pointed tip.

"Pakhan," Rurik repeats, this time more forcefully.

I glare at Rurik as if he's next. "Chto?" I demand.

"He says he's a messenger," Rurik replies. "Then make him send a message."

Anton motions toward two workers, and two men in coveralls rush over, scoop Bianchi and the chair upright, and then hurry away again.

"He's no good to us dead." Rurik's voice is soothing and steady. "But alive, there are things he can tell."

The thought halts me, and I see Maria in my mind. Her body bent over my desk, moaning loudly as I push into her. Begging me to make her come, screaming for me to do it now. I shake the image out of m