Like a Fox (19 page)

The one on the left levels his eyes on Bones, “I think you know.”

“And what the fuck would he want with us? We’ve never spoken before.”

“Come with us,” the left one demands.

Bones nods while placing a hand on my lower back, signifying that we should do what we’re told.

They lead us to the closest door. Bones and I leave our glasses on the nearest table, not wanting them with us.

Bones continuously rubs his chest as we travel down a stark white hallway with several doors. “You have any Pepcid or Tums on you? Fucking heartburn, man.”

“What’s going on?” I whisper as I pretend to rummage through my clutch.

“Indigestion,” is his response.

Heartburn is our code word for plans have changed and not for the better. Indigestion is our other code word for reminding me to let Bones do all the talking, and first chance I get I need to get the hell out, with or without him.

My adrenaline has now peaked to full force, prickling my body. I once heard adrenaline can make you hyper aware. I feel cheated if that is true. I can barely focus, and any thoughts I may have are jumbled together. Each step I take doesn’t feel like it’s my feet hitting the ground, like I’m floating.

I force my mind to process its surroundings, knowing my only goal now is to get out of here alive. The only things we pass are windowless doors, no signs or numbers associating them to anything or anyone.

I wish I knew where it went wrong, and I can’t help but wonder if our target’s date is dead yet. That’s certainly going to cause a commotion. Maybe that will be my chance to leave. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it will cause a distraction. Maybe that person’s life will save my own. I can only hope. That right there tells you how fucked up this situation is and how far I’m willing to go to save my father.

We come to a sudden halt two doors from the end of the hallway. We follow our escorts inside. It’s a dark room lit only by the glow of a green desk lamp that glints dimly from the eyes of the figure sitting behind the desk. He’s a large man. Not overly so, but definitely someone who enjoys his food. His features are hard to make out in this light, but I can tell he’s not smiling. The men who led us in pull out the two chairs in front of the desk, inviting Bones and I to take a seat. I glance over at Bones, whose leg is bouncing, but that’s nothing new; part of his body is always moving, like he can’t ever be still.

The plump man behind the desk adjusts in his chair, lengthening his short torso, “Do you know who I am?”

Bones is quick to respond, “Nope.”

The man leans towards the light, “You sure about that?”

“Yup.”

“Well let me introduce myself,” his accent has similarities to Vic’s, yet there is a slight difference in how they roll their vowels, “I’m Fyodor Kazimir, perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Bones looks around the room, drumming his fingers on his thigh, “Is there a reason for this?  Were we doing the auction wrong or something?”

The plump man behind the desk scoots forward, resting his clasped hands on a pile of papers, his perfectly maintained white hair and beard coming into view. “I have reason to believe you work for a man I very much need to get in touch with.”

Bones’ leg bouncing picks up speed, “I don’t work for anybody but my fucking self.”

The man gives a coy lift to the side of his mouth, “Let me rephrase: We know you have loyalties to Vitalle, therefore I believe you know how to get a hold of him.”

“You got it wrong, man,” Bones stumbles over his words, rubbing his brow as an eye twitch begins. “I don’t have loyalties.”

The man bangs his fist on the desk, “Don’t lie to me!”

“Why the fuck do you want to know?” Bones shouts back.

“We have a long overdue meeting he’s been avoiding, and I suggest you remember your manners. Frankie over here,” Fyodor nods his head behind him to the dark skinned man with about three hundred pounds on him, “doesn’t tolerate disrespect.”

“Good for him,” Bones taunts, with another rub to his twitchy brow.

The man looks to me and my body tenses. I hold back the panicky feeling that’s hammering my chest. “Who’s this?”

Bones pauses his hand, “My date.”

Fyodor looks to a paper to the left of him, “Funny, there is no name associated to her. Only a Plus One. Is she working for him?”

Bones sighs in agitation. “For who?”

“Vitalle!” Fyodor shouts with furrowed brows.

Bones shrugs, his leg now at the speed of a jackrabbit, “How the fuck should I know? We like to fuck and look pretty for the other at these god-awful events.”

“I’m good at telling when a man’s lying. It’s a gift.” Fyodor leers at him, hunching more of himself over the wood, “I’ll ask you one more time. Do you know where Vitalle is?”

“I don’t even know who the fuck that is?”

“That’s the game you want to play?”

He gets no answer. Even I can tell Bones is about the worst liar ever. I can’t believe this was Vic’s only option, but then again this wasn’t exactly part of the plan.

Fyodor snaps his fingers and Frankie comes around the desk, looming menacingly in front of Bones, “Frankie loves pain. He lives for it. Show ‘em Frankie.”

Frankie snatches the hand that is drumming his thigh. Bones tries to snatch it back but Frankie’s too strong for him. Frankie takes the ring finger, gives Bones a devious turn of his lips, and snaps it. The sound rings in my ears along with Bones’ cry of pain and my sharp gasp.

Fyodor, seeming quite pleased with himself, speaks, “Shall I have him continue, or are you ready to talk?”

Bones’ hand is still secured in Frankie’s, and in a shaky voice answers, “Can’t tell you an answer I don’t fucking know.”

Fyodor gives a quick nod and Frankie snaps back Bones’ middle finger. Bones and I both cry out. I hadn’t meant to, but it took me by surprise and I could feel Bones’ cry of pain down through my spine to my sacrum.

Tears well in my eyes. I’m at a loss of what to do. I don’t want Bones to be tortured, but I also don’t want to give away Vic’s whereabouts. I can’t focus enough to make a plan. This is not a situation one thinks they’ll land themselves in. I’ve never been more terrified or scared and at odds with what the right thing to do is.

“Fuck man,” Bones sobs, tears rolling down his cheeks, “I don’t know.”

Fyodor motions to the man behind Bones, who pulls out pliers, “You ever have a tooth yanked out? It’s not a pleasant experience.”

Bones pleads and begs as the man with the pliers holds him back while Frankie goes in.

I can’t watch. I look away, but the sound that escapes Bones will haunt me for the rest of my life. It’s a bloodcurdling howl that makes me curl into myself. When he stops I glance over. Frankie is gleeful while he holds the bloody tooth pinched between two fingers, blood dribbling down them. Bones is holding his hands over his mouth, both covered in blood while he rocks his body.

“Ready for more?” Fyodor snaps his fingers once more. If Frankie looked gleeful from the tooth pulling, he looks downright ecstatic now. He goes to a drawer and pulls out a hammer. My stomach lurches.
What do I do, what do I do?

The two men who brought us in take hold of Bones’ right leg, straightening it. Frankie positions himself above the kneecap. Just as I’m about to shout out, not having a clue what I’ll say or do but knowing I can’t watch it happen, Bones speaks up, “Okay! Okay! I’ll fucking tell you. Please just fucking stop. Please…”

Fyodor gives some kind of signal and the men retreat back to their places behind us. Frankie looks genuinely bummed as he positions himself behind his boss, the hammer still in his hand, ready to strike.

Bones wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his good hand, which only serves the purpose of smearing it across his face more. “He’s here.”

Fyodor perks up, “At the party?”

“No. In a limo, hiding out.”

I’m angry that Bones didn’t lie, though I’m not sure how that would have turned out if he had. There’s no winning in this situation.

Fyodor quickly picks up the phone on his desk, swiveling his chair around for privacy. I strain to hear what is being spoken but can only make out mumbled words.

Bones reaches for my clutch to retrieve a white cloth he had me place in there back in the limo. I try capturing his attention but he’s ignoring me. Instead of cleaning the blood, Bones wraps it tightly around his middle three fingers like he’s done it countless times. He doesn’t even so much as flinch in pain when he secures it by having to yank and disturb the two that are broken.

Fyodor swivels back around, replacing his phone to its exact location. He once again looks to me, “What does she have to do with this?”

“Fuck, man,” Bones swears, the words not coming out right from all the blood and swelling of his mouth. “I told you, she’s my fucking date.” That’s the only thing so far he’s successfully pulled off as believable.

Fyodor snaps his fingers and Frankie comes around towards me. I automatically jump up and scramble backwards, smacking into the guard behind me who holds both my arms, securing me in place. Frankie slaps the hammer into his palm, inching his way closer as Fyodor speaks, “Maybe we need to test this out, find out what she knows.”

Bones remains completely calm as he uses his tux to absorb blood from his mouth, “She knows shit, man, but if you have to then fuckin’ go for it.” My mouth drops open and I wiggle around with all my might to try and break free. “Like I said, she’s just a good fuck.”

Fyodor scrutinizes Bones for several seconds. He eventually nods and the man who has a hold of me shoves me back into my seat, Frankie resuming his place behind his boss.

For about a fraction of a second I’m hopeful they’ll just let me go.

That moment is short lived as Vic is shoved inside; however, a part of me worries less having him in the same room. I trust him to get us out of here.

Vic looks to Bones and his bloody state, his busted fingers still cupped in his other hand, blood still dribbling down his mouth that has swelled up to the size of a baseball.

Bones does some kind of gesture I saw him do earlier in the limo. I didn’t get to hear what it meant but I wish I had. Maybe it would offer me some kind of comfort. Or perhaps the complete opposite. Maybe I purposely didn’t get to hear because of that. My heart continues to pound.

Vic doesn’t look to me, which I understand; I’m supposed to just be some socialite with a pretty face and money to burn.

One of the men who brought him in place the gun and knife in front of the boss, “These are the only things he had on him, plus a vest.”

“Remove it,” Fyodor demands, turning his attention on Vic. “You think you’re clever?”

Vic only stares at him as the two men who brought him in remove his shirt and the bulletproof vest underneath, leaving him topless.

“You think because you got away with killing your father that meant anybody was fair game? That we’d all be so easy?”

Vic’s expressionless face continues to blankly stare Fyodor down, his eyes revealing that he has a dark, sinister side to him.

Fyodor taps the side of his head, “I’m smarter than he was, more resourceful. I keep tabs on everybody I view as a threat to me. Who they work with, who they have dinner with…” He nods over to Bones, “Who they save from slavery. Every move you have made since murdering your father. I had assumed you were just like him; that you had plans to gain territories, and that I would soon be a target. Nothing. No disturbance. Until tonight,” Fyodor leans back in his chair, stroking his white mustache. “Now I have to wonder, have you shown up out of the blue to kill me too? Has lying low been your masterful plan all along?”

“You’re paranoid,” Vic says in a deep, rich accent. “I have no interest in taking over my father’s business, as time has proved thus far.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To find a man,” he states simply and matter-of-factly.

“Which man?” Fyodor challenges.

“I cannot tell you that, due to my contract.”

Fyodor continues stroking his beard, moving down to his chin and jaw, scrutinizing Vic, “Fair enough. You were always a man of his word, but you know I can’t just let you walk out of here. I have a point to make. Killing the Vitalle heir would prove it quite nicely.”

“How so? I have no control over my father’s empire, nor do I have any power of my own. The only thing we share is a name,” Vic points out, coming across as bored by the whole encounter.

“A powerful name,” Fyodor adds.

“Once, perhaps,” Vic agrees with a nod. “It holds no weight anymore.”

“True, true, but you have your father’s blood running through you. Vitalle blood can’t be trusted. You are all too calculating, too cunning. You’re all crazy like a fox.”

Vic doesn’t deny it, “This is true.”

“So you see my predicament.”

“I do.”

Fyodor once again leans forward and clasps his hands together on his desk, “I’ll make you an offer.”

“I’m listening.”

“Work for me. Show your allegiance. A Vitalle with a Kazimir will cause quite the commotion. We would be unstoppable,” he pauses with a gleeful twinkle to his eyes and a smirk placed on his lips. “Think of the power.”