Under wraps and kept locked up tight…until it was needed.
“Sorry,” Dmitri said resignedly.
I inclined my head in warning as we reached our private stables.
Hilarion’s trainer led the stallion around a yard to calm him down. After a race, Hilarion was rowdy and full of adrenaline. He needed to be cooled down and then fed, or else he would go crazy when they laid the wreath over his neck.
“Hilarion,” I greeted.
My horse tossed his head towards me, forcing the trainer to lead him over, with the jockey still astride.
“He was slow around the far turn,” the jockey told me. “But his sprint on the last stretch…I nearly took off into the wind.”
If Roman was here, he would’ve made a short joke.
I rubbed Hilarion’s nose. “Good boy.”
His nostrils flared in agreement.
The buzzing my phone made me check my pocket and when I saw the familiar contact name, I stepped away from the prying ears of the jockey and gestured Dmitri to follow me.
“Olezka,” I greeted.
“Hi, Boss. Did Hilarion win?”
“He did.”
Olezka made a half-hearted cheering noise. There was only one reason my torpedo was calling and it wasn’t to discuss horse racing.
“The man?” I asked.
Dmitri’s eyes darkened. He had spent the night with the man who had attacked Elena and Roksana but failed to pull anything out of him.
“Nothing.” Olezka grunted. Both my men took their failures personally. “Artyom found out his name is Edward Ainsworth. But he’s not convinced that’s his real one.”
“Sounds like something out of those books my wife reads,” Dmitri muttered.
I nodded. “What has he said?”
“Nothing much, Boss,” Olezka said. “He just screams.”
I looked out over the field. Hilarion had calmed down ever so slightly, giving his jockey a bit of grief. A few stable hands went to help.
“Leave him for a few hours,” I instructed. “It’s time he and I have a little chat.”
The overgrown monastery still looked harrowing, despite not being used for centuries. Once used to defend the island from the sea, the Fort was now a hangout for local kids and tourists, but every now and then, it was quiet and unwatched.
That was when it became a playground for me.
Night settled over the Fort, the pitch dark only broken up by city lights and torches. Shadows stretched and shuddered as my men and I moved along the property, drawing to and fro. The crickets’ music was the only sound accompanying our footfalls.
Dark. Silent. Perfect.
On the third floor, tied to a chair, was Edward Ainsworth. He had been set up beside the windowless archways that looked down onto the ground, a silent threat that, with a flick of a hand, he could plummet to his death. Cuts and bruises broke up his once clear skin, proof all of my men had tried to break his silence.
My men stepped back into the shadows as I entered the room, their eyes growing brighter as the promise for violence became a reality. Respectful nods were inclined in my direction, but no one dared to speak.
“Mr Ainsworth,” I said softly.
He snapped his head to me, eyes probing my form in the darkness. Blood dripped down his lips–no doubt the work of Dmitri. Pulling and cutting tongues was a personal favorite torture technique of his.
“Y—You bastard—” he stuttered.
I stepped into the dim light, hands in pockets. There was no need to be threatening. I didn’t need to come into the room with guns blazing and a knife between my teeth. Sometimes the lack of weapons was more chilling than the presence of them.
“May I call you Edward?” I asked.
Ainsworth breathed heavily, more blood dripping from his mouth. “I’m not—” He gasped. “Going to tell you. Shit.”
I smiled slowly. “Oh? Is that so?” I neared Ainsworth. Fear flickered briefly in his eyes as I prowled closer.
“Tell me about your Titus.”
Devotion lit up in Ainsworth’s eyes. “Titus will kill you all.”
“How does he intend to do that?”
Ainsworth smiled like he knew something I didn’t. “A man who cannot protect his woman is no man at all.”
My eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me Titus is an advocate for women’s rights. If he is, he seems to be going about it the wrong way,” I noted.
“You don’t even know…” Ainsworth’s eyes were bright, his smirk arrogant. “Count your fucking days, Tarkhanov…Titus is coming for you.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “Then why doesn’t he show his face?”
Ainsworth coughed up more blood, the sticky substance staining the concrete. It missed my loafers by an inch. Lucky.
I repeated my question.
Ainsworth wiped his bloody mouth on his shoulder, shuddering a