Dirty Passions An Interracial Russian Mafia Romance (The Lion and The Mouse #5) - Kenya Wright Page 0,89

shoulder, took out his phone, and made the orders. Half of my motorcade stopped following us and turned off into the other direction.

David sat across from me. “Something wrong?”

“One of Emily’s men was killed while we were in Paris. She just went by his house. Now, his mother is dead.”

“Yes.” David frowned. “Why would anyone kill a dead man’s mother?”

“Something to hide.”

“We’ll find it.”

“We will.” I looked out the limo as it rolled up to my house and parked. All day I had been anticipating a good torture session. “For now, we talk to the men who have been erasing the footage on the security tapes.”

David rubbed his hands. “Nothing like a good torture on a sunny day.”

“Yes. It is a lovely day for inflicting pain.” I glanced up at the sky. “Should we bring them outside, cut them under the blue sky?”

David smirked. “It would be nice to hear their screams along with the birds chirping.”

I left the limo, surprised to see none of my security outside the house’s door and waiting for me. Several vans had gone ahead of us to get everything ready.

David rushed up the stairs and opened the door for me.

Inside of the house, three of my men were rushing to the door. When they spotted me, horror hit their faces.

I growled in Russian, “What?”

“The men are dead.”

I leaned my head to the side. “The ones in the cells?”

He nodded.

Fast, I grabbed him by his neck and slammed him against the wall. “What do you mean they’re dead? People were watching them. This is my house!”

He trembled under me. “They’re dead and the guards that were watching them are dead too. Even the butler and two maids.”

Enraged, I shoved him to the ground and stormed past everyone. “Show me! Now”

The two guys hurried forward.

I got to the back and went down the steps. When my mother lived here, this area was a basement full of boxes stacked with old pictures. When she left, I had it turned into three jail cells. There, I held people that I needed to question or torture. At times it tended to be the same thing.

David and my men followed me down into the dark corridor. Carpet made way to concrete stone. A metal door stood before us.

We got to the cells.

The Devil was gone. His cell door opened. Chains dangled from the ceiling.

Who would free the Devil? That doesn’t make sense. Surely, he would have been a witness and they would’ve just killed him.

A puddle of piss had pooled on the floor. The rank scent filled the air.

This wasn’t a rescue. Whoever he saw made him piss himself.

Behind me, David went off to the next cell. “Holy Mother of God.”

I left the cell and checked what he was looking at.

Hmmmm.

The scene looked like a group of psychos had partied all morning on unwilling victims.

The first dead man was on his back. Someone had taken the top of his skull off, cut around the center of his forehead, and peeled the skin from his face. His cheekbones and his eyeballs were exposed. And the monster didn’t slice the flesh away. He just let the peeled skin dangle at the bottom of the man’s chin. Let it lay there. Inside out, like a blanket pulled down on a bed.

“What kind of monster would do this?” I opened the door and stepped inside.

The rest of the bodies lay in a huge pile, except one other man who had been thrown in the corner. Among all the torn, mangled bodies a sweet scent rode the air.

“Interesting. All of these guys were shot, but two guys were tortured.” I stepped toward that other one and took a closer look. “And they weren’t tortured by the same person.”

David still gaped in horror at the man with his face peeled off. “Yeah. Whoever did this guy took his time and really enjoyed it. He thinks he’s an artist.”

“But this one is different.” I pointed at the other man far away from the pile of bodies. “This corpse is very clean.”

The flesh was gray, white, and pink like someone had scrubbed the skin. I sniffed the air. It smelled of blood and soap.

I twisted my face in confusion. “Someone cleaned the guy, before torturing him. What kind of maniac does that?”

“Hold on.” David hurried over. “He cleaned the guy, before he tortured him?”

“Yes.” I kneeled and studied the dead man.

The groin was a mess. The knife cuts on the arms and shoulders were deep and obvious. I