Buying Beth, страница 1часть #3 серии Disciples
Copyright © 2017 by Izzy Sweet and Sean Moriarty
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by Izzy Sweet and Sean Moriarty
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Izzy Sweet & Sean Moriarty
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About This Book
I thought he bought me to save me… but he’s keeping me for himself.
It was a girl’s night out gone wrong. Like some awful horror movie, my friends and I were grabbed in a dark parking lot and shoved into the back of a van.
Coming from powerful families, we thought we were untouchable.
We thought wrong.
Our captors trapped us, violated us, and put us up for sale on the black market.
Johnathan was sent to buy me so his boss, Lucifer, could have leverage over my father.
He was supposed to save me, protect me, and return me.
Not claim me and keep me for himself…
It’s already in the fucking twenties right now in Neryungri, Russia. Back home in Garden City, it’s in the eighties to nineties. Not fucking here, though. No, right fucking here it’s cold and fucking wintery.
Fuck this country and these cold-ass fucking snow flurries.
I don’t like seeing snow in September, it’s just not right. The sky doesn’t look like it’s going to ease the fuck up, so it’s probably only going to get worse.
That’s my fucking luck so far on this little job. I’ve been in Russia for almost three weeks now. Trailing a sack of shit from one city to the next, then chasing him from town to town.
Little fucker has a sixth sense when it comes to trouble. I’m fucking certain he doesn’t know I’m after him, but he hasn’t stayed in one place long enough for me to get to his ass.
He knows he fucked up in Garden City by trying to help Ivan, the man who tried to take Andrew’s daughter, Abigail, and hurt Lucifer’s daughter, Evelyn. It’s been a madhouse full of rage for those two over the past few months. It’s been kill this man, and find this guy, for just about any Russian our guys could get a lead on.
Then the little evil prick that he is, Simon, gets a lead on Yuri Popov.
Yuri Popov is a shitstain of a human being. Just like Ivan, he never got his hands dirty. He just pushed money into the hands of the people who would. He’s a bit nastier than Ivan was, though. Ivan got all his money from his ruthless determination and his wife’s deep pockets.
Yuri got it peddling child porn.
When he had enough money over in Russia, he bought his disgusting way to America. Leaving his business behind, he started running drugs and slaves out of small border crossing towns down in Texas. He still has operations down there too, but he had to hightail it out of America when he got word of Ivan getting toasted.
That’s when our shitboy, Yuri, decided to head back home to the motherland.
Not that they are especially happy to have a child pornographer back. Still, he has the money and connections to run and hide for a good long while… except Simon and Lucifer aren’t going to allow it.
Looking back up to the sky one last time, I growl at it. This fucking cold weather.
Standing on top of the building ledge in this shitty little town, I can’t fathom why every building looks so uniform and block style. It must be the former communist way of building things, I guess.
There’s a roof access hatch beside me, and with the one piece of luck I’ve had this whole shitty trip, I was able to jimmy it open.
Two-thirty in the morning should be a good time to sneak in, but for the last twenty minutes, I’ve been listening to a man and his woman screaming at each other drunkenly over some shit I can’t figure out.
They’ve got five more minutes before I go in regardless.
The small camera I have inside of Yuri’s father’s apartment shows he passed out on the couch about two hours ago. Shithead took some pills and drank some cheapass vodka. He should be sufficiently out of it while I break in.
Five minutes later, I’ve finally figured out the couple fighting below me are screaming something about him stealing her cigarettes and her fucking his brother.
I’m pretty sure the fight isn’t going to end any time soon.
The live feed from Yuri’s apartment shows him still passed out. Pulling the black ski mask over my face, I then snap and check once more that the leather gloves on my hands are tight.
It’s go time.
Moving to the roof access, I lift it up as silently as possible. The woman wailing like a banshee as she protests her innocence helps a lot with covering the sound.
Moving down the ladder quickly, I have two doors to choose from, left or right. I avoid the door where all the screaming is come from and kneel before Yuri’s door.
Pulling out a small set of picks, I quickly unlatch the first lock then move up to the second one.
It’s a deadbolt, but there are ways to bypass these fuckers.
I push the door open just barely to test if the chain has been set. Pulling a pair of bolt cutters form my backpack, I snip the chain during an extended wail from the lady across the hall.
Opening the door quickly, I enter the living room and shut the door as quickly and quietly as I can.
Looking left, I spot Yuri still passed out on the couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. I watch for a moment to make sure I haven’t disturbed him before I take quick, quiet steps back to his father’s bedroom.
The door is open, and splayed out on the bed is an elderly old man.
I feel bad that such a shitty son is going to be the end of his old man, but then again I don’t have a clue what type of fucker he is either.
Slapping my hand across the old man’s mouth, he lurches up, towards the ceiling, but I don’t allow him to go far.
Pressing the barrel of my pistol to his temple, I murmur, “Don’t make a fucking sound.”
He says something in Russian behind the hand I have placed over his mouth, but the moment I push the pistol in hard against his head he shuts up. He may not know what the fuck I said, but I’m pretty sure he gets my meaning.
I quickly wrap his arms up in tape then stuff an old sock in his mouth. I tape the sock in place to kee
Securing his feet, I stand up to assess my work.
He’s pissed as fuck, and I can see in his eyes how much disdain he must have for me, and probably some for himself for getting old and feeble. I bet he would have put up a lot more of a fight in his younger days.
Walking past him, I move back out into the living room where Yuri is still passed out on the couch. The couple across the hall from us have gone from wails and screaming to thumps and vocal yells of pain. He’s probably thumping her around pretty good over there.
Fucking drunk assholes.
I hear shouting now from other apartments.
That should help with all the shit that’s going to happen to Yuri.
The first thing that must go through Yuri’s mind as he wakes with a start is half of the fucking teeth I smash in with my hand.
He bellows in pain, but with all the shouting going on around us, it goes unchecked.
I slap him a couple of times with my fists in his ribs to get him to shut up enough to look at me.
He’s a pitiful little fucking pile of shit, and I feel no remorse at all that he’s on the very bottom of the food chain.
He’s the fucking mouse and I’m the fucking lion.
“You may not know me, Yuri…” I snarl at him as I push him into a rickety old wooden chair.
“I no Yuri! I Gregov!” he whines at me.
Slapping him with an open hand, I treat him like the little bitch he is. “No, I know who you are, Yuri. Lucifer doesn’t make mistakes when he sends me after someone.”
Just the mention of Lucifer causes the man to begin shaking mightily. His eyes begin to dart all over the place as he looks for a possible escape.
Slapping him again, I say, “Pay attention, asshole. I know you speak English. I know you’re Yuri.”
He tries to stand up but I push him back down hard in the chair. “Quit fucking moving, asshole. You behave and I just kill you tonight. If not, your dad gets to go a couple of rounds with me too.”
His eyes widen for a moment and his mouth opens, but then he shuts it.
“Good, I see you understand.”
I pull a phone from my jacket pocket and then start recording.
“Ready to talk?”
Nodding his head, he says through his bloody mouth, “Da.”
Pulling my fist back, I slam it into his gut. All the air in him explodes out as his eyes bulge. Coughing and sputtering, he looks up to me with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“I need to know names, Yuri. I need to know who else had a hand in the attack.”
“I don’t… I don’t know… Ivan and me… we set up…”
Lifting my fist in the air, I threaten to hit him again. “We know him, Yuri. I need to know who else wanted this set up.”
“I don’t know anyone else. Ivan came to me, asked me if I wanted to look good for Gre…” His eyes widen and I can see he was about to say something he shouldn’t.
He tries to look away.
“Don’t clam up, asshole. I need the information, and I can always go back to causing pain if you don’t talk.”
He looks back at me and I think he finds some type of hope in my words.
Whatever gets him through this, I guess.
Grabbing another chair, I sit it down in front of him. “You were going to say someone, who was it?”
“Gregory Vasiliev. Ivan was trying to move up in his good graces, and if I helped out with getting some weapons or guys in… I would look good to the Bratva. He said I could start getting in…”
“In with them… They would help my business back in states. I could…”
“Could what? Have a bigger slave market? Sell more coke?”
“Yes… I could take sliver of pie for me.”
“Was it Gregory who called for the attack?”
“I don’t know. I never met big head guys…”
He goes quiet then.
“Yuri, did I say to stop talking, you shitstain?” I ask as I tap my gun against his knee.
“No… No… I just… I don’t know. He wouldn’t let me in.”
“Ivan. He kept giving me reasons to not meet big guys.” He shrugs his shoulders. “He made promises to me but it was lots of talk.”
His mouth still oozes blood and the gash over his right eye has dried a bit. I guess he’s feeling safe now. Pain must have dulled.
“What else, Yuri? Give me information for my boss. Make me look good.”
“They wanted to make my business bigger!” he says, smiling. His nasty bloody mouth gaping open.
“My slaves… They wanted to take more from your schools and campuses.”
That’s fucking interesting. That’s real fucking interesting. Looking at the phone I sat on the table near us, I make sure it’s still recording. Good.
“Were they planning on any more hits?”
Yuri pauses a moment while he tries to think. I can see the gears slowly grinding in his head. He wants to please me. He wants to give me the right information. I don’t need that shit; I need all the information.
“No…” he says slowly. “I never heard. They knew that Lucifer was on warpath. They knew they riled beast. I don’t know anything else, though… Like I say, they didn’t let me in on things. They just wanted to use my businesses.”
We discuss a couple of other things, and by the time we’re done, it’s close to dawn. He really hasn’t given me any more information beyond a couple of contacts he has near Garden City, and I need to get moving.
The one thing he gives me that stirs the bile in my stomach is the name of a child pornographer and where he lives.
It’s smack dab in the heart of Garden City. That, above all else, sentences him to death. I couldn’t give two shits if Lucifer wanted this man alive. Thankfully, he doesn’t.
Standing up from the chair, I stretch out my back and hear the pops from where I’ve been hunched over, interrogating this asshole. “Good job, Yuri.”
The smile on his face couldn’t be more hopeful, like he thinks he has a chance. Grabbing some tape from my bag, I also grab a rag from their kitchen sink. “Can’t have you interrupting my getaway.”
Stupid child molesting fuck. Doesn’t even understand the pain that’s getting ready to come. He probably thinks I mean to let him go.
I gag him up then pick up the phone from the table. I stop the recording and dial Simon.
“Johnathan, what’s going on?” he asks immediately.
“I’m wrapping up here. I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything else from him?”
“No, he’s useless now. See if you can find any other information in the apartment, but from the broadcast you were sending me, I’d say we’re good.”
“Good. I’ll put this to bed then and head home.”
“Call me when you get out of the apartment. We need to talk.”
“Will do,” I say, disconnecting.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a pair of brass knuckles, and the asshole realizes the truth.
He’s going to die.
He tries to stand up from the chair but my fist shatters his jaw. The scream from behind the gag isn’t too loud since I stuffed some good insulation in there, but I need to make this quick.
I want to drag this out for hours, to torture him for days, to vent my rage of someone hurting kids… but I just don’t have that kind of time.
The punches to the face and body have rendered him a bloody broken mess. He no longer screams loudly. He just blubbers little bubbles of spit and blood, his lungs filled with liquid.
He’s going to die soon, so I make the best of it.
Grabbing his cock and balls, I cut them both off with a steak knife. Ripping the gag off, I shove them both into his mouth.
Let him choke to death on those.
Going to his ear, I whisper, “Now I get to torture your father.”
There will be no second chances for this guy.
Walking past his bloody corpse, I head to the father.
He’s where I left him, still wide awake. His eyes are wide with rage as he feebly struggles to break his bonds.
Shaking my head, I screw the silencer on my gun.
Lifting the gun and aiming it at his chest, I say, “He was a child molesting sack of shit and he’s headed straight for hell.”
He stills then, staring at me long and hard. Does he recognize my words? Does he understand?
Fuck him if he doesn’t.
I pull the trigger three times, two to the chest and one to the head.
Yanking my mask back on, I head out of the apartment.
It’s quiet in the building now. So much so, that I’m alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that are much lighter in mood than when I first entered the building.
Even the snow that’s lacing the streets doesn’t change my good mood.
“This place is a dump,” my friend, Amanda, declares loudly as we stumble into the bar located on the very fringes of Garden City.
“Shush,” I hiss at her and shoot a glance towards the bartender. Seriously, she’s going to get us tossed out before we even order our first drink.