rubbed his chin. “Coffee,” he replied. “With cream. Both cakes.”
“Thank you,” she said demurely. “I’d better run then. There’s a lot of prep work for dinner. Excuse me.” She shoved past Nick, into the bedroom. He listened to her soft, quick footfalls retreating out of the room. He hoped she wouldn’t make a break for it. Act like prey, and predators snapped right into action.
Nick and Zhoglo stared at each other. “You are breaking her in nicely,” Zhoglo said, switching back to Ukrainian.
For what, fuckhead? Nick’s jaw ached from staying silent.
“Fiery, hm?” Zhoglo’s eyes narrowed as he observed the blood and scratches on Nick’s face. “I marvel at your restraint. Any woman who did that to my face would not long be recognizable as human.”
You never have been recognizable as human, shithead.
He swallowed the words back, and smiled thinly. “I barely noticed,” he said, turning to the sink. He splashed some water on his face. “I wanted you to eat well. I can’t cook.”
“Your concern for my comfort moves me. But then again, a man can be generous with the world when he has just fucked a beautiful woman, no?”
“On your orders,” Nick said.
“An onerous task, was it? You seemed enthusiastic.”
Anything Nick said could get his guts ripped out. He kept his mouth shut.
“You are soft, Arkady,” Zhoglo said.
Nick jerked his chin towards the bedroom. “That looked soft?”
The guy stared at him, as if he were a bug on a pin. “I shall ponder that question when I watch the playback,” Zhoglo said. “I asked Kristoff to film it. Of course. Would you care to watch it with me?”
The back of his neck crawled. “Ah, no thanks. I can remember it.”
“You know why I insist upon electronic eyes and ears in every room, no?”
He shook his head. “No, Vor.”
“It takes away the element of uncertainty,” he said. “I do not have to wonder whether or not I am being spied on. No lapses. It keeps my employees discreet. And there is the entertainment aspect.” Nick nodded.
“It’s time we had a conversation,” Zhoglo said. “Join me for the coffee and cake, no? I wish to know all about you, Arkady Solokov. Every last detail.”
Two hours later, Nick felt like his brain had been hammered flat. The asshole was one hell of a relentless interrogator. No surprise, that.
“Have another piece.” Zhoglo shoved the plate across the table towards Nick. “Tell me again about those years with Uncle Dmitri in Debaltseve.”
Nick stared down and grabbed a gooey chunk of rum caramel whatever. Maybe a shot of sugar would help.
“It’s Donetsk, not Debaltseve,” he corrected. “I worked for him there for six years. Then he sent me here to oversee his export operations. He got me a green card, in ’93. I’ve been based here ever since.”
Zhoglo clasped his hands over his swollen paunch. “Brokering arms deals?”
“Among other things. Heroin, hash, girls,” Nick said wearily.
“And what was his wife’s name, again? Margaritka?”
“Magdalena,” Nick corrected him, around the mouthful of crumbs.
Zhoglo turned to Pavel, who stood behind him with the automatic rifle cradled in his arms, the barrel of which was directed more or less toward Nick’s head. “Pavel, isn’t your wife Marya from Donetsk? Perhaps you two are related. The world is small.”
Pavel shrugged indifferently.
“It’s possible,” Nick said. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there in over a decade.”
“An interesting story, Arkady,” Zhoglo said slowly. “Consistent, plausible in every detail. And yet, I confess, there are things which perplex me.”
Nick pulled his brain into focus, with a painful wrench of mental muscle. “What things are those, Vor?”
Zhoglo steepled his fat fingers and frowned. “Subtle disparities between the man you describe and the man I see before me here.”
Nick composed himself. OK. He was going to die. He’d been fine with that before Becca showed up and messed with his mind. Caring put a man in chains. He missed the floating freedom of indifference.
He calculated the angle of Pavel’s gun, evaluated various suicidal strategies, seeking the one which would give him the best chance of killing that filthy bastard before Nick bought it himself.
“You strike me as self-possessed, cool, clear-headed, and highly intelligent. You ought to have risen further in life than you have by the age of…forgive me, but how old are you, exactly?”
“Thirty-seven on the eighth of April,” Nick said.
“Thirty-seven, yes. I would think you would already be a pakhan in your own right, carving out your territory in our profitable global trade. Not just a middleman for minor arms and drug deals. Or a pimp.” Zhoglo clicked his tongue, staring at Nick out of slitted gray eyes. “Which brings me to the presence of this woman on the island. She does somewhat cancel out my impression of your intelligence.”
Nick manufactured a hangdog look. Goon gone wrong. Play the part, he told himself. “It was stupid, Vor,” he admitted. “I ask your pardon.”
“You do not wish to be in the position of asking my pardon again.”
“I know. And I won’t.” Nick meant it.
“It does perplex me.” Zhoglo went on. “That you would bring her here, knowing that she can never leave this place. I assume you have organized a pretext for her disappearance.”
Nick tried to swallow, but his spit had dried up. “Ah. Um. Of course. But you have to admit that she is something special.”
“Considering that she is disposable, I am surprised at your sentimental regard for her,” Zhoglo mused.
Nick cleared his throat, clutching his mug to hide the fact that his hands shook. So their videotaped sex hadn’t been enough. The fucking shark wanted blood.
“She’s not my usual type,” he said sullenly. “I reacted, that’s all. She took me by surprise. And it was of prime importance to keep her in good working condition. As I told you, Vor, I wanted you to eat well—”
“Yes, yes, your care for my creature comforts has been duly noted. Even so…” Zhoglo dug into his jacket pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out, and held out the pack to Nick with a benevolent smile. “Please, Arkady. Indulge. You look tense.”
Nick lit up and sucked in a lung-blistering drag.
