Liability

Chapter 49 - Dmitri

WARNING! This chapter contains murder, torture, demeaning, racist language, blood, gore and curelty. If any of these topics trigger you in any way, please proceed carefully. 

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Tuesday
September 25, 2018

"You can't be serious," Sasha protests weakly, voice quiet and almost pleading. "Anastas, talk sense into him! This is suicide!"

His cousin's dark gaze locks onto his, holding it for a long second before Ana's lips curl up in a mocking smile. "Do as he says, Kitten. Seven minutes."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

"Sasha," Dmitri warns, checking Rhys' pulse again.

"Damn you both, just fucking damn you," Sasha snarls, and the next second something crashes in the background. "Seven minutes. If you die—"

"We have you at our backs, how is that possible?" Anastas teases him in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. "Start the countdown."

"Fuck."

Dmitri exchanges a quick glance with his cousin as he stands up. "Get them on the roof and ready for evac," he orders, daring Anastas to argue with him. Anastas tilts his head to the side for a moment, dark eyes narrowed, before he nods.

"Do everything I would do."

Dmitri snorts but dips his chin, then with a last glance at the unconscious boys he takes off, following Sasha's directions. The building's layout is far from complicated, so it takes him only half a minute to get to the door protecting Goodman and his sick master.

He checks his weapon, shoulder pressed against the door frame. He is crouched down, not taking any chances, as he calls, "Open the door, Sasha."

"On my count," comes Sasha's somber reply. "Three, two, one. Go!"

He pulls the door open, finger already pressing on the trigger before the goon stationed behind it could react. There is a yelp and a curse from within the room as the guy collapses in a spray of blood and brain material.

"What the hell are you doing!" Goodman yells just as Dmitri steps into the control room and sees the rat being held against the chest of a thin figure whose face is still hidden by Goodman's shoulder and the baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. There is a knife pressing against the soft flesh of Goodman's neck.

"I have to admit I was not expecting you, Mr. Armand," the figure says, his voice filled with mild annoyance. "Should I feel humiliated or honored that Alenyka sent you and not one of her prize bitches?"

Dmitri just stares at the man... boy? His voice sounds oddly young and familiar. The cheerful nonchalance tinting his tone tickles his memory but does not reveal the identity of the bastard. Goodman looks sick, his face glistening with a sheen of sweat, the whites of his eyes showing as he looks at Dmitri but he does not ask for help.

He must know that there is no way out for him. Or maybe he still trusts the other guy behind him.

Dmitri has no such illusions.

"Come on, Mr. Armand, talk to me. I would love to know how you became one of the old crow's dogs. How does it feel that you were sent after two useless pawns only to die here for nothing?"

"What are you talking about, J—"

"Now, now, Mark." The knife presses harder into Goodman's neck, cutting into his skin and making him gasp. "Don't ruin my surprise. Our good Mr. Armand has no idea who I am. Funny, isn't it? I can see it now, Yurieva sending him in to snoop after us but he never saw me coming. Must hurt your ego, huh? A kid pulling one over you so badly."