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Moscow, Russia
Thursday, 28 January, 9:21 a.m.
––––––––
The scissors made light work of removing Jefferson's jersey, shirt, and vest. Volkov's head bumped against my shoe as I stepped around the chair, cutting, and pulling material away from my prey's body. I stood back and stared at Jefferson's white skin; it hadn't seen the sun in a long time.
Again, Volkov's head was in the way, so I kicked it as hard as I could. "She shoots, she scores!" I pushed my arms into the air.
Rowan and Liam laughed; the corners of Aidan's mouth lifted.
The head ended in the sitting room close to the fireplace. Jefferson stared after it. "You killed the Lieutenant General of the Moscow Police; they'll bring their full force down on you. There isn't a place in Russia you can hide."
Aidan placed his hand on my lower back. I moved away and out of the splash zone. Aidan's fist connected with Jefferson's jaw. Blood and spit sprayed onto the floor. "You're all the same. You think you're untouchable, yet your buddy's head is laying over there. The president of this great nation has launched a full-scale investigation into Volkov and all the other high-ranking officials who were part of what you did here."
With his hands behind his back, Aidan stared down at our prey. "The ones who flee Russia, Bratva will hunt them down. They owe me a favour. Sorry, Max, but you picked the wrong country to flee to."
I listed the victims' names, the people this despicable thing had placed in the hands of a serial killer.
"You can't touch him." Jefferson sniffed hard and coughed as blood lodged in his throat. I gagged.
With my right hand extended towards the head in the living room, I said, "Like we couldn't touch Volkov, or little old you? Who ordered the hit on Hernandez?"
Jefferson shook his head and stared at the spot where Volkov's head come to a stop before I kicked it. "You can't make me talk."
"I tell you what, Maxi, I'll make you a deal. If you don't talk after I've done this to you, you can keep all your secrets. Okay?" I pulled my phone out of the pocket next to my right knee and showed him a picture.
Jefferson spat on my phone. I slapped him harder than I have ever slapped anyone, and I've slapped quite a few people over the years. Men who had groped me in bars, paedophiles, rapists, and murderers in my wine cellar. The list is rather extensive, and with a predator to torture, I didn't want to waste time trying to remember them all.
Once I washed my phone in the sink with dishwashing soap, I returned to Jefferson. I love Fortius' toys. Aidan reached into his backpack and placed the items on the table. None of us wore gloves. By the time we left, the house would burn.
However, when performing surgery it's best to wear gloves. I double gloved, as Aidan instructed, and picked up the scalpel. The blade glistened in the morning sun streaming in through the windows. A serene winter wonderland lay on the other side of the glass.
"Commander, if you would be so kind as to make the incision." I placed the scalpel in Aidan's hand.
"Thank you. But first, I need to give the patient something to numb the incision area." Aidan dropped the scalpel; I picked it up and nicked Jefferson's forehead as I came to my full length. The cut bled like a faucet.
"Oops, sorry, Maxi. I didn't realise how sharp this thing is. My bad." I shrugged and started carving a picture into the wooden table.
"You're making the blade dull." Aidan shook his head.
I sighed as loud as a teenager. "You never let me have any fun. I'm carving this picture for you, my love."
Aidan stared at the stick figure. "Where's the head?"
"In front of the hearth." We both laughed. Laughter is a key element in any marriage.
As Aidan pushed the needle into the vial, I wondered how many other couples are like us; those who torture together, but for good. I hope a lot.
Aidan jabbed the needle into Jefferson's arm. "You won't feel a thing."
I glanced at Rowan and Liam. Rowan rested his arm on the butt of the HK416 A5 hanging across his shoulder. Liam didn't appear fazed either. They both smiled when our eyes met. Dmitry and Marika stood outside the house. I didn't want them to see this side of their future boss or his wife. The less they knew the better, and we needed eyes and ears outside. You never know when things will go south. In a bad way.
Commander Walker picked up the scalpel and moved behind Jefferson. I lifted myself onto the dining table, needing to see Jefferson's face when he realised what Aidan had injected him with wasn't for pain.
"I'm going to make an incision from your lower back up to your neck. L5 to C7. This will all be over in a matter of seconds and you won't feel a thing."
I pursed my lips, desperate not to laugh. Aidan enjoyed this as much as I did. The paedophile screamed as Aidan cut into him. The scalpel too blunt for a single controlled cut. Aidan sliced and sliced.
"Max? Max? Max?" I sang, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. "Are you ready to tell me?"
He shook his head. We were cutting him open, yet he remained more afraid of someone else. Impossible. Oh well, we'll see how long that lasts.
I jumped off the table and grabbed the rib shear. If my hands got tired there were six other hands waiting to help. "Who helped you escape from the USA?"
"Hernandez." Jefferson breathed hard, the adrenaline keeping him conscious.
"Why was Hernandez killed? It wasn't to protect you." I tapped the shear to his forehead. "Come on, Max. I won't tell anyone you told me; I'm good at keeping secrets."
"Get it over with. I won't tell you shit. It doesn't matter anymore."
I thought about it – still tapping the shear on Jefferson's forehead – Hernandez and Fontanilla were both dead. Their wives helped a serial killer find victims. Hernandez had been much more than just a despicable criminal defence attorney.
While I had waited in the snow for the perfect time to enter the house, Eli told me who most of Hernandez's clients were: paedophiles, rapists, and murderers. Not uncommon for a criminal defence attorney to have such predators pay him, but the fact that seventy-five percent of them were on trial for crimes involving children was.
Fontanilla had been accused of molesting numerous children at one specific orphanage. I wondered what happened at other orphanages he and his wife had founded in the years before his staged suicide.
"Hernandez is waiting for you in hell. He's in the same fiery pit as the one you'll be cast into. Right next to him is your other buddy, Bill Fontanilla."
The expression on Jefferson's face told me I was right. "It doesn't matter anymore. They're all dead."
Not a web. A ring. It consisted of high-profile men and perhaps their wives. No, not perhaps; their wives were in on it. What other reason did they have to help a serial killer? How did a serial killer learn about this sick circle of paedophiles? None of his victims were younger than twenty. "Who is he?"
"For the last time, it doesn't matter. Everyone is dead."
Those words were the final straw, I motioned with my head for Aidan to get out of the way. One by one I cracked Jefferson's ribs. His screams louder than the sound of bone snapping under the pressure of the shear.
One side done, I asked again, "Who is blackmailing you into handing him victims to kill? A serial killer too pathetic to hunt his own prey. Then again, you destroyed countless children. You're as big a coward as he is." I continued with my work.
The rage I felt every day since the Saturday night fuelled me. I continued. Rib for rib. I pushed my hands in and pulled his ribs apart. The movement of his lungs told me he still breathed. For now.
I stepped back, studying the human anatomy. It was the first time I saw lungs, ribs, and the vertebrae of a spine. Still, Jefferson refused to give me a name.
Not even when I bent down in front of him, far enough away in case he tried to spit again. "You're going to die. It won't be quick. I'm going to pull out your lungs and give you wings. Max Jefferson, I hereby sentence you to death." I pushed to my feet and slapped my palm on the table, seeing as I didn't think to pack a gavel. "Isn't this much better than going to prison? On your way to hell, you'll see the children's faces, this time their fear won't give you pleasure. No, you'll understand it, because that awaits you. Tell me his name, and I'll pardon you. I'll call an ambulance. If they get here in time, you'll spend the rest of your days in Black Dolphin. Save yourself; give me his name."
"All roads lead to Bergia." Those were the last words Max Jefferson, and Oleg Petrov, uttered.
While I stared into his soulless eyes, Aidan pulled out Jefferson's lungs. He didn't look like an angel, or any other winged creature. His face remained that of the monster he had been to countless children. The adrenaline did a magnificent job.
I sat on the wooden floor, crossed my legs, and watched a destroyer of children die. Every second of his last moments I savoured, not because of my need for vengeance, but for every child this monster ever touched. Raped. Murdered.
When he no longer breathed, I stood and placed a brick of C-4 in the cavity his lungs once filled. I'm not sure who did the rest. I ran out of the house and left my breakfast next to a tree. Little did I know how many innocent bodies lay beneath my feet.
Months later, when I learned the exact number of children they had raped and murdered, I wanted to kill Jefferson and Volkov again. This time, even slower.