A Pole and a Gun

8 - I drove all night

♤ DIMITRI

"Is he dead?" Trixie squeaks next to me like a frightened little mouse.

I take one glance at the piece of shit henchman that Sergei left to protect his girlfriend and decide to mess with Trixie's head. "I don't know." I steel my face so she can't guess what's going through my mind.

"What?" she responds breathlessly, eyes widening, and she folds her hand over her mouth.

"I hit him pretty hard," I shrug as she gasps for air, and I'm dying from laughter inside at the faces she makes.

Trixie is tough as nails from making a living in the nightlife. I can see it in the way she reacts to certain things. Responding to danger with humor and wit makes her fall right into trouble more frequently. To where she stumbled into the fray with me at the nightclub.

She braces herself, clutching the knife that she picked up from the stash in the car. Her tiny hands tighten around it. I would have suggested she take the gun, but I guess she isn't ready to run around with a firearm.

I give her a curt nod, and she follows my lead.

Security called Nox earlier to let us know what they found out after last night. I told Dominic to dig up any dirt he could find, and he got the address where Sergei kept his mistress away from prying eyes. He needed something to keep the bitch happy. The way Sergei got around, some weren't pleased with his antics.

Nox went to check out another lead that they received from wiring one of Sergei's guys, so I'm stuck with babysitting the stripper while I get this done.

I slide open the terrace windows and head inside, motioning to Trixie with my hand to keep close to me as I enter the apartment.

Ivana is sipping expensive wine while watching a repeat of Desperate Housewives. The TV is blaring as she cackles at something funny and hasn't heard us break in.

"Hello sweetheart," I say with a smirk on my face as I drop next to her on the leather sofa and casually flash my gun in my holster.

"Don't hurt me please," Ivana whines, jumping when she notices me and Trixie, who is still clutching on to that damn knife in her hands like her life depends on it.

She is going to cut herself the way she keeps fumbling with that thing. Mental note; show her how to use a fucking hunting knife in case there is a situation like this one again.

"We just need some answers to our questions," I give Trixie a wave of my hand, gesturing for her to sit down on the coffee table. She complies but looks at us warily.

"What questions?" Ivana croaks, "Who are you people?"

"Sergei," I deadpan, lifting my brow in a silent menace. It's enough for her to realize that problems just stepped into her nice bubble of trash TV and booze.

While I try to calm Ivana down so she can start speaking, I see Trixie out of the corner of my eyes, taking the bottle of wine and putting it to her mouth to take a big gulp. She exhales briefly, inspects the label on the bottle and lifts it to her lips again.

Whatever gets her to relax. I can't deal with two hysterical women.

"I know you are his girlfriend," I start, but I'm cut off by Ivana.

"I would be his damn wife if the bitch would sign the divorce papers," she snorts, glancing over to Trixie who is watching the conversation like some Latin Telenovela.

"Has he left something with you or in the apartment?" I ask, glancing around to check for probable hiding places.

"Only that brute," Ivana scoffs. "He must be getting cigarettes again, if you guys managed to get inside."

"Oh no, this one," Trixie points to me, "gave him a mighty right hook, and he's out cold. Oops." I'm proud of the sarcastic smile plastering her face.

Ivana pales and I know I have to hurry before she freaks out and attracts unnecessary attention from the neighbors.

"I will not harm you," I look at the Russian blonde in the eyes, "but I am going to gag you and shove you in the closet, okay?"

In two quick motions, I'm standing and have Ivana's wrists in a tight grip in my hand. I take out a zip tie from my pocket and secure it before taking her to the bedroom and doing just as I described.

"Beautiful haircut, by the way," Trixie pipes up from behind me, giving Ivana a bright smile. "Frames your eyes."

Trixie is fucking relaxed all right.

Ivana mumbles an awkward "thank you," just before I tie a scarf around her mouth and shut the doors. Putting a chair in front of the handles to keep the woman locked in.

I take a quick tour of the small flat, opening every cupboard and drawer but come up empty-handed. Anger whips at my chest and I take it out on the vase on the counter, swiping it away with a fierce stroke of my arm. It crashes against the wall, flowers and pieces of porcelain staining the carpet.

"Here," Trixie appears next to me, carrying Ivana's purse.

"Good thinking," I grunt, feeling the waves of rage subside.

I indicate for her to follow me outside and as we stand over the unconscious thug; I know the best thing is to question him if he might know something.

"We'll have to take him with us."

"What are you going to do?" Trixie panics. "Are you going to get rid of him? Put him through a wood chipper?" she rambles and I cut her off by placing a hand over her mouth.

"Where the heck did your mind go?" I bark. "This isn't like the movies. My men can question him."

I let go of her, pass her the keys and swing the guy over my shoulders. Heavy bastard.

We step up to the car and I dump him into the trunk, zipping up his wrists like I did with Ivana. I check myself over and sigh loudly, my shirt is stained with the blood of his cracked nose. Great.