33
The drive to Faerie Glen was a quiet one; even the radio was silent. Ivan, who usually had music blaring, had switched it off. The Audi’s headlights lit up the road. Petr sat in the front passenger seat, a bloody tissue shoved up his nose trying to stop the blood spurting from his ruined snout.
“I think you broke his nose,” Alice said leaning between the two seats.
Her legs were squeezed, at an angle, between the poor excuse of a back seat and the front passenger seat. There was no way a grown man could have fitted on the backseat.
Ivan glanced over at one of his few remaining henchmen and shrugged.
“It is not the first time he has a broken nose,” Ivan said.
Petr snorted in agreement, tilted his head back, and tried to find a spot on the tissue that wasn’t already covered in blood
