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They didn’t bother tying him up to take him out. No way was the black sucker going to give them any serious trouble. The guys dragged him by his arms hanging between them. Every jerk broke with a pained cry. Every jolt sounded like that was the last straw, he couldn’t take anymore.
And if the prick as much as raised an eyebrow, Kuznetzov had just the moves to remind him to think otherwise. And a pair of chops from Lagunov across the back of the asshole’s black sweaty neck would wipe out any sign of fight.
The “hole” was an old communal bread oven. A hole dug out of the hard-clay earth, then topped with a fresh domed-roof. The prick swayed in exhaustion when the guys dumped him on his knees. Lagunov gripped him tight in the scruff of his neck to keep him upright, Kuznetzov got the oven door.
But if the asshole realised his hands were free .. possible to fight his way out of this mess .. he showed no signs of it. Fucked. Done-in.