Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“Hmm,” he said, tone flat. I studied his back, oddly uneager to step forward and see for myself. “Interesting,” he mused.
“Don’t fuck with me,” I growled. “What’s the damage?”
He turned around, casually waltzing over to a mostly dead Bratva soldier on the road. The wounded mobster was still groaning into the asphalt, desperately trying to stop the blood spritzing through a gush in his neck. Achilles lit himself a cigarette, unzipping his combat pants. He took a piss on the Russian’s face. “Why don’t you take a look while I go make sure my brother isn’t bleeding out all over the side of the road?” Achilles asked around his cigarette, the Bratva soldier gagging and choking on his urine.
I stuck my upper body into the van. Tore the balaclava from my face, propping it against my sweaty forehead.
Carnage.
Blood everywhere.
Body parts scattered—the driver and the guy next to him took the biggest hit, with their limbs tossed about like doll parts.
Flesh melting into metal. Charred, unrecognized faces.
Blood. Internal organs. Piss. Shit.
And then there was Alex. Lying under a pile of bodies to shield him. His gun cocked and pointed at me.
Alive, well, and royally pissed.
He didn’t come out of it completely unscathed.
His brow was busted, he had some cuts on his cheeks, and his left arm was at a weird angle, suggesting he might’ve broken it.
We stared at each other, motionless, for a few moments.
He didn’t shoot.
Neither did I.
Finally, I hopped inside, pressing the sole of my boot against his windpipe.
“Well, well, well.” I smirked. “Fancy seeing you here, Lyosha.”
_______
Alex was the only one who came out of the ordeal alive from the Bratva’s side. After shoving him into one of our vans, we did a body count to assess the damage on our side. Six Camorra soldiers, two Irish. We loaded them into a different van, leaving the Bratva corpses to bake in the Nevadan heat.
“How long till we get to the warehouse?” Luca plopped down on the seat next to Alex, bandaging his arm with precision.
Alex was zip-tied, mouth taped, and staring daggers at me.
“Twenty more minutes according to Waze,” I said, ignored his ogling.
“And we’re sure we won’t find any surprises there?” Luca squinted.
“Sam said Slava and Jeremie are there, waiting for Alex.” Achilles downed an entire bottle of water. “Maybe a few soldiers manning up the entrance point, but that should be it.”
“Do we kill his brothers when we find them?” Luca turned to face me.
Alex didn’t flinch, but I knew better than to interpret that as indifference.
“Not before I say so.”
“And the sister?”
“Stayed home. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.” I had no issue killing women. Especially a Rasputin woman.
I took out Lila’s sketch when no one was watching. Well, no one but Alex. But I could withstand that embarrassment, seeing as he had about another hour before I put a bullet in his head.
The portrait was splattered in blood—probably Bratva’s—and wrinkled as shit. I still pressed it to my nose and breathed it in, relishing the fact she held it not too long ago, thinking of me as she drew me.
The rest of the journey was quiet. Luca was busy treating his broken limb, Achilles was staring out the window pensively, and I was messing with my phone, trying hard to look like my skin wasn’t crawling with Alex’s unrelenting gaze.
Something was amiss.
This felt easy.
Too easy.
The Russians were more capable than that. I knew, because I trained with them for fourteen years.
“How’s Sofia doing?” I penetrated the silence. Luca’s head snapped up. He looked dazed.
“Huh?”
“Your wife. She’s pregnant,” I reminded him. “How’s she doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
The fuck was wrong with him? I’d detected more emotions from a cum stain.
“You guess, or you know?” I pressed.
Luca shot me a cold glare. “Get off your high horse, bastard. A few months ago, I had to pay you not to rape my sister. You’re no authority when it comes to marriage.”
“That miserable, huh?”
Luca worked his jaw back and forth. “You’ve no idea, man.”
Our vans arrived at the warehouse twenty minutes later. We went through the first and second lines of guards fairly quickly, seeing as I dragged a half-butchered Alex out of the vehicle, pointing a loaded gun to his head and threatening to blow it off if they didn’t let us through.
Once inside, Camorra and Irish soldiers started unpacking and sifting through Bratva weapons to see what we could take. They raided every corner of the two floors, top to bottom, peeling the floors and stripping the walls to ensure everything was inspected.
“Find the brothers and bring them to me,” I ordered Luca and Achilles, pushing Alex up the metal stairway. “Alive.”
They went to hunt for Jeremie and Slava while I led Alex to his second-story office. He cooperated, cool and composed even as his broken arm began swelling and the gash in his forehead reopened.