Chapter 22 – Val #2
I fought with everything at my disposal—wooden stakes, knives, guns, and even my fists. When I ran out of bullets, I turned anything I could grab into a makeshift weapon. Armed or not, I was just as deadly.
By the time the destruction was over, silence followed the storm, and I stood alone at the center of the carnage. Triumphant. My chest and shoulders heaved with heavy breaths, my skin slick with the blood of my victims.
About twenty men were sent after me, and the same number of lifeless bodies sprawled at my feet. They should’ve sent more because it would take a lot more than just twenty trained men to bring me down.
I heard movements behind me, and with that much adrenaline still coursing through me, I turned around with a knife, ready to attack.
“Wait! It’s just me!” Wren lifted her hands in surrender, and the sheets wrapped around her slid down her body.
I lowered the knife, panting as I watched her pick up the fallen sheets to cover her nakedness.
My eyes squinted as I sensed another presence, a more foreboding one that sent a chill crawling up my spine. A signature whistle drifted through the air in song form: playful, yet sinister. A pair of heavy footsteps approached the front door, slow and deliberate.
I recognized that sound—that whistle. It was him.
Volchok: the Little Wolf. Except, there was nothing little about him, considering he was almost twice my size.
The man was one of the Bratva’s deadliest assassins, known to have never lost a fight. Rumor had it that no soul had crossed his path and lived to tell the tale. He was one of the few men that the Bratva Elders would send after a formidable enemy that had been accused of treason.
This was a ritual—a fight to the death. If the accused somehow won the fight, they’d earn their freedom. The only downside was that no one had ever won against these men. And so, in essence, the ritual was just a death sentence.
I glanced out at the door and then faced Wren again, my voice laced with urgency. “Get back upstairs. Now.” I gestured to the bedroom.
“What’s the matter, Valarian?” Volchok walked in through the door and stopped at the entrance. “Afraid to get your ass kicked in front of your little whore?”
My expression darkened, fingers curling into fists.
He glanced at the dead bodies sprawled across the room and nodded his bald head. “I see you haven’t lost your touch.” He let out a snarky scoff. “When they told me you’d eloped with some American whore, I thought to myself, how the mighty has fallen.”
I clenched my jaw, brows furrowing to form deep creases between them as my blood boiled with rage. “Call her a whore one more time…I dare you.”
A cocky grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “There he is. There’s the killer worth my time.”
He charged at me, unsheathing two blades that glinted in the light.
“Wren, run!” I bellowed, sidestepping from a strike that would’ve split me in half.
He swung again but missed, his blade slashing through the air over my head. I did a somersault away from another strike. And while in motion, I snatched the broken surface of the coffee table. He struck again, and I used the wood as a shield.
The impact was so powerful that the blade cut the wood in half. Without thinking, I rolled over to his feet, jabbing the wood’s pointed edge into the back of his thighs.
He groaned in pain, dropping one of his blades. I didn’t stop stabbing his flesh in the same spot. Before he could make another move, I swung beneath him, strategically trapping his foot between my legs.
Seconds later, I tackled the bastard to the ground, and the other blade fell out of his hand, clanking away. I was able to successfully land only a couple of punches into his face before he seized me by the neck and hurled me across the room.
I hit my back against a wall, my body thudding to the floor like a dry log. He rushed at me with a loud cry, his footsteps pounding. I rolled away just before his bone-crushing stomp cracked the boards where I’d lain.
I scratched a discarded knife off the floor and lunged at him.
My hand moved rapidly as I stabbed into his stomach over and over. The blade sank deeper on each strike, but he didn’t flinch. What the hell was this motherfucker made of? Stone?
He leaned down, groaning like a wounded lion, his arms wrapping around my waist. Without stressing, he whisked me into the air. Instinct took over. I locked my legs around his neck, my elbow slamming into his face—his nose, to be exact.
He groaned, stumbling backward as I struck harder and harder. Roaring, he drove me down on my back with a sickening crash. For a moment there, I thought my spine was broken. The pain jolted to my brain, forcing a strangled groan out of my lips.
Volchok mounted me, his hands crushing my throat, murder burning in his eyes. Blood spilled from his wounded stomach, but he didn’t seem to give a shit. His focus was mainly on strangling me to death.
“You fought well, Valarian Tarasov,” he growled, fingers choking me, digging deeper into my throat. “But it’s over now. No one’s ever faced me and lived. You won’t be the first.”
I felt like my eyeballs were bulging out, my hands helplessly hitting against his strong arms. I was choking, suffocating as he squeezed tighter around my neck. He watched happily as life slowly drained from me.
“After I kill you, I’ll have my way with your whore.” He let out an evil chuckle. “And then I’ll kill her too.”
The mere thought of his plan fueled my rage, and with a boost of adrenaline, my fingertips scraped the floor. I clawed inch by inch toward the discarded knife just within reach.
Now wasn’t the time to die. I must fight.
“Hey!” Wren’s voice echoed through the room, laced with fury and confidence.
Volchok’s neck snapped in her direction with a low growl.
“Fuck you,” she said.
And then…bang.
His head jerked back with a bullet hole in it, his body lingering for a moment before thudding to the floor. Lifeless.
I gasped for air as I struggled to stand, fingers rubbing my neck with a soothing gesture.
Across from me, she stood there, frozen in place, holding a pistol in her trembling hands. With heavy breaths, I walked toward her, exhausted from taking down 21 one men.
Scratch that. Twenty. The last kill was Wren’s.
Gently, I lowered her hand and took the gun from her as she sank to her knees. She was in shock—I understood. But it didn’t change the fact that she saved my life.
Wren was shaking like a leaf, her eyes fixed on the man she had just killed.
“Hey.” I crouched before her, cradling her face in my bloodied palms. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” I whispered, staring into her eyes.
“I killed him.” Her voice cracked.
“No, you saved my life,” I corrected the notion.
She paused, looking back at me, eyes wandering over my sweaty body. “I guess we’re even now.”
I did tell her last night that saving her from that snake was something she’d do for me. This only confirmed my assumption.
Volchok’s phone rang in his pocket, the noise drawing my attention. My eyes narrowed, and I rose to my feet, limping back to his dead body. After a quick search, I found the phone in his jacket and answered the call.
“Is it done?” Elder Akim asked on the other line.
“It’s done, you crazy old man.”
He paused, clearly shocked to hear my voice.
“Your men are all dead, and so is Volchok,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “I played your stupid game and won the fight. I’ve earned my freedom, and Wren’s also. Now, get off my back.” I glanced at my wife and then added through gritted teeth. “I’ll have my revenge, Akim. Mark my words.”
And with that, I ended the call.