Chapter 52
52
Kai
The talk with Caelan went…fine. There were tears, group hugs that Kai reluctantly partook in, and a stack of fluffernutters that left the pantry half empty. As if on cue, Ursula slammed a fist on the door with banana bread on offer. She must’ve smelled the sorrow seeping through the walls.
Kai had never been great at comforting others. His impulse was to shove the pain aside and fill the chasm it left behind with pleasurable distractions. But his approach had little merit with Miya and Caelan. Miya didn’t hide her wounds; she ripped deeper into them, sticking her fingers where it hurt most until she located the source of the infection. She interrogated herself constantly, and while Kai didn’t envy the discomfort of the process, he coveted the results. She wasn’t afraid of her demons, and perhaps that was why he’d kept her from his own.
When Caelan first broke down that morning, Kai wanted to run. He didn’t know what to say to make the loss more palatable, and he knew better than to remind Caelan that the leshy brought out the unwanted killer in her. Harsh truths rarely provided refuge from grief. So, they let her cry until she was empty, reminded her that she wasn’t alone, then gave her food she loved and a snarling orange munchkin to warm her lap. Small mercies were better than none.
Kai wondered how a fetch could be so human—more human than he ever felt. Did she take on the traits of her double? How did she conceive of herself? He’d always been assured in his sense of self, but his nightmares and ball-crushing therapist taught him that no one existed in a vacuum. No one got sole ownership over their identity.
The alleyway door to the Confessional felt heavier than it should’ve as Kai pushed his way inside. It was quiet, the bar closed midday, the kitchen empty save for someone prepping before opening. Rounding the corner into the dining room, Kai found Connor stocking liquor on the shelves. Sergei sat at the counter sipping an old fashioned, not bothering to turn when Connor greeted Kai.
“How’s the kid?” the bartender asked, and only then did Sergei glance over his shoulder, ears perked.
“Tired.” True but evasive. It’d been a rough night followed by a rougher morning. Caelan’s mental health was important, but so was her life. They had less than twelve hours to get her off Pyotr’s radar.
“Why’d you call me here?” Sergei sounded more cantankerous than usual.
Kai sidled up to them and took the stool next to Sergei. “I don’t have enough brain cells to solve my problem.” He explained Caelan’s origins, his bargain with Zverev, and his ill-conceived plan to murder Pyotr—conveniently foiled by the leshy.
“You think one of them is done for,” said Sergei, poking at the orange peel on the rim of his glass.
Kai nodded toward the bourbon behind Connor. “Not sure I like the idea of killing a fifteen-year-old, no matter how badly she wants to die.”
“The fetch?” Connor asked, pouring Kai a finger.
“Both of them.” Kai dragged the glass toward himself. “They’re trapped, both willing to die to free the other.”
“How noble.” Sergei snorted. “What if there’s no other way? You could take the burden off one of them.”
Kai’s eyes flicked to Connor’s disdainful stare. “I could.”
“Then what’s stopping you? Guilt?” Sergei pressed.
“I can live with guilt. What I can’t live with is a shit-stain like Pyotr being the reason for it. He doesn’t get to ruin two kids’ lives, then make me their executioner.” Kai’s jaw ticked, and he threw back the bourbon. “Fuck that.”
Sergei lowered his gaze. “You’re right. They’ll be nothing more than casualties. Even if you kill Alina to save your fetch, Pyotr won’t stop. He’ll hunt that girl to the ends of the earth to sate his pride.”
“The only person whose life is worth taking here is your boss’s,” Connor chimed in. “He’s a damn blight, and you know it.”
“Agreed,” said Kai, lifting his empty glass to Connor.
“It would behoove me to withhold my opinion on that,” Sergei grumbled. “Either way, he’s only half the picture. Eliminating Pyotr won’t stop one girl from trying to kill and replace the other. The only solution would be to murder father and daughter.”
Kai’s shoulders slumped with another sigh.
Connor hung his head and swore. “Right…and I call myself Irish.”
“We all have our flaws—” Kai stopped mid-sentence and sat pin straight. His breath hitched, and his head snapped toward the back door. “Company.”
Before Sergei or Connor could ask for clarification, a sound like thunder crashed through the bar. A chorus of footsteps pummeled the floorboards as a dozen armed men filed into the dining room and surrounded them. Kai expected a police raid, but as he scanned the intruders, he didn’t see a single one in uniform. They weren’t cops; they were mobsters. They’d already unholstered their guns—semi-automatic pistols and revolvers, all of them with suppressors.
Kai’s skin prickled with heat, his stomach revolting at the sight of the firearms. He never got over the visceral reaction they gave him—a reminder that his parents were stolen too soon. Pointless. Preventable. He would’ve traded his soul to forget, to feel nothing, but the pain was a token left behind by Mikhail Zverev.
“What the hell is this?” Connor bellowed. “We’re neutral territory, you dumb fucks.”
Sergei blanched next to them, his pulse skittering wildly beneath wan skin. He recognized them.
“Not anymore.” One of the goons stepped forward. He clasped his hands in front of him, fisting his gun as he tapped the barrel against his navy slacks. His shoulder holster cut across a well-ironed dress shirt, his matching blazer barely obscuring the strap. “This is Pyotr’s bar now.”
Kai remained seated, calculating. He could beat up twelve men. That they were armed was inconvenient, but eating a few bullets wouldn’t kill him so long as they weren’t well-placed. His wounds from the park were healing well, and once the adrenaline kicked in, he wouldn’t feel them screaming.
Connor’s fingers twitched behind the counter. He had a strict no firearm policy. Given the clientele, minimizing the number of triggers seemed wise—not that a hidden rifle under the sink would’ve done much good against a dozen gun-toting assholes. “Why the hell does Pyotr want my bar? He already owns half the city.”
The goon tapping his thigh flashed a crooked smile, his gaze sliding to Sergei. “There’s a rat infestation. We’re here to clean out the vermin. As payment, Pyotr’s installing new management. To ensure things are…up to code.”
Kai snorted. Up to code . So, Pyotr knew Sergei was conspiring to keep Caelan safe. Maybe he’d gotten sloppy. Either way, the outcome was on their hands.
“I didn’t hire any exterminators,” Connor shot back, and several chuckles flitted through the pack.
“Community service,” replied the mobster, his smile widening.
If Ama were here, she’d goad him for mucking up his metaphor. Community service was free.
“No need. There’s already a mouser on property.” Kai grinned. “And my teeth are sharp.”
“You’re still vermin,” he spat.
“You sure you’re pest control, or are you just here to replace rats with roaches?”
A few of the men pitched forward as Sergei grabbed Kai’s shoulder to rein him in. Even if he hadn’t lunged for anyone’s throat, he lacked the restraint to bridle his tongue.
“You’re also coming with us.” The leader lifted his gun in Kai’s direction. “You had a deal with Pyotr—a job to do. The boss doesn’t take kindly to liars.”
Kai wasn’t listening. The second that fucking barrel leveled at him, carnage painted his vision. “Then catch me if you can,” he growled, darting off the stool faster than Sergei could think to stop him.
He closed the distance before anyone could take aim, elbowing the inside of the goon’s forearm to slacken his grip. The gun thudded to the floor, and Kai kicked it toward the bar, then grasped the man by his too-gelled hair. With a rough jerk, he forced their gazes to meet. “You want blood?” His voice was feral, graveled by rage. “I’ll give you blood.”
A strangled rasp was all the man mustered before Kai ripped an oily tuft from the back of his head, then kicked him square in the chest. Kai heard several ribs shatter before the man flew across the bar and crashed into a table, retching as he coughed up his insides. Disbelieving stares whipped toward the mess. Shocked silence. Quiet mutters. Then, the simultaneous clicks of a dozen safety mechanisms going off. Every single gun in the room pointed at Kai.
Reckless? Yes. Satisfying? Also yes. But Kai would rather dig bullets out of his own body than let Pyotr’s men abduct him for some perceived slight. They surrounded him, thinking that if they cut him off, he’d have no choice but to go quietly. But all they’d done was aim their weapons at each other. A cocktail of cortisol, sweat, and iron hit Kai’s nose, the odor invigorating. They were afraid of him. Pyotr sent twelve men to subdue one because they knew they’d be fighting a beast.
Kai scanned their faces, stopping at the one that stank strongest like chicken shit. Mouth quirking into a smirk, Kai winked, then ducked left. The man panicked. His gun went off, directionless, and someone in the circle screamed, their leg buckling.
Two down , Kai thought, using his momentum to side-check one of the other buffoons straight into the bar where Connor wrapped a dish towel around his neck, wrestling him into a chokehold. Snatching his gun before he could use it, Sergei pistol-whipped the man’s face until he crumpled. They both stooped behind the bar, though hardly anyone paid them any mind, their focus on Kai as he pivoted behind a post for cover, then sprang at one of the mobsters, knocking his skull into the floor with a loud crack. Another gunshot went off, muffled by the suppressor, and Kai’s arm stung like he’d been struck by a lash.
The bullet had only grazed.
Trapping a snarl behind clenched teeth, Kai spun off another attacker, using him as a human shield. Then, he grabbed the gunner’s wrist. With a quick wrench, he snapped the joint, the firearm’s clank against the floor drowned out by a pained wail. With a violent shove to the chest, Kai sent the man sprawling, then stomped on his ankle, breaking that joint too.
Five down .
Skirting around the bedlam, Kai smashed his forearm into a man’s throat, then hucked his discarded semi-automatic at another mobster’s face. He swung an arm around the cunt who’d first fired at him, whispering a menacing hello into his ear. The bastard tried to fight, bucking madly, but Kai cinched his carotid with an elbow, relishing the strangled noises that left him as his face reddened, and a vein popped in his temple. As he blacked out, some of the others gathered their bearings. Kai dropped the deadweight and slid behind a table as another bullet flew past. He drove his fist through a chair leg to break off the end, then flung the makeshift stake at the shooter, spearing his shoulder. His pistol tumbled out of his grasp, and he fell into his hollering comrade. Kai didn’t waste the opportunity; he bolted forward, unsheathed his hunting knife, and buried it into the second man’s gut, twisting before he withdrew.
Both men shambled, one clutching his stomach as blood spilled over his fingers. His expression warped into a sneer as he hurled a few choice words about Kai’s mother.
“My mother’s dead.” Kai raised the knife to his lips. His tongue slid along the blade, lapping crimson from silver. Then, a baleful grin—all teeth rimmed with red. “I’ll send you to meet her.”
Not a single mobster cocked their gun at Kai as though it were a measure of their machismo. Most of them were injured and had lost their dicks, their weapons scattered around the bar in pieces. The pack leader clutched his ribs and finally hobbled from the heap of chairs he’d hurtled into.
“Don’t move!” a shaky voice commanded from the rear of the dining hall.
Kai’s stomach bottomed out as he shifted his attention. One of the mobsters had fled, but he’d caught something on his way. Now, he was back for his ransom. He had one arm around Carol’s neck, awkwardly forcing her along. With the other, he held a gun to her temple, the barrel digging in as she leaned away. She looked more pissed than scared, barking out threats as she wriggled in his grasp. He twisted her arm, and she yelped, her protests snuffed out.
“Try anything and I’ll blow her damn brains out!” His hand shook against the grip.
“Fuck!” Connor nearly threw himself over the bar, but Sergei hauled him back, hissing at him to calm down.
The taste of satisfaction dissipated, leaving only the sour tang of blood in Kai’s mouth. There’d been someone in the kitchen. He’d heard them prepping, but the adrenaline erased it from his mind, and by the time Pyotr’s men stormed in, Kai had forgotten about the lone employee. He cursed his own lack of forethought—his belligerent refusal to play smart when he would rather play rough.
“Surrender,” said the man holding Carol. Meanwhile, Connor stood helpless, his eyes flying to Kai for an answer he didn’t have.
Kai squeezed his hunting knife, scanning the room. He was happy to risk his own hide—hell, he’d even give Connor and Sergei a thrill if he’d draw most of the trouble. They knew the life they’d signed up for. But Carol? She never asked for this. Even if he could find a way to maneuver, a gun to her head wasn’t worth the risk. Reluctantly, Kai sheathed his knife, dropped it to the floor, then raised both hands and clasped them behind his head.
Two men jumped the counter and grabbed Sergei, dragging him away. His angry bellow was cut short when one of them hammered him on the head, knocking him out cold. The attacker spat on Sergei’s shoes, muttering profanities.
Wrath propelled Kai to untether his hands and step forward when something struck him on the back of his skull. Stars bloomed before his eyes as he fought for balance, the urge to open his assailant’s veins a furious itch on his palms, but he couldn’t fight back. He had to take it. As he straightened, he was hit again, and again, each blow landing with more force than the last until he collapsed to his knees, his head swimming.
“Why won’t you go down?” the leader spewed from behind, and Kai turned just enough to see him wind up his pistol, one arm still wrapped around his broken ribs.
A snarl rippled across Kai’s face as he bared his teeth, defiance lacing his bones.
“Fucking animal !” He whipped Kai hard enough that he fell forward, bracing against the floor with a fist. “Go to sleep!”
Steadying his breaths, Kai clung to consciousness. He couldn’t retaliate, but he wouldn’t comply either. If they wanted to concuss him into submission, they’d have work for it. Sight bleary and skull splitting with hellish pain, Kai looked up at the mobster, committing his face to memory. Then, he smiled, his blood-tinged eyes a promise of what was to come. “When it’s my turn, I won’t need a gun.”
He saw the waver, the tell-tale flinch as uncertainty snared the mobster by the throat. Then, he lifted his weapon.
The last thing Kai saw was the butt of a gun, plummeting toward his temple.