Chapter 2 – Kostya
“He’s definitely gonna be furious.” Alex Rykov laughed, sipping from his glass of whiskey. “I can imagine it.” His lips curled up into a smirk.
The club was raving tonight; the DJ's upbeat music was booming across the hall, his tune penetrating the souls of the swarm of dancers, grooving intensely with their hands in the air.
Legs crossed, sitting in the midst of two random girls I'd only just met thirty minutes ago, I watched Alex from across a low table between us. He was busy recounting how good it was to watch Gabriel's security details tremble in fear at the sight of us.
He thought it was funny, but I found it rather disappointing. Even my guard dogs would put up a better fight than that poor attempt at resistance we met at the real estate property. I had expected some real action, but unfortunately, those fuckers were no match for us, and a good number of them actually ran away for their lives. Imbeciles.
“I should've caught those idiots on camera. It was hilarious.” Alex chuckled.
Gabriel Brown was a successful businessman. So successful, in fact, that he had the government's top officials on his speed dial. But one couldn't rise to his level of fame, wealth, status, and power without making a few enemies along the way. I, for one, didn't give a shit about him; he'd never crossed my lane, and I never crossed his. Well, at least not until now, anyway.
One of Gabriel's rivals had hired us to vandalize his real estate property downtown. The Tarasov Bratva had always been known for their efficiency in getting the job done professionally. People who were afraid to get their hands dirty often reached out to us to clean up their messes. So long as they paid well, we would deliver, regardless of who was right or wrong. Our business wasn't run on sentiment, no. Business was business. Period.
Alex spanked a stripper's ass as she bent over, grinding slowly on his groin. “Hmm.” He licked his lower lip, his head tilted to have a better view of her backside.
I leaned forward and poured myself a drink as another stripper, tall and skinny, approached me on all fours. “Not tonight, sweetheart.” I took a sip and settled into the chair, cradling the glass in my hand.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone low and sexy. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she stuck her tongue out, twirling it over her lips with an arousing move. “I can help you feel really good.” She placed her manicured fingers on my chest, running her long nails over my undershirt.
“I said, not tonight .” I pried her hand off me.
She flashed her nice perky titties at me in an attempt to make me reconsider, but my mind was made up. As attractive as she was, I wasn't gonna fuck her tonight. That wasn't the reason I was here.
When she noticed that she'd lost my attention, she rose to her feet and walked away, looking for someone else to entertain.
Alex glanced at me with a smile and dismissed the girl dancing on his lap.
“Don't do that on my accord,” I said, setting my glass back on the table.
He groaned slightly. “I was getting bored already.”
Alex was the most loyal and trusted soldier who'd been working for me for over a decade. The man was a ruthless fuck, cruel but tactical. He was tall, standing at 6’0, with a pair of hollow eyes that held no emotions most times. There was a deep cut that ran across his left eye, a scar he'd gotten a few years ago when fighting an armed assailant hired to kill me. The man had earned my respect and my trust. He was one of the few people in this world with whom I was completely honest.
“That piece of property must have cost a fucking fortune,” Alex said, refilling his glass. “Mr. Brown will not be pleased.”
“But then again, that's the whole point, isn't it?”
“Our client is clearly livid. I wonder what he’s done to tick them off.” Alex emptied the glass in one quick shot and let out a sigh.
With the music thundering and the crowd lost in the beats, my eyes roamed the expansive space, taking in the sea of dancers. I'd noticed something fishy in the crowd: a couple of men in black. They seemed out of place, and momentarily, they would look up at the VIP lounge where we were seated.
At first, I tried to brush off the uneasy feeling that something was off about those guys. But they wouldn't stop staring when they thought I wasn't looking. I could feel their gaze upon me, and every time I glanced their way, they'd look elsewhere.
Something was definitely going on; danger was looming over us.
By the east wing, I caught two more men in black with dark shades over their eyes. They had their hands tucked inside their jackets, and they stood like commandos, eyes fixed on us. Yep, those fuckers were armed, and we were their target tonight.
“Everything alright?” Alex asked, squinting at me. He must have noticed how carefully I was studying the environment.
“We have company,” I replied, sitting upright. “And not the good kind.”
Silently, he traced my gaze without moving his head. “I count two on the east wing.”
“There's three more beneath us. That's a total of five,” I said, reaching for the gun tucked in my pants.
He did the same and cocked his weapon with a smirk on the corner of his lips. “I hope they put up a better fight this time.”
From the staircase, one of them withdrew his gun and aimed at us, but before he could squeeze the trigger, I fired three times, each bullet hitting the same spot: his heart.
The sound of a gunshot alerted the crowd, and soon, the yelling and screaming began as they ran around, seeking shelter.
The man I'd gunned down fell over the railing, crashing on a table below that broke under his weight. His colleagues opened fire, shooting at us as bullets flew in the air, knocking down anything and anyone in their paths.
I flipped the table, using it as a barricade the moment the shooting began.
“Yeah, go ahead. Waste your bullets,” Alex muttered as we hid behind the table.
One rushed up the steps, his gun held out in front of him. I dashed out into the open, bolting towards him with lightning speed. He fired two shots, but I dodged them, sliding beneath him as I unsheathed my dagger. With it, I stabbed his foot, forcing him to groan painfully. In a heartbeat, the blade bore into his thigh, and I dragged it upward, ripping not only the fabric of his pants but also his flesh.
His screams ceased the moment I plunged the same blade into his temple. Standing in front of him, I watched his body convulse, his life force ebbing away while his eyes overflowed with blood. From the wound in his temple, a dark, viscous liquid spurted, and soon, he dropped, lifeless at my feet.
I ducked, dodging another bullet fired at me. By now, the club was empty; many had escaped death tonight. However, a few were unlucky; they got hit by stray bullets. Even the club security had fled. Alex and I took these amateurs. This wasn't our first rodeo, and it most certainly wasn't going to be the last.
As though in sync, we both leaped off the railing and landed like cats in front of our opponents. There were two remaining; the others were dead. The morons had completely run out of bullets, and so they switched to physical combat, taking boxing stances and flashing their knives at us.
I scoffed at their stupidity. “You would have been better off with those guns.”
They were even bigger idiots to think that they stood a chance as they launched an attack at us. Alex was busy with one, leaving the other guy with me.
Clearly, they were good with the knives, but not good enough. My blade constantly clanked against my opponent's in a heated brawl. Our hands were a rapid blur of movements, and the hall was filled with the thick grunts of men fighting to the death.
In no time, the assailants realized that they were losing, and the one fighting Alex ran away the first chance he got. The guy fighting me attempted to do the same, but with a swift, precise movement, I grasped his arm with an iron grip, trapping it into a vulnerable position. He yelled in pain as I snapped the arm like a brittle twig, the sound of shattering bone echoing in the air.
He staggered, and before his brain would register what was happening, I pulled out my gun and shot his other arm. The man shrieked, louder this time. I aimed at his left knee and fired once. He crashed to the ground, rolling over the floor.
“Who are you?” I walked up to him, adjusting my suit.
He was too disoriented to answer; the man was suffering, and it gave me satisfaction watching him bleed out from multiple places.
I squatted over him and plunged the barrel of my gun into the wound in his knee.
“Please, please…” he cried.
The sound of approaching sirens caught my attention, and I jerked my head at Alex.
“The cops are coming. We gotta go, Boss,” he said, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
It was a shame that I didn't get to torture the truth out of this scoundrel. But Alex was right; we needed to disappear.
“You're one lucky son of a bitch,” I muttered to the man groaning on the floor as I rose to my feet and walked out of the club with Alex going ahead of me.
I felt a slight itch at the back of my arm, a little discomfort, but I was quick to rule it out as nothing.
The sirens were getting louder, but we were already headed to our cars in the parking lot.
“Find out who's behind this,” I said to Alex, opening the driver's door of my vehicle.
“Got it,” he answered, standing by his car. “But where're you going?”
“To find one who got away,” came my reply.
“Boss, your arm,” he said, drawing my attention to it.
I looked at it and realized that my arm was bleeding. The slight itch I felt a moment ago was actually this wound. “It's just a flesh wound.”
“It's deeper than a flesh wound, Boss,” he said, stepping forward to take a closer look. “It appears a bullet grazed your arm.” Alex examined the wound. “It's deep, though.”
“I'll live.” I pulled away from him. “Just do as I ordered.”
I was so used to pain that I didn't notice this wound, and besides, I'd survived worse.
He nodded and walked back to his car.
We both got into our vehicles and drove away.