Chapter 23 Vadim
VADIM
"Get inside," I tell Danica without taking my eyes off Petr. The knife in his hand reflects the dying light, flashing like a fishing lure, and I keep my eyes locked on it. It's not a fair fight, but I'm not used to things being fair.
She doesn't move. I can hear her ragged breathing behind me where she slumps on the ground by the garage.
Petr pushes himself up, one hand going to his shoulder where the shovel hit. His eyes are wild, pupils dilated. He's been drinking. I can smell it from here.
"This doesn't concern you, Russian." He spits blood onto the ground. "She was mine first. Marko promised—"
"Marko's debt is paid." I take a step forward, glancing at the shovel I dropped when he knocked me on my feet. "I settled with him weeks ago."
"He promised me I could have her once her debt was paid off, and I intend to collect that…" This man is insane. Marko never owned Danica to have permission to give her to this man.
My jaw clenches and I grind my teeth. This bastard has been stalking my wife for years, and Marko used her as bait to keep him loyal. It's sickening.
"She's not property," I growl. "She's my wife."
"You soiled what was mine." Petr's face twists a snarl and he spits at my feet, and we're circling slowly, him with his knife, me with my hands ready to strike the instant I have a chance. "You made her stink like a Russian. It's time I take back what is promised to me."
Petr's eyes turn toward Danica for a split second, and I use that moment to snatch the shovel off the ground, and I swing it again, but Petr's faster than I expect.
He ducks under it and drives his fist into my ribs where pain explodes through my side, but I don't let go.
I bring the handle up and catch him under the chin, snapping his head back.
"Vadim—" Danica whimpers, and I know I can't protect her and myself at the same time.
"Go inside. Now."
"But—"
"Inside!" I order again, now using the shovel to shove him back.
I hear her scramble to her feet and run toward the house, and relief settles over me. She doesn't need to see this and I don't have the capacity to protect both of us at once. With her gone, however, things get ugly fast.
Petr lunges at me, and I drop the shovel to meet him with my fists.
We collide and go down, rolling across the ground.
He gets in a solid punch to my jaw, and stars erupt across my vision before I pop back to my feet and return it with two jabs to his ribs, feeling something crack under my knuckles.
I can tell by the way he moves that he's trained, the way he blocks and counters. But not as good as me. We break apart and circle each other, panting and heaving for breath.
"Back off, Petr. She chose me, and you know it."
That sets him off. He charges with a roar and we're trading blows again, fists and elbows and knees as I dodge the blade like I'm jumping over flames.
He's stronger than he looks, and every time he does make contact, it's bone-crushing.
My lip splits. My eye swells. But I'm landing hits too, and he's slowing down.
I get him in a headlock and we go down again.
He bucks and thrashes but I hold on, squeezing, cutting off his air.
Just a little longer and he'll pass out.
Then I can finish this cleanly. But his grip on the knife is too firm, and he swings his arm back, at just the right angle.
I twist, but the blade catches my side, slicing through my shirt and into flesh.
Hot pain lances through me and I release him, rolling away. But the damage is done.
We both scramble to our feet as blood soaks through my shirt. The cut isn't deep but it's long, running from my armpit to my hip. Petr holds the knife in front of him menacingly, and I see my blood on the metal that he grins at like he's won.
"I'm going to gut you," he says. His body shakes with rage and adrenaline. "Then I'm going to take her. I'm going to make her watch you bleed out and then I'm going to ruin her."
Over my dead body…
He lunges with the knife, and I sidestep, catching his wrist in the pass. We grapple for control of the blade until I twist his wrist, forcing the knife to turn in his grip, pointing it back toward him.
Petr is a strong man, but he's a stupid fighter. He spends too much energy to do the job well, and now he's tired, and his opponent has the upper hand.
"You made a mistake," I tell him through gritted teeth as I back him against the garage right where he had her pinned. "You made a huge mistake touching my property." The blade inches toward his face as he begins to tire and lose strength.
"She's mine!" He screams it in my face, spittle flying.
"She was never yours," I growl as I drive my knee into his stomach, and his grip on the knife loosens just enough. I wrench it from his hand and in one smooth motion, I bring it to his throat. The blade presses against his skin and he freezes.
"Please," he whispers, all the fight draining out of him. "Please don't."
"You had your chance to walk away. Now you learn why people don’t cross the Bratva."
Understanding dawns in his eyes, but fear follows quickly on its heels. I watch his face go pale and his grip on my wrist loosens as his poor attempt to defend himself with a final blow to my ribs fails and I draw the blade across his carotid artery.
Blood sprays across my face and chest. Petr's eyes go wide and he clutches at his throat, trying to stem the flow, but it's useless.
It's a mortal wound. He's already dead, and we're watching the final grains of sand drop in the hourglass now.
He drops to his knees, choking, drowning in his own blood.
I stand over him until he stops moving and his eyes glaze over. A few tremors make him jolt and jump, and the stench of urine wafts upward from his body. Then I run a hand through my hair and try to catch my breath.
There's a body in the neighbor's yard. My blood is on the ground. Petr's blood is everywhere. If someone sees this and the cops come, I'm done. Prison or deportation—and Danica will be alone.
I can't let that happen.
The neighbor's trashcan sits by their back gate, and a quick glance at their window shows no one has been watching.
I drag Petr's body over to it, grunting with the effort, and open the lid.
The wound in my side screams with every movement, but I ignore it and work around the pain as I dump the body into the can, folding him awkwardly to make him fit, then replace the lid.
It's not perfect, but it'll do until I can come back and deal with it properly.
I grab the shovel and use it to scrape dirt over the worst of the blood.
It's dark enough that people won't notice unless they're looking closely, and I'll come back later with bleach to clean it properly.
For now, this has to be good enough. I've left her alone for too long, and God only knows if she's called the police.
My shirt is soaked through with blood, so I strip it off and ball it up, planning to burn it later. But the cut on my side is still bleeding, a steady trickle that needs attention now.
I head inside through the back door and Danica's in the living room, pacing. Her neck is bruised, her shirt torn, her hands shaking. When she sees me, her eyes go wide and her lip quivers.
"Vadim."
"I'm okay," I tell her, but there's too much blood to stop and comfort her. I have to get the bleeding stopped and cleaned up so I can deal with the body. "I need your help."
She follows me into the kitchen where I turn on the sink and splash water over my face, watching the blood swirl down the drain, then I grab a rag and wet it thoroughly. She looks terrified as she touches my side lightly, and I wince.
"What happened?" she whimpers. "Where's Petr?"
"Dead." I press the dish towel to my side, wincing again. It fucking hurts. I probably need stitches, but what excuse would I use at an emergency center? "I need you to bandage this."
"You killed him?" Danica sounds terrified, but what other alternative was there? He wasn’t going to stop, and even if he did, what’s to say he wouldn’t come back with Marko and a dozen men and finish us both?
"I didn't have a choice." I turn to face her, letting the towel drop so she can see the knife wound, and her eyes go wider as she shakes her head. "I need you to help me clean it and wrap it. Can you do that?"
She nods slowly and moves to the cabinet where we keep the first aid kit.
Her hands are steadier now that she has a task.
She pulls out gauze and antiseptic and tape, setting them on the counter, and in the process, she drops the scissors.
I pick them up for her and something in her kicks into gear.
She starts giving orders like a charge nurse, which I am prone to obey.
"Sit," she says, pointing to one of the kitchen chairs.
"This needs stitches." Her voice sounds chastising, but she doesn't protest again as she wipes the cut clean, uses bandages to butterfly the laceration together, then applies gauze and tape to hold it in place.
When she's done, she uses an elastic wrap all the way around my ribs multiple times to hold it all in place, and then I take her hands.
She's still trembling, and I hate to see her so scared yet again, but this particular danger is past, and I need to reassure her of it.
"Rodnaya," I start, and her eyes track up to meet my gaze. It's a tender word for her considering I've never told her what I feel, but I think she's beginning to understand. "He's gone, and he will never hurt you again, okay?"
"But Marko—"
"Marko didn't send him." Anger swirls in my chest at the idea that he promised Danica to Petr once the debt was collected.
If I'd have known Petr worked for Marko, I'd have told Marko to call off his dogs a long time ago.
But it makes sense now why he's been singling her out.
"Okay?" I say, but she shakes her head in disbelief.
"Petr wasn't pleased that I paid your debt. He thinks he was owed you… He's probably the one meant to keep an eye on you for Marko, and when I paid your debt, Marko called him off, but he never got paid."
Danica's eyes dart around anxiously. "I was his payment?" she asks.
"Not anymore, okay?" I rise and press a kiss to her forehead, gripping her face in my hands so she whimpers and pulls away. "I have to take care of this, though, or the police will get involved. We can't have that, okay?"
"No, please, don't go…" She clings to me, but I have to force her back.
"Danica, if I don’t take care of the body now and the neighbors see the blood or take out their trash, it will trace back to me or you.
" My chest constricts when I think of spending a life in prison away from her.
And what if she were to be blamed? It wouldn't be the first time Petr had a complaint about her.
Someone could've seen him following her.
"No…" she whines, but I press a kiss to her lips and swallow her protest.
"It'll take a few hours. You go have a shower, have some vodka, and climb in bed. I'll be home soon."
I can't stay to listen to her protest again. She doesn’t understand how my world works yet, but if she sticks around long, she will.
It's just one thing after another here, and I don't have the mental capacity to keep dealing with bullshit. But at least this one is a one and done deal. Petr is out of her hair and out of mine. I just have to dispose of the body.
And pray when Lev or whoever Yuri is sending shows up, they don't ask questions or snoop around what I've been doing for the past month.