Chapter 8 #2
The thought leaves my hands cold, though I could cross the room and drag her away, rewarding the provocation as I prove Pasha’s insult reached me. Katie already told me she won’t be positioned like property. If I claim her now, I answer with another form of control.
I turn my full attention to the captain explaining access along the Savannah freight line, hearing each word without retaining any of them. Behind him, the ring bell sounds before the crowd rises as one fighter drives the other into the ropes.
I don’t look at Katie again, even though turning away tightens the pressure under my ribs because I can no longer see what she gives him.
Boris moves into my peripheral vision after several minutes, saying nothing as his position gives me a clear path toward the ring, and I keep speaking to the captain.
Katie appears at the edge of my sight with her hand no longer on Sergei’s sleeve. The satisfaction has left her face, and she looks at me as if waiting for some response to what she did.
I give none.
She says something brief to Sergei before turning away, but he moves with her for one step. Katie shakes her head and points toward me, making the end of the exchange clear even before she starts across the floor.
His hand closes around her wrist, sending me across the room before the captain finishes his sentence.
Katie twists toward Sergei. “Let go of me.”
Her words carry through the noise because the nearest tables have gone quiet.
Sergei draws her back against his chest, one arm crossing hers so his hand can close around her wrist against her body. He puts his other hand along her cheek and spreads his fingers toward her mouth as he looks directly at me.
Katie drives her heel down toward his foot, but the gown restricts her angle, and Sergei turns at the last second, avoiding most of the strike.
I cross the remaining space.
“Remove your hand from my wife.”
I speak quietly, and Sergei hears me, as does everyone who matters. They can also hear Katie breathing hard through her nose.
Sergei’s thumb moves over her lower lip. “She approached me. Perhaps your dancer prefers a man who lets her choose where she stands.”
“She chose to leave. Release her.”
He tightens his grip on her wrist.
The refusal ends his life: I catch Sergei’s right wrist and turn it until his hand leaves Katie’s face, then Boris pulls her clear as I draw the pistol under my jacket. The muzzle meets the left side of his chest before I fire once.
The shot fills the space, and Sergei’s body strikes mine as his knees give way, sending hot blood across the front of my shirt. The bitter taste of gunpowder reaches my tongue while the ringing in my ears swallows the shouts around us.
Sergei collapses beside the ring, and Katie flinches when his shoulder hits the floor.
Boris keeps one arm across her waist until she pushes it down, needing the space despite her shaking hands.
A red mark circles her wrist, with Sergei’s fingerprints staying pale along her cheek until blood returns under them.
Nobody else draws as my guards enter from the freight corridor. Saranov soldiers spread away from the walls, though Pasha lifts one hand before either side raises a weapon. Starting a firefight now would kill neutral captains and end any claim that Sergei’s death violated his hospitality.
The ring medic kneels beside Sergei, pressing two fingers to the lieutenant’s throat before removing them without beginning treatment. Pasha looks down at his lieutenant with his face still, though the red stone on his left hand flashes when his fist closes.
Katie stands behind Boris with one hand pressed around the wrist Sergei grabbed. Her skin has gone pale under her makeup, and her chest rises too quickly, though her gaze stays fixed on me rather than the body.
I return the pistol to its holster as Pasha approaches until Sergei lies between us. “You killed my lieutenant under my roof.”
“He restrained my wife after she ordered him to release her.”
“She came to him willingly.”
Pasha glances toward the captains who watched Sergei pull her back, searching for support he doesn’t receive.
“Approaching him didn’t surrender her right to leave.”
One of the neutral captains steps closer. “We heard the woman refuse him.”
Another captain stays seated, watching Pasha rather than me; the code doesn’t require affection for Katie. It requires recognition that a married woman may withdraw an invitation without being taken in front of her husband.
The first captain turns toward Katie. “Did you approach Sergei willingly?”
Her breath stays uneven, but her answer carries across the tables. “Twice. I approached him because I was angry with my husband. I tried to leave because I was done being angry that way.”
She looks at me after saying it, her mouth tightening briefly before she returns her attention to the captain.
He nods once. “Approaching him doesn’t excuse what followed.”
Pasha looks around the room as two captains confer near the bar, speaking too quietly for me to hear; nobody offers him the agreement he wants.
“A payment might have answered an insult,” he says. “Blood under my roof requires more.”
I look at the blood soaking my shirt. “Send the amount to Boris.”
“You misunderstand. Sergei was family. Killing him is a declaration of war against mine.”
The warehouse has become quiet enough for the damaged overhead ventilation to reach us. Katie’s perfume clings to my hands under the copper smell of Sergei’s blood.
Pasha waits without speaking, leaving room for me to retreat into negotiation; accepting Katie’s humiliation would preserve the peace.
I look at Katie’s shaking hand. “Then we are at war.”
Movement spreads through the room, and men reach for phones as neutral captains begin choosing exits. The fighters stay in opposite corners of the ring, gloves raised with nobody left to watch them.
Pasha’s gaze settles on Katie. “Your husband has given you an expensive wedding gift.”
I step into his sightline. “Look at her again and you’ll join Sergei.”
While Boris puts my coat around Katie’s shoulders, Ivan calls the vehicles, and around us, our guards close ranks. The freight corridor remains clear of Saranov soldiers, although even Pasha won’t begin the war he declared by firing into neutral captains before they decide whose code was broken.
We leave Sergei beside the ring, stepping into the cold air of the loading alley. Katie walks without assistance, though her shaking hand keeps the coat closed at her throat. I want to touch her wrist and confirm Sergei did no lasting damage, but I keep both hands visible under her stare.
The armored car door closes behind us, and Boris takes the front seat, giving the privacy of a dark partition without pretending he can’t hear.
Katie sits opposite me, and streetlights move across her face as the vehicle leaves the warehouse. Anger has returned through the shock, strengthening her voice when she finally speaks.
“Would you kill anyone who touches me?”
Blood cools against my shirt.
“Sergei already received the answer to that question, darling.”