Chapter 18
Artem
“Are you really letting her go?”
I don’t even look at Sasha when my two brothers join me on the driveway in front of the house.
“For now,” I answer shortly, seeming calm. But I am not.
I am starving with the need to destroy
someone, just as fiercely as I wanted to pull her into my arms when I saw her tears.
“Why didn’t you tell her why you didn’t make it?”
“Because I don’t want to give her another trauma,” I explain, increasingly exhausted, feeling the blood trickle down my skin. “She already has a string of bad memories when it comes to her concerts.”
“And breaking her heart isn’t another trauma?” the youngest asks, baffled.
I exhale heavily.
He is right.
No matter what I had done, this situation could not have had a happy ending. But I knew I had to lose this battle.
I will not make the same mistake in the future.
I will win the war.
“We need to prepare,” I tell them, taking another drag from my cigarette. “Chaos will begin soon.”
“Before anything else, the doctor needs to see you,” Yar reminds me, still furious after everything that happened today.
I bring my hand to my shoulder, where the blood is sliding beneath the black fabric now soaked with crimson after the blows delivered by the woman of my soul.
In the car, on the way home, I barely managed to press a bandage over the wound and change into a clean shirt, one meant to hide the injury I did not want Ekaterina to see.
Half an hour later, the doctor finishes stitching the wound in my office while I slowly drink from the glass of vodka Sasha poured for me.
Dima keeps me constantly updated on what is happening with the girls, who have arrived at the blonde’s place.
Her apartment is in a building downtown, but my men have spread throughout the area, enough to keep them safe.
“Try not to move it at least until the wound closes,” the doctor tells me, repeating the same tired line I have heard before, though even he knows I will ignore it. “And if you feel dizzy or the headache gets worse, call me. We’ll run more detailed tests immediately.”
I don’t bother answering him. My gaze is fixed on an empty point, where I see only her image.
Her pained face.
Her tears.
But most of all, her disappointment.
I disappointed her.
And that is exactly why I roared like a savage when I realized someone was standing in my way and I could no longer reach the woman waiting for me.
I close my eyes, and every moment of this evening returns, feeding the monsters inside me as they begin to gather for what I am about to do.
- Few hours ago
The platinum blonde approaches me with a fawning smile on her face, one I cannot stand.
Lucky for her, those full lips make her suck cock like a pro, but otherwise, her mouth is good for nothing.
I tested her once or twice about two years ago, but I got bored of her immediately and sent her to my men so she could relax them instead.
Tonight, she has more nerve and tries to touch me.
The voices demand I kill her because she dares put her hands on me.
Only one woman is allowed to do that. And this blonde comes with her filthy hands to touch what does not belong to her.
The simple fact that I belong to Ekaterina turns her into my limit.
Into the only rule I respect. And this siliconed-up woman doesn’t even have the right to look at me.
“Move along,” I tell her coldly.
“Please, Pakhan... Don’t be cruel. I miss your thick cock. None of these soldiers have one as perfect as yours,” she purrs beside me.
Which makes me lean toward her and whisper in her ear with terrifying calm,
“I’m giving you three seconds to disappear from my side, or everyone will be dancing on the floor in your blood.”
Her face goes white, turning her into a wideeyed ghost, and then she quickly runs off through the crowd.
I turn toward Yar, who shakes his head. “I don’t even want to know what you told her.”
“I dedicated her a song. ‘Murder on the Dancefloor11,’” I answer dryly.
Sasha laughs, but my older brother doesn’t appreciate the joke. To be honest, I am not exactly displaying any cheer either.
“When did you become this funny?” he asks with sarcasm.
“I’ve always been funny. But not everyone appreciates my black humor,” I answer, checking my watch for the tenth time in the last minute.
And I clench my teeth.
“If he doesn’t show up in the next two minutes, I’m leaving.”
“I know you have somewhere to be, but don’t forget this meeting is just as important.”
I know that too, but Katya is the most important thing to me. I would have canceled today’s meeting if I could, but someone told us he has information about who killed Ekaterina’s father and demanded that the meeting take place here, now.
11Song by Sophie Ellis-Bextor
On our territory.
Though it seemed suspicious to me. Too easy. But I had no other option. Plan B is for my brothers to stay here and wait for him while I leave for Royal Albert Hall, but the informant asked to meet me.
This is the second recital Katya will perform there, and the first experience was not exactly pleasant because of her father.
Which is why I refuse to allow anything to stop me from reaching her, from giving her another painful memory tied to her performances.
She already considers them a bad omen for the people she loves.
I don’t want to give her any more reasons to feel guilty.
Beside us, one of the soldiers approaches, a finger pressed to the earpiece in his ear. From the tension in his body, I feel I’m about to kill someone.
I am already clenching my teeth before he says the words.
“Pakhan, we have activity outside.”
One of the voices begins to growl inside me.
“Two cars and a van in the club parking lot. No license plates.”
I knew there was a reason I did not like this club, a reason I avoid coming here even though it’s one of the businesses we use for money laundering.
It is too exposed, even if it sits at the end of a narrow side street in a less-than-pretty neighborhood in North London. I’ve wanted to move it many times, but my brothers advised me to leave it here because it is highly profitable precisely because it is hidden and ideal for drug traffickers.
“We need to go,” Yar says.
Sasha is already on his feet, one hand reaching behind his back, where he keeps one of his guns.
“It was a fucking trap,” I tell the two of them through my teeth, though I am sure they have realized it too.
Fury leaks from every pore as I understand that I have walked into someone’s snare, someone now standing between me and getting to that recital.
We go outside, flanked by nearly ten soldiers, but the street is blocked.
The vehicles are parked perpendicular to the rest, and several masked men begin getting out of them, wearing bulletproof vests over black shirts and ski masks over their heads.
Their weapons are aimed at us, and we are directly in the path of gunfire if the attack begins.
But we have always been prepared for a moment like this, and my men immediately take position.
I give the signal, and chaos breaks loose.
Smoke grenades turn the place into a choking hell through which bullets begin to whistle. I take cover behind one of our cars, my brothers scattering toward other hidden positions from which they can attack.
Adrenaline boils through my body while the voices demand the blood of those who dare disturb the evening that should have gone differently. I fire in their direction, but their semiautomatics overpower my weapons.
Someone thinks they can attack us on our own territory? That’s just stupid.
Another signal, and our sniper on the roof begins cutting down, one by one, those who fall within range of his rifle.
From the moment this meeting was arranged, I was suspicious of it. Even though it was taking place on our territory, it all seemed too good to be true. And I have never believed in those fucking unicorns.
But our attackers don’t back down either.
Two grenades land beside me, forcing me out from behind the car.
I jump to my feet and start firing in their direction until I hide behind another vehicle.
One of my men covers me, shooting at the attackers set on me, forcing them to take cover until I reach a safer spot.
We need blood!
Here, a boevik is wounded, but his crimson face gives me no satisfaction. Only more rage.
I want the bastards’ blood.
The gunfire exchange is like a Chinese water torture, stretching my nerves and patience tighter and tighter.
I hear Yar desperately shouting for Sasha, who throws himself with a knife at a masked man who has come too close to him.
“I’m out of bullets. What do you want me to do?” the youngest yells back.
Without hesitation, I shout to him. “Take this one. But it doesn’t have many left.”
I sincerely hope these bastards don’t know Russian and don’t realize the ugly situation we are in. I suspect they are Albanians, the ones supposedly allied with the Italians to piss us off.
I knew I should have shot that bastard Tristan Romano back at the Christmas party. I would have spared myself a great deal of trouble if I had listened to my voices that night.
Ekaterina’s face at that party returns to my mind. The tempting pearls I want to see again around her throat, her bare back, the smooth skin I constantly crave...
A deeply inappropriate moment to be aroused, but I’ll be damned if the mixture of blood, bullets, and her slender throat is not truly enticing.
But with every passing second that I realize I am getting late, my body grows more tense, and my fury rises to increasingly dangerous heights.
“I’m in a hurry, boys,” I shout to my men, exactly as a bullet flies near my head.
Then, when I manage to shoot one of them in the head and he drops to the ground, a bullet comes from an uncovered angle and hits me in the shoulder, less than a handspan from my heart.
“Suka,” I curse through my teeth.
Because of the adrenaline, the pain barely echoes through my body. Everything unfolds like a nightmare meant to keep me away from dusha moya.
I don’t get the chance to assess my situation, because a grenade lands beside me, and no matter how fast I move, the explosion throws me onto the cold asphalt.