Page 28 of Unholy Tsar

I’ve made two calls, and I don’t feel any better than I did before them. I need to leave the house. Get into some action. A fight. An excuse to beat some people up. Something. I search for Dante’s contact on my phone and hit dial.

“Sir.” His voice crackles with strain and the distant sounds of a commotion filter through. I sit up straight, anticipation prickling.

“What’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m a few blocks away from the Brooklyn Garden Elementary School. One of my men caught a dealer giving the kids free samples.”

“What?” Elementary kids? That’s a new low. My men and I may not be upright citizens, but like Cecilia guessed, we live by a code. Women and children are off-limits. “Has the fucker squealed yet?”

No way an operation like that could’ve been done alone. That dealer must’ve had some backup. Dante hesitates, and my brow twitches. “Well? Has he talked?”

“We lost him,” he admits in a low voice.

“You mean to tell me you had this fucker in your clutches and you let him get away?”

“We’re tracking him down as we speak. Before he could give us the slip, one of my men planted one of Mr. Kilpatrick’s trackers behind his ears.”

That’s the high-tech tracking fluid Rian invented last year. It sticks like glue to any surface and can last up to a week before falling off.

Dante continues, “He has no clue we’re tailing him. The bastard will lead us straight to their den.”

I relax a bit and exhale. This could be a good development. “Send me the coordinates. I’ll meet you guys there.”

We end the call, and the coordinates come through immediately. I follow the link to my map app and watch the moving dot. “That’s right, asshole. Lead us to the rest of you rats.”

I burst out of my apartment with excitement and wave off the men making a move to follow me. Those lowlifes are mine. I ignore my cars and go straight to my motorcycle. It’s faster, and I need the adrenaline.

I place my phone in the stand between the handles so I can see the fucker’s location while driving. Then, I put on my helmet and get on the bike. With a kick to release the brake and a turn of the ignition, I’m on my way.

By the time the fucker stops moving, I’m practically on his heels. I park my bike a block away and scan the Lower East Side street, noting Dante and the rest of my men haven’t arrived yet. Good.

My blood boils as I approach the abandoned warehouse. It’s dark and quiet, and for a moment, I wonder if that fucker has brought me to his own hideout until I turn a corner and see them right there. Easy pickings for a seasoned predator like me. I watch them for a few minutes, strategizing the best way to take them down. I don’t know which is the guy from the elementary school, but it no longer matters. They’re all dying tonight.

There are about a dozen or so men, some huddled around a fire, others loitering about. Why don’t they have someone guarding the entrance? Are they just that cocky about being undetected? Or are they amateurs?

I step out of the shadows, clapping in a mocking rhythm. They all turn to face me, some jumping to their feet. A few of them are clearly wasted. High on their own shit? I shake my head in disgust. This is too easy; I’m almost disappointed.

“Who are you?” one of them demands, separating himself from the group to confront me.

“Are you the one in charge of this operation?” I counter. The dumbass shakes his head and actually points to a man leaning against the wall a few feet away. Someone smacks him on the head, muttering angrily. Likely scolding him for revealing their leader. I raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“Why are you here? You don’t look like you want our snow white.” The leader, a cocky bastard with his arms folded across his chest, watches me with a smug expression. The rest of his men chuckle in mirth.

I let out a bored sigh. “Ha ha. Laugh it up while you can. It’s going to be your last night alive. Who wants to go first? I don’t have all night.”

The men exchange glances, then erupt into laughter once more. “You seem to be lost, old man. This isn’t the poker hall,” one fucker shouts among the crowd. Their laughter echoes through the warehouse.

“How disappointing,” I mutter. Every single time. These fuckers and every other asshole I come across always find a way to make a dig at my age. Can’t they try to be original for once? No matter.

I move fast and grab the first fucker, the dumbass who pointed out the leader. With one hand on his skull and the other beneath his jaw, I snap his neck to the right. He crumbles to the floor with a thud. Dead.

There’s a moment of stunned silence before the rest of them rush toward me screaming.

I grin. Yeah, this is more like it. I barely break a sweat as I take them out like the vermin they are. While I clear out the trash, I keep my eyes on the leader. He’s trying to maintain a calm façade, but I can see the fear in his eyes. His feet are tapping nervously, almost as if he’s contemplating making a run for it. But he knows he can’t escape with me blocking the entrance.

Suddenly, a blow to my temple from the side sends me reeling. Pain shoots through my skull as I drop to my knees.

“Not so cool now, huh, old man?” the moron ambusher taunts, standing over me with a block of wood in his hands.