Page 40 of Baby for the Bratva King

Hearing footsteps, I shove the phone into my pocket and wait around the corner. A metal door bangs shut, and then I hear someone release a long, frustrated breath.

People give themselves away so easily.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, something I haven’t felt for a while. Killing doesn’t give me a rush anymore. There’s only so many times you can stick your blade into someone and enjoy it. But I need the high tonight before the tension in my chest becomes a problem and I lose all control.

The footsteps grow closer, heading around the corner. Unsheathing my knife, I step forward and match the face up to the one I have on the screen.

It’s go time.

I step away from the shadows, stopping the drunk bastard in his tracks. His eyes are barely open, pupils swirling into the back of his head as he tries and fails to gain his focus.

“Any luck tonight?”

“Who are you?” he slurs, fist at the ready to punch me in the face.

He sends it my way, but he’s miles off center.

I catch his fist, taking full advantage of his slow reaction times. I send the fist back into his face and drag him through the dark network of alleyways. Generators buzz, dumpsters overflowing with rotten garbage. You get used to the smell after a while.

“Felix Pozharsky,” slurs the man, cackling to himself.

“Your pronunciation may need some improvement.” I thrust him into the wall, trailing my knife over his jaw.

“Sharp little thing.”

“The smallest things always kill us the best.” I tease his throat. “One wrong move and you’re dead.”

“A real pity. I knew I should have stayed far away.”

“That’s the trouble with these casinos. They pretend to be a man’s best friend.”

“They’re not the only one,” says the man, shoving himself into the wall.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Read between the lines. I’m sure you do that all the time.” The man’s pupils finally come into focus. “I knew the rumors about you were true.”

“Congratulations on figuring it out. Shame you’re too late to report it.”

“I’m too late to report a lot of things.”

I withdraw the blade for just a second. As far as I’m aware, this bastard owes someone a lot of money. The gambling, the pungent beer breath, it all adds up. But his words aren’t quite adding up.

“Who put you on our radar?”

“Beats me,” says the man, blowing out a breath. “I have no idea what happens when the sun goes down. But you do, Mr. Pozharsky.”

“Please only say my name if you can pronounce it correctly.” I tease the blade under his throat again, giving him one final chance to admit his sins. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“Yes, because you do shit like this and continue to get away with it.”

“Not quite what I was asking,” I groan, thrusting him forward. “Tell me what you know.” I search his eyes. “Who have you upset?”

“I take my secrets to the grave.” The man flashes me a quick smile.

I have some options here. I can keep the man alive, torture him until he tells me the truth. Or I can sink my blade into his heart.

When you fail clients, they get angry and start taking their resentment out on you. This is my job, my responsibility. Keeping this victim alive might be more trouble than it is worth if the word gets out. My men will be unimpressed, and as a leader, I have to consider the entire Bravta, not just myself.