Page 27

I smiled. “That’s the hardest you can hit?”

He came at me again. I caught his wrist midswing, twisted until his knife clattered to the ground, then headbutted him so hard my skull rang. The impact split the skin on my brow, and blood ran warm down my temple.

He staggered, dazed, but still standing. I brought the knife up again, ready to finish him⁠—

A strong hand clamped around my arm.

“Yuriy. That’s enough.”

Stas’s voice came across quiet but cut through the noise like a blade of its own. He forced my arm down before I could deliver the fatal blow.

Red seized the opportunity to throw himself at me, delivering a blow to my head that stunned me. Stas released me, and I stumbled back but kept my eyes peeled on the man in case he came at me again.

He never had the chance.

Stas served one solid strike to his jaw, another to the ribs, and the man dropped like a marionette with its strings cut.

The guy I’d cut, clutched his side. “Take it! We don’t want any trouble.”

He threw Stas’s wallet at me, and I grabbed it, but I wasn’t satisfied. Scums like them shouldn’t still breathe. I took a step toward him to finish the job, knife still slick with his blood, but still bloodthirsty.

“You have no idea who you fucked with. Do you?”

Stas caught my wrist again. “No.”

“They tried to rob you. You’re not gonna let them get away with it, are you?”

“This is not the place to do this,” he said. “The kids…”

For a second, I thought about fighting him on it. Finishing what I’d started. The knife itched in my hand, my pulse still hammering with the thrill of it. I was already hard from the adrenaline pumping through my veins at the thought of assisting them in taking their last breath.

Fuck. Stas was right. If we got mixed up with the underbelly of Kansas City, when the holiday was over and we returned to Chicago, Zasha and Yelena might be left behind as collateral damage. Stas and I didn’t see eye to eye, but we had the same desire for the kids we raised. That they would be safe and happy.

I sighed, wiped the blade on the back of the unconscious man’s coat, and turned to Stas. I fucking hated how calm he was.

“Fine. We should go, then.”

7

STAS

The wallet sat on the edge of the bed like an offended item. Scowling, I flexed my bruised hand and watched the tendons shift under the skin. Each movement was a dull reminder of how close the night had come to going horribly wrong.

We’d been lucky. When we got home, the kids were already in bed, so they didn’t see us like this, wrinkled, scraped, stained with blood. Yelena didn’t need that worry right now, not with the baby almost due.

I paced the length of the room, the old habit kicking in whenever my thoughts turned dangerous. I kept seeing the faces of those men who’d joined me at the pool table, smirking, testing me. I’d known they were trouble the moment they came up to me. Should’ve walked away. Instead, I’d entertained them.

Maybe I’d wanted a reason to let the violence breathe because I’d been irritated all night watching Yuriy and the bartender.

It would’ve been easy to kill them. Too easy. My piece was strapped against my leg. But this wasn’t my city. I had no contact on the inside to clean up messes. Not that it couldn’t be done, but reliable contacts took time to build. I only had a couple of weeks with Yelena, and I wasn’t about to spend a portion of it in jail.

So I’d decided to take the hit. Give the bastards what they wanted. Only Yuriy had intervened, impulsive as always, oblivious to the consequences.

My right hand ached, but it was nothing compared to the heavy feeling in my gut. I could understand his mockery, his arrogance, his endless appetite for chaos, but not this. Not him stepping between me and danger.

I stopped pacing, staring at the door to the bathroom, where the sound of water ran steadily. The bastard was whistling “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” like he hadn’t just brawled in a strange city for a man he swore he hated.

Why?