Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
The look she gave me then, both wary and wounded, also held a spark of something undefined that nearly undid my resolve.
The silence between us stretched taut with possibility.
I lowered my arm and curled my fingers into a fist at my side. "Do not forget our agreement."
CHAPTER 4
ARTEM
When Viktoria left, I pulled out my phone and tracked the car that was taking her back home. There was no reason to.
I trusted my men to do as they were told, especially with such a simple errand. Still, something compelled me to sit and watch the blinking dot on the map get further and further away.
Something burned in my gut, an unfamiliar feeling of possessiveness.
I had to resist the urge to call the driver and have her brought back.
It wasn't until they were in her neighborhood that I closed the app and got to business.
I'd forget her soon enough.
My mind needed to stay focused on the matter at hand.
I was under no illusion that Viktoria didn't know exactly what would happen to her brother and father.
Ivanov men tried to shield their women from the realities of the family business to keep them safe.
Zaitsev clearly hadn't cared about his daughter's safety or peace of mind.
Why protect her when he could use her?
No, Viktoria knew a lot, but that didn't mean that she needed to be here while I got to work.
I headed down to the basement of the cabin, each step taking me deeper into the damp chill that clung to the walls.
I stepped into the room where both Zaitsev men were being held. The senior was sitting in a collapsible metal chair with his hands tied behind his back and his lip bleeding. Junior was on the floor, bleeding from a few different places, his eyes darting wildly around the room like a cornered rat.
"Problems?" I asked.
"The younger one got a little mouthy." Vladan, my second, shrugged. "When the old one came in, he had an issue with it, but it was resolved rather quickly."
"Good," I said, signaling one of the other men.
Immediately, he moved a small metal table in front of the senior Zaitsev and placed a chair across from him for me. The scrape of metal against the concrete floor echoed through the basement.
I took a seat and nodded for him to be untied. Zaitsev may be a dirty pig, but I was not. I was going to face him like the man he pretended to be.
"I hear Solovyov likes to play poker with his men. Did you know modern poker is an American game?" I said.
"The bitch was lying, I would never work with—"
A simple lifting of my hand was all it took to silence him. I didn't know what made him more of a coward—the way he shook in front of me, or the way he treated his daughter.
"I am not American. Though I see the many opportunities this new world provides, I am Russian through and through," I continued.
"As am I." Zaitsev banged his fist on the table and tried to stand. My men put heavy hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down into his seat. The chair legs scraped against the floor with his struggle.
"Good, then let's play a Russian drinking game, shall we?"
Vladan set a bottle of Russian Standard down on the table, the bottle still coated with frost, and Zaitsev's eyes widened as his lips twisted in a grin. It wasn't my preferred brand, but this greedy pig clearly didn't care about quality so much as quantity.
"We drink to our health and business," he boomed, like he was calling the shots. Vladan lowered a single shot glass in front of him. The glass clinked against the table, Zaitsev flinching at the small sound.
He looked at me with a line of confusion forming between his eyes.
I reached into the leather holster under my jacket and pulled out a .44 Magnum revolver. The weight of it was familiar in my hand, comforting even. The overhead light caught on the polished metal, sending a flash across Zaitsev's face.
He stared at it, and his confusion turned to understanding and horror as I pulled out six bullets from my jacket pocket and lined them up on the table. They rolled slightly on the uneven surface, coming to rest in a perfect row.
"I assume you are familiar with the rules of Russkaya ruletka?"
"You only need one bullet for roulette," he said, his body shaking as he stared at the bullets.
"I say we make our own rules. We are going to start with an empty barrel, and then I am going to ask you some questions. If I don't like your answer, or worse, I think you are lying to me, I will place a bullet in the barrel."
"I—"
"See, the rules are simple," I said, sitting back in my chair.