Fractured Ties by Bethany-Kris Page 0,10

could leave, Kolya,” Anatoly said, coming to slide into the stool beside Kolya’s.

Yes, he hadn’t missed how fast the few patrons inside of Ivan’s warehouse were quick to up and go once he’d hissed out the word leave. Of course, he had probably been quite a sight standing next to Ivan’s burned and sliced corpse, with a good portion of him soaked in the dead man’s blood. It was hard to say—he didn’t remember a great deal.

That was usually how it worked.

He hadn’t exactly intended to start cutting into Ivan—removing the man’s tattoos would have done a good enough job before his death—but once Kolya got started, it was difficult to pull him off. Like a fucking dog with his jaws locked on the body of a victim, he wasn’t letting go until someone made him, or the prey was dead.

“What’s left for the boss?” Anatoly asked.

Kolya wasn’t in the mood to speak, and Anatoly already fucking knew what Vadim wanted them to do after Ivan was dead. Find something worthy of repayment for Ivan’s debts. Anatoly was only talking to hear himself talk because like most people, he found Kolya to be disturbing after an event like this. Talking filled the silence.

Talking was better than thinking about what he had seen, or what was running through his mind. Talking about something else—anything fucking else—might keep them from needing to talk about all of that instead.

Fuck it.

Kolya didn’t care.

“Here, brat.”

Kolya took the lit cigarette Konstantin offered. His last one had been tossed because the filter soaked up too much blood from his fingers and started tasting like shit. He liked to smoke while he worked—old habits died fucking hard for him.

“Well?” Anatoly asked again.

“Would you shut the fuck up?”

Kolya’s voice came out raspy and hoarse. Like his mouth and throat were both dry, and the words dragged their way out of his chest to get out. The force behind his tone was still as clear as day, and it was enough to send silence covering the bar.

Konstantin and Kaz passed a look between one another while Kolya stared at the tip of his cigarette. It burned bright red—hot, and warning. He blew the ash from the coal away, and then stuck the filter between his lips for a hard, long drag.

Smoke filled his lungs.

He held it.

It burned.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Finally, after half the cigarette was gone and all Kolya could taste in his mouth was smoke and ash and vodka, he turned to Konstantin and asked, “Where did she go?”

Konstantin blinked. “Who?”

“Her—the woman. Behind the bar, Konstantin. Where did she go?”

“I don’t—”

“Maya,” Anatoly said.

Kolya visibly stiffened on the stool. His shoulders knotted together with a ball of tension, and his hand curled into a tight ball against the bar top. A sure sign he was getting ready to put that fucking fist to use for some kind of violence that was going to hurt. It wasn’t even Anatoly or his voice that put Kolya on that fast track to thinking about death again, but rather, her name coming out of his mouth like he had any business saying it.

Like a switch in his head.

On, or off.

On, then off.

Something was fucking flipping that goddamn switch and Kolya didn’t know how to fucking handle it. Not at all. He didn’t even understand why it was happening.

Anatoly didn’t notice Kolya’s reaction.

Konstantin did. “Brat.”

His gaze cut to Konstantin. “Did you see where she went?”

“I barely noticed her at all, Kolya.”

That was good for Konstantin.

The whole switch-flipping thing.

Bad for Kolya.

“Went out there,” Kaz said, coming into the conversation. Kolya glanced up from the empty glass of vodka he’d finished to see Kaz pointing at a door built in between the two shelving units behind the bar. “After the guy told her to beat it.”

Kaz had heard that?

Huh.

“Her father,” Anatoly said. “Ivan is her father.”

“Was,” Kolya corrected roughly.

Throats cleared around him.

“What’s that lead to?” he asked after a second.

He posed the question to Anatoly because he was likely the only stupid fuck in the room who had any clue about this place. Sure, Kolya had a few memories of the layout, but shit changed when things called for it.

There were another two doors on the other side of the bar—across from the one they’d first come in through. Kolya remembered those being used to allow guests into the fighting section of the warehouse, while the other one allowed certain people into the spot where some of the animals were held before the fights.

Early betting, so to speak.

They would get