Fractured Ties by Bethany-Kris Page 0,7

Now, you’re going to learn pain. The boss says hello, in case you wondered, and it’s time to pay up.”

2.

IVAN DIDN’T even get the chance to give Kolya a proper reaction before the two men he probably hadn’t even noticed stepped in his path. Kaz yanked Ivan backwards off the stool by gripping the hair at the base of his skull at the same time Konstantin came to stand behind Kolya.

“I didn’t—swear I fucking didn’t!”

Ivan’s words fell on deaf ears because frankly, Kolya had better shit to do, and orders to throw out. “Konstantin, find something that makes fire, yeah?”

“You got it,” Konstantin murmured before he jumped the bar using one hand to propel him over.

“Anatoly—watch the door,” Kolya said, not even bothering to give the man the benefit of his attention. “Make sure anybody who might step in knows this is business for the boss. Unless they want the same, they can step the fuck back. Anybody leaves while this goes down, and it’s your head. You fucking hear me?”

“I hear you.”

He was rather amused by the sight of Kazimir dragging Ivan across the dirt floor toward one of the pool tables. Ivan was fighting and thrashing, but too drunk to make much of a difference. Besides, Kaz had probably fifty pounds and twenty years of youth on Ivan.

He didn’t even need Kolya’s help getting the foolish man up on the pool table. Kolya still made his way over nice and slow, making sure to give Ivan appropriate time to suffer within the privacy of his mind about what exactly would be going down in the next few minutes.

A person could be their own worse torture device when it came right down to it. Kolya swore a man could imagine the worst kinds of things inside his head—shit that wouldn’t even happen—but it terrified a person just the same.

Kolya came up to the side of the pool table, and grabbed a pool stick someone had left sitting on the floor. Or hell, maybe it had gotten knocked off in Kaz’s stunt to get Ivan up on top. Who the fuck knew, and what did it matter?

He brought that pool stick down across Ivan’s knees hard enough for the wood to splinter, and break. By the looks of the way Ivan’s left leg was bent at the knee, Kolya had broken something.

Good.

He liked to start off slow.

The scream of pain Ivan let loose made Kolya smile fleetingly—he could only get a real smile on his face once he actually got going.

Still, what followed Ivan’s shout was silence. Well, for the most part. Kolya grabbed another stick and tossed it to Kaz as he took a quick look around. Kaz used that stick to place up under Ivan’s chin, and pull taut against the man’s throat. He likely wasn’t getting much air and, given the way Kaz was putting as much tension as he could on the stick, he wasn’t fucking getting up, either.

For such a little shit, Kaz had brains. Kolya had to give him that. Credit where it was due, and all that good stuff.

“I like it, Kaz.”

Kaz shrugged. “Might need a hand once this gets going, no?”

“Konstantin will help.”

No doubt.

Speaking of Konstantin …

Kolya’s gaze did another sweep of the floor. The few scattered men—given it was still too early for most of Ivan’s patrons to be taking part in his other offerings—were either looking for a way out, or stuck like statues and staring into their drinks. He recognized a few—at least two bore the same eight-pointed stars under their shirts as he did, which meant Vadim’s point would be well-made before this was all over.

They likely hadn’t seen something like this go down in here before, but any vor or man connected to any kind of mafia business knew this shit was always right around the corner. Men like them lived their lives on a constant precipice of sin, atonement, and answering violence.

It was their only promise.

Next to death.

Anatoly was watching the door like he’d been told. Although, the man didn’t particularly look like he cared or that he wanted to be there, given his lazy posture and the way he stared at the lights overhead. But who was Kolya to judge?

He was only here because he’d been told to do so.

Konstantin had a torch in his hand, which perked up Kolya’s sour mood, considering Ivan was still blabbering on, albeit now in Russian. Like it made a fucking difference.

“Let me talk to the boss—the boss, please!”

“The