Page 6 of Killer Love

Luka

Twelve Years Later

I yank the handkerchief from my breast pocket and wipe the crimson blood off my knuckles.

The thick air around me smells warm and metallic. It bleeds onto my tongue, and I spit out the taste of raw, dirty pennies onto the concrete floor.

Yuri steps forward and motions me away from the chair. He looks down at the man in black tied to it and smiles. “Now, did that feel nice?” he asks him.

The man can barely lift his head. He manages a slow shake and thick blood drips down from his nose into his lap.

I wince as the cotton cloth swipes across my thumbnail, and I notice the cracked edge digging into my skin.

This fucker broke my nail.

Yuri scratches his scalp, softly ruffling the black hair on his head. “I want you to know, stranger, that we do not enjoy this. Isn’t that right, brother?” he asks me.

“That’s right,” I say.

“See? We don’t enjoy it.” Yuri steps closer to the chair and leans down to look him in the eyes. “But sometimes, it’s necessary. Tell us who you are, what you’re doing in Moscow, and the pain will end.”

The man takes quick, labored breaths while I pick at the torn cuticle on my thumb. He’s not talking, that much is certain. I’d wager that this isn’t the first time he’s been beaten on and probably won’t be the last — assuming we let him leave here alive, of course.

No crime happens in Moscow without the Lutrova family seal of approval. Big, small. Light, dark. So, when two politicians end up with bullets through both of their eyes, it didn’t take long for us to find out about it. He didn’t even make it out of the building before our guys scooped him up and brought him to the warehouse outside of the city. No cops, no saviors. Just snow and wilderness for miles. Even if he does manage to escape, there’s no way he’ll survive the exposure.

He opens his mouth and slurs his words, dripping even more red droplets down his chin.

“What’s that, stranger?” Yuri asks, leaning in.

I step forward, keeping a cautious eye open as my brother eases closer to him. Again, the man’s lips move, but I can barely make out his words.

Yuri tilts his head and peeks back at me. “He’s hissing.”

“Hissing?” I stuff the handkerchief back into my pocket as I glide in closer. I hear it louder now. That sharp push of air through bright, red teeth.

“Yeah…” Yuri straightens up. “Like a snake.”

The man laughs. His face contorts with pain but it’s almost as if he enjoys it. He looks up at the two of us with amused eyes and spits blood at our feet.

“You might want to get down,” he says.

His eyes flick to the wall behind us and my ears perk to the sound.

Beep beep beep.

I grab Yuri and shove him aside as the wall explodes.

Concrete and debris knock us back and I shield my brother from the rapid pop of suppressive gunfire. We dodge the blaze and tumble down to the floor as two other men in black come charging into the warehouse. I pull Yuri with me and toss him behind the crates in the corner.

Yuri reaches for the gun on his hip, ready to go down in glory, but I grab his wrist to stop him.

I watch the gunfire strike the crates and wall behind us. At this range, a true marksman wouldn’t miss so much. They don’t intend to kill us.

At least, not yet.

I peek out and make eye contact with the gunman as the other man cuts our prisoner free. He lowers his weapon and stares back at me through his black mask, silent and cold.

I nod with reluctant understanding.

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