Page 120 of Little Blue

“Popov is here. Pig is trying to run from the slaughter.” Misha releases another unhinged laugh. The man becomes a fucking psycho during war.

I think of chasing down Popov and executing him, but torture is much more appealing. My heart thunders. Again, the feeling is foreign. But the thought of bringing the man who took what is mine to his knees makes me feel.

She makes me feel.

It’s all for her. At the end of the day, everything is for her.

“I want him alive, Misha,” I warn, moving along the wall and closer to the door that will bring me to her.

Battle rages around me. Bullets fly, knives sink into flesh, and the sound of the pained moans of men fill the space.

The door to her room opens and Boris emerges, letting it fall closed behind him. The instant his eyes see me, they widen.

There’s a reason I put him in the position to watch over and protect Irelynn. He’s fast, and he’s good. With training like his, the man is a machine. A deadly opponent.

He kicks into fight mode easily, his foot lifting to connect with my hand that holds my gun, taking advantage of my moment of distraction as I craned my neck to see into the room where Irelynn was being kept.

The gun clatters to the floor, and we mirror each other’s moves as we both reach for our blades. But I’m the one to strike first, stabbing forward with my blade hand. His eyes fall to the threat, missing the other that I swing to connect with the side of his face. The loud crack is a sure sign I’ve broken bone somewhere.

“That’s for the bruise on her face.”

He sneers. “I didn’t put that there.”

“You brought her here. Everything that has happened to her is because of you.”

“No.” Boris shakes his head. “It’s because of you. If you’d left her alone in New York, she’d still be there in that shit apartment, working her shit job, safe. But you took her. You brought her into this war.” He spits blood onto the floor. “War is never pretty.”

“Who is he to you?”

“Who?”

“Popov. How’d he get to you? How’d he flip you?”

Boris laughs, but it’s a tired thing. “I’ve always been with him. From the very beginning. I’m his son.”

I see it the moment he says it. The resemblance is there in the wide set of his forehead and the dark of his eyes.

Fucking hell.

“Did you really think Ivan was the one turning all your men?” He gives another shake of his head. “I was there, always. I watched. I turned those who were easily bought, easily swayed. I’m the reason for the betrayal at your port in L.A. I’m the reason Laurent thought he could skim from the clubs after years of loyalty. I’m the reason he thought you were too fucking stupid to notice. I’m the reason that the Volkov Bratva has been going to shit since the true Pakhan retired, leaving you in his place.” He squares his shoulders. “And I’m going to be the one who takes over the Popov Bratva. I’m going to be the one who finally takes your family down.” He grips his blade tighter, his stance widening as he readies for the fight of his life. “And I’m going to start with you. But I want you to know something.”

“What’s that?”

“Her pussy won’t be sold. It’s too good, too sweet for that. When you’re dead and her world is turned inside out, I’m going to be there to put the pieces back together. Her pussy is going to be mine, and mine alone.”

This bastard might be a fucking ninja, but he’s a dead fucking ninja.

I say nothing as I strike, kicking out to hook his foot with mine. The man is a big man, and he tumbles forward, stumbling to catch his footing. I could kill him, stab him in the gut, slicing upward, and watch as his insides spill out onto the poured concrete. But I don’t. As much as I want to get to Irelynn, I need this to last. Just a little.

I sink my blade into his thigh, reveling in the hissed breath he inhales. He retaliates with a swipe of his own blade, snagging the vest in his attempt to carve out my heart.

His attack has him close enough that I’m able to slam my fist into his big, meaty face. I slam it in again, and again, and again. I hit him until skin purples and splits. Until blood pours and his eyes swell.

Then, as he lays under me, I laugh. It’s unhinged and clearly shocks him, because his swollen eye widens. He’s been beside me as I’ve taken lives. Countless lives. Apart from the fucking serial killer I’d hunted for Nevaeh, I’ve taken every life with a methodical silence that scares the piss out of the men I’m ending, literally.

He wasn’t expecting this maniacal beast from the void he unleashed when he took her from me. When he threatened to take her for himself.

“You deserve to die the death of a traitor.” My blade stuns him as I sink it deep into his gut where he lays beneath me on the concrete now, swollen and bleeding, but still conscious and able to gasp for air. “A slow death.” I rip the blade upward, slicing through his torso with a viciousness of something born from the bowels of the underworld. “But I need to make sure she’s still alive and well, so I need this to be quick.” I pull the blade from his belly and slam it into his heart.

---