Page 58 of Fight

Sixteen

Ioan

I watchedas two of Markov’s men hoisted the corpse I had just created and carried it to the back, where Anton’s men would dispose of it.

The adrenaline rushed through me but after a few minutes it faded, leaving behind an edgy jitteriness that only being inside P would take away. That would happen soon, and despite how many times I’d had her before, I hardened at the thought.

Markov’s voice dampened that immediately.

“You’re doing well,” he said.

I hadn’t seen him follow me to the exit, and I didn’t acknowledge him now. Disrespectful, dangerously so, but I didn’t trust myself to handle him rationally, not when I was like this.

“You should think about extending our arrangement,” he said.

I still didn’t speak, but I looked at him, watched as he approached me.

“Your boss wouldn’t like that, though?” He shook his head, answering his own question. “No, he wouldn’t. But I’m sure there’s something we can arrange. I know many would pay to see the koshenya in the—”

I pounced, had my hand locked around Markov’s throat in the blink of an eye. The blood surged through my veins, my vision dimming with the rising rage.

“Don’t talk about her,” I said.

I was giving away far too much with this reaction, but I couldn’t stop myself.

Behind me, I dimly heard the rush of footfalls, but Markov lifted his hand, seemingly to wave off the guards who approached.

“I see she is a touchy subject. My apologies for the offense,” he said, not even trying to be sincere.

I held him for an instant longer and then dropped my hand, watched as he adjusted his suit.

“Good luck with the next fight,” he said.

Then he was gone, and I punched the wall, regretting it instantly, but deserving pain.

I had let Markov get to me, and had revealed a weakness in the process. He’d probably put together the pieces about P and me, and now I’d confirmed it.

Which was stupid, because if Markov found a way, he would use it against me, Vasile, and Clan Petran. Now I had to make sure that didn’t happen, just win this last fight and wash my hands of Markov once and for all.

If it was possible, I despised Markov even more than I had before. Because before, it had been a matter of taste. He was a buffoon, ran his business in a shoddy fashion that I couldn’t respect.

It went deeper now, though, and because of P.

P, whom I’d come to crave.

Her body, of course, those sweet, sinful curves an endless fascination.

Her personality too, her forceful nature, the little hints of shyness, her excitement about what I had considered the most mundane things, bringing an joy and light to my life that I hadn’t even known I was missing.

What would I do when she was gone?

I told myself things would go back to the way they had been. I’d regain my position, work to move higher.

A straightforward plan, one that I couldn’t quite make myself believe, the prospect of living without her one I didn’t want to consider too closely.

For a little while longer, at least, one I didn’t have to.

I was restless, edgy when I entered the house, and without stopping, I went to the kitchen.

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