Page 3 of The Pakhan

Yeah, right. I was no fool. Instead of heeding his request, I swung the bat first at his kneecap, not waiting as he cried out in agony before cracking it against his jaw. Yep. I heard a sound indicating maybe, just maybe I’d broken several bones.

No time to celebrate small victories. I jumped into the car, slammed the door, and started the engine.

The asshole was just lucky he jumped out of the way before I ran him over. I floored it to the other side of the parking lot, not caring if I careened into traffic. In my rearview mirror, the light over the parking lot allowed me to see the other three, two raising their weapons. I spun the steering wheel of the car, jerking onto the road just as shots were fired.

A sound reminding me of a small explosion occurred, but I didn’t stop, pressing down on the accelerator and narrowly avoiding hitting an oncoming car. With my heart in my throat, my hands white knuckled on the steering wheel, I sped down the busy road heading for the freeway.

Where the hell was I going to go? Who could help me?

I was frantic, almost hyperventilating.

Where? Where was I safe? Sofiya was out of the country, but I wouldn’t put her life at risk anyway. Oh, God.

A light popped on in my brain. There was only one person who could help.

The question was, would he?

CHAPTER 2

Vadim

Boom!

The horrible rumble of thunder and light display from the violent thunderstorm suited the moment but had already gotten on my nerves. Days of this shit. Fuck it. I couldn’t lament over the weather at this point.

Bloodshed.

I’d learned a long time ago that bloodstains were tough to get out of carpets and furniture. I rarely brought my work home. It was my sanctuary, but every once in a while, my life required I handle some idiot traitor or rat. Even though my reputation as a ruthless and soulless bastard was widely known, it still seemed at least three or four times a year, someone was stupid enough to cross me.

As I stared down at the beaten and bloody fuck, the man’s face no longer recognizable, I rubbed my jaw. How long had it been since I’d shaved? Maybe too long. I was beginning to act like a slovenly hermit.

At least I’d had the forethought over the years to require an oversized piece of plastic when and if I handled business in my home.

Today was the perfect example of why the idea had been a brilliant one.

The fucker was kneeling, his body swaying from the number of punches to the gut, but the guy still wasn’t talking.

“I’m going to ask you one last time, Freddie. Who the fuck tried to have me assassinated all those months ago?” My gut told me it was the Italians, the slimy bastards, but so far, I’d yet to prove it. And I certainly had enough intelligence to know starting a war right now with so many political factors going on in the Big Apple was akin to suicide.

“I… dunno.” The two little words were slurred and I honestly didn’t believe he was certain. But he knew a few things that could have been helpful.

“Well, you made your bed, Freddie boy. Sadly, your last one is going to be plastic.” I was bored, in need of a drink, and tired of finding dead ends to the same question. Several of my soldiers remained after the usual meeting we’d had, my parting gift for the evening putting a bullet in Freddie’s head.

Which I wasted no time in doing. There was a time when I would have spent hours cutting him to pieces, but I’d grown older, wiser, and had less patience than I’d had when I was in my twenties and thirties. With one clean shot, the man slumped back onto the plastic.

My men knew what to do, soldiers immediately wrapping his body in the thick covering to prevent any mess. I’d just had the carpets cleaned, for fuck’s sake.

“Okay, guys. It’s been a long day. Go home to your families.” I glanced at Francois, another one of my top men. “Is there something else?”

“Some oddities on the street,” he answered.

“Oddities?”

He nodded. “It’s like something is getting ready to come down.”

I laughed. “Then cut it off at the pass. I don’t need rumors flying or ridiculous accusations.”

“You got it, boss.” Francois had his ear to the street, which I appreciated. With New York having four major crime syndicates, it was best to keep an eye on every territory, not just mine.

---