Page 19 of Stolen By the Bratva King

“Don’t lie to me,” I roar, as the tendons in my neck strain.

Oleg flinches and raises his hands by his sides. “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“What have you done? Tell me exactly what you’ve been up to behind my back.” I want him to admit it outright, so I’ll know the rumors are true. I want him to tell me exactly what he’s been doing. It’s better if he implicates himself.

“Nothing that terrible,” he says. “Nothing that would hurt anyone here. It’s all for a cause, really.”

“You’re not leaving this room until you tell me what you’ve been doing behind my back.”

He blows out a puff of air and squeezes his eyes shut. I cup his neck in my hand and press down until he’s gasping and sputtering, choking. His eyes bulge out and he looks at me with a deep fear.

I clench my teeth and start squeezing my fingers around his jugular. He flails, trying to squirm out of my grasp but I’m bigger than him and he’s not making any progress.

He tries to shove me off, fingers scraping against my shirt, stubs of his nails attempting to slice through my forearms.

I finally release him. He swallows huge gulps of air, bending over with his palms on his knees. He’s panting hard.

When he lifts his eyes to me, there’s humor in his gaze, and a small smirk curls the edges of his mouth as if to say he knows I don’t have it in me to kill him.

His confidence makes my blood boil, that he thinks he can just waltz out of here with a vault of secrets and illegal operations going on right under my nose.

He’s about to learn the hard way that I’m not as soft as he thinks I am. I ball my fist and rear it back, slamming it into the side of his jaw.

His head knocks back, his eyes rolling back in his head. He stumbles backward. When he regains his balance and straightens, his eyes burn with rage, his jaw locking. His own fists ball at his sides, his breathing fast and seething. He spits blood onto the ground.

“What the hell?” he growls.

I pull a gun from the clip behind my back and cock it, aiming it between his eyes.

“Whoa.” He lifts his arms by his sides again, scrambling on his heels.

“You better tell me exactly what you’re running behind my back, or this bullet is going into your skull,” I warn.

He licks his lips, his face still ashen, his cheeks hollow. “Alright, alright,” he exclaims after a pause. “I’ve been doing the gun trafficking as a side hustle. It’s not as bad as it sounds, though, and there’s good money in it.”

“You betrayed me,” I roar, the sound of my voice vibrating through my chest.

“I had no choice,” he shouts, backing himself into a corner.

“You do have a choice. Youalwayshave a choice, and you made the wrong one.” I step closer, the gun steady in my hand.

“I need more money, boss. I’m not making enough,” Oleg cries.

I glance at the Rolex shining on his wrist, the diamonds circling the face of it and laugh. It’s a barbaric sound, one of wrath. “You wearthat,and expect me to believe you need more money?”

Oleg’s eyes jump from me to the gun and then to the window beside us. Before I realize what he’s doing, he sprints to the window, pushes it open, and jumps out.

I jog over and look down. He lands on a dumpster, rolls off it, stands up, brushes the dirt off his thighs and bolts down the street, glancing up at me only once before disappearing behind a side street corner.

I shove the gun back on the clip and punch the wall, taking my frustrations out on it until my knuckles are red and raw.

I don’t run down the stairs or chase after him. I don’t want to cause a scene out there in the streets, especially when I’m trying to get my reputation in this city under control.

I let him go for now, knowing that he’ll be shaken by my threats. If he’s smart enough, he won’t do anything else stupid before I can deal with him later.

8

David

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