Page 9 of Bratva Butcher

She knew it was nothing but an empty threat. If I was capable of reaching her, she’d have been dead already. Regardless, I moved into a low crouch, like a tiger about to strike, and leantforward menacingly, as far as the chains wrapped around me would allow.

'The Butcher Staredown', a term coined by my youngest son. Something he’d seen me do countless times that made grown men shit their fucking pants. It was a threatening glare with the sole purpose of intimidating and instilling fear.

I’d yet to come across a single person it hadn’t worked on, my children included.

Instead of being terrified, like she damn well should have been, she looked…confused.

“What’s going on with your face?” Her head tilted to the side in assessment. “That’s the second time you’ve had that look. Are you… Are you trying to intimidate me?”

Then, she burst out into a fit of laughter.

If I was within reaching distance, I would have fucking strangled her. I growled and flopped back down onto my ass.

I guess it wasn’t as scary if you didn’t have the full story. She clearly didn’t know who I was, otherwise she wouldn’t have reacted that way.

Yes, that was it.

She was still laughing. “Oh… Oh, that was just… I can’t-can’t breathe,” she wheezed out. “Do it again, do it again.” She slapped her thighs and held her stomach as if all that laughter was causing her pain. She then did a very unflattering imitation of my staredown, essentially mocking me, and what little restraint I possessed vanished. I hadn’t been mocked like that since elementary school.

I picked up the metal bowl containing my water (the fact that it resembled a dog bowl didn’t allude me) and threw it like a frisbee right at her fucking head.

A very satisfying “donk”hit the air, followed by an angry screech.

“You bastard! I’ll kill you!” She lunged for me, and because she had more slack on her chain than I did, she hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking me flat on my back.

“Oommff.” The air rushed out of me as her hands wrapped around my throat, trying to squeeze even more air out of my lungs.

I had been taken completely by surprise. She was far less innocent than she appeared to be.

I didn’t think she had it in her to kill someone—or to eventry—but clearly, I was fucking wrong because she was squeezing harder and harder with no indication of stopping.

“Get…the fuck…off me,” I rasped, thrashing.

She came nose-to-nose with me, this dark, evil look glittering in her eyes. “I think I’d rather watch the life drain from your eyes.”

Who the fuck is this woman?

Before I had the chance for any kind of retaliation, the door to our prison opened, a beam of light shooting down the staircase. Footsteps followed, along with a male voice.

“Oh, Miss Autumn,” he sang excitedly, eagerly. “It’s time for our date.”

The woman strangling me to death stiffened. She cursed, punched me in the face and then scurried back to her side of the wall just as the man stepped off the last stair into the basement.

I sucked in a huge breath of air.

That fucking bitch.

The light cast from the open door illuminated the man’s body, allowing me to see who it was. I didn’t know his name, just that he was part of an MC Gang, based on the cut he was wearing. It was something I’d noticed all of Dominik’s little lackeys were wearing; he’d paid for MC muscle.

The guy was wearing one that said “THE BROTHERHOOD”. Small time but well organised. The word “PRESIDENT” wasstamped across the symbol on the front of his leather vest, making me frown.

I kept close tabs onanyonewho was even remotely a threat to me and mine. The Brotherhood charter in Vegas was run by Ward Russell. That wasn’t this man. That I knew for sure.

I coughed, massaging my throat, giving the redhead who I now knew as Autumn an angry scowl before focusing back on the man, studying him closely. I ran through the dossier of men I knew about in this particular MC, and his image barrelled its way through my mind. Hewasthe VP, second in command, and now he was in charge. There’d been a change in leadership.

The timing was suspicious.

Ward and I didn’t have any kind of working relationship, but we stayed out of each other’s way, an amicable agreement that suited both parties. He wouldn’t have authorised a strike against me, so he’d been removed—most likely with a deadly method—and replaced with someone who would. Someone who clearly didn’t know better because whether he was aware of it or not, he’d just signed his fucking death warrant. Hisandthose ofhis men.

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