Page 87 of Bratva Butcher

I didn’t miss any of it.

I didn’t.

I. Fucking. Didn’t.

My skin buzzed with annoyance and I found myself grinding my teeth together. My whole body felt tight. Like I couldn’t relax, no matter what I did. Even when I pushed myself to the brink in the gym, working out until I physically couldn’t stand anymore, my limbs aching and exhausted, I still couldn’t fuckingcalm down. The irritability prickling at my insides just wouldn’t relent.

Why did she just disappear like that?

Did everything we went through together mean fucking nothing to her?

Why did I even care?!

Fucking shoot me now.

There was another knock on my door, and I snapped. With a growl, I pushed to my feet and marched over to my office door, flinging it open in a rage.

“What?!” I snarled.

Mikhail stood there, that shit-eating grin he always wore plastered on his face. “Oh, I heard you. I was just waiting for you to get up and let me in.”

“You couldn’t let yourself in?”

“I could have. But, where’s the fun in that?” He breezed past me and strolled right on in, taking a seat in one of the armchairs in front of my desk. “We need to talk.”

I’d barely sat down before he leant over and punched me in the jaw. Hard. “What the fuck?!” I hissed, preparing to strike back, but his next words stopped me cold.

“That was for my son.”

Of course.

During all the chaos of the past week, we hadn’t had a chance to discuss what happened with Dayton.

I blew out a breath, rubbing my now aching jaw. “I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he cut in harshly.

The motherfucker just hit me in the face andnowhe doesn’t want to talk about it?

“Mikhail—”

“You heard me, Dimitri. Not now. I’m here to talk business.”

I wanted to argue.Forcehim to talk about it. But I knew from experience that I couldn’t force someone to talk if they didn’twant to. Especially when it concerned grief. It was something each person had to come to terms with in their own time.

“What business?” I asked, rearranging my stack of papers. It was all useless shit anyway. Quarterly reports on the various legitimate businesses we owned. Resumes for new soldiers. Employee profiles. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

“I want in. On Talon.”

I should have known he’d realise what I was up to. Since escaping the island, I’d tried to keep busy.

Keep your mind off Autumn, more like it.

Shut. Up.

I’d spent endless hours hunting Talon, trying to find out where that bastard had fled to after the destruction of his home. So far, I’d had shit all luck.

“Why?”

---