Page 62 of Vow of Silence

TWENTY-FOUR

Benito

The clap of the Glock wakes the last guy on the sofa. He opens his eyes, as startled as I feel, while the man between us drops his chin to look down at his blooming chest. He bleeds rapidly. Slow enough that he has the crucial seconds to register he’s fucked, and fast enough that he’s out and down within the count of ten.

Stas sits on the floor before me, her left hand braced behind her, legs bent as she steadies her shot with her right. Her rapid breathing is the only sound in the room.

Until the crazed wench hooked on my back starts again. “You motherfucker.” She snares a sharp nail in the shell of my ear, tearing it wide, judging by the searing pain that shoots across the side of my head. “You’ve killed Jerry, and now your bitch killed Anton.”

Jerry’s not dead. I couldn’t take that from Nastasya. He’s having a little nap until it’s his turn—that’s all.

The guy named Anton, though. Yeah. He’s not coming back from this one.

I shunt an elbow into the woman and thrust her backward, gasping for breath. Control rapidly slips from my hands, and the feeling of chaos unfolding drives me to do the unthinkable. Icunt-punch the woman to keep her subdued. She doubles over, curses flying at an impressive rate, both hands cupped to her cooch.

The hero on the sofa figures now is as good a time as any to dive for the discarded gun in Anton’s loosened grip. “You’re fucking dead, asshole.”

I lift my right heel and retrieve a blade that I send straight into his shoulder joint’s meaty part. He jerks backward as though having touched an electric fence and sucks in rapid, panicked breaths.

It appears Mr. Gangbanger hasn’t encountered pain like this before. The cockiest ones are always the frauds.

I sweep the room, reassuring myself that control is firmly back in my hands, and then duck down to check on Stas. She still stares at Anton where he lies, her right hand slowly lowering with each staggered breath. I’d take the weapon from her, given the shock that strips her of the ability to handle the firearm safely, but she might need it yet.

Fingers to her chin, I turn her head to face me.You okay?

“Am I supposed to feel something?” She regards me with wide eyes.

Fuck she’s cute.No.I shake my head, smiling. That shit will come later. She follows my directive when I nod at the guy clutching his arm on the sofa. He hasn’t got the guts to remove the blade; he flexes his fingers around the entry site as though he can magic the weapon from his shoulder.

Probably a good idea to leave it in anyway; I wouldn’t want him to bleed out before Stas has had a turn.

She sits a little straighter and sucks in a deep breath. Her eyes close briefly before she twists to check out the reeling woman behind us. No need—I’m keeping tabs on the men’s fuck buddy. After a hit like that, I don’t expect she’ll be running anywhere in a hurry.

“What do I do?” Stas whispers, settling her vibrant green irises back on me.

I shrug and then nod toward her.Whatever you want.I’d pull my phone out so I can talk with her, but I don’t need these fuckers knowing my secret.

Her left palm pulses on the floor, eyes firm on the guy near-sobbing on the sofa. That blade will burn like a motherfucker by now; he missed his opportunity to get it out while the adrenalin held off the added pain. Stas gets to her feet, fluid and sure, and strides through the room and across to where the guy they called Imir lies. The sound of my knife leaving his eye socket is familiar to me this late in the game, but for a newbie, it takes a while to get used to. Evidenced by the way Stas covers her mouth with the hand that holds the gun to stifle a gag. She walks calmly into the room, steps over Anton, and fronts up to the guy on the sofa.

“Do I look familiar toyou?”

His nostrils flare. “You’re supposed to be dead.” His gaze drops the length of her. “I shot you.”

The idiot shouldn’t have said that.

I rise from my haunches and take a few steps back to lean on the wall to the naked woman’s right. She peers up at me, confused as fuck by my apparent calm demeanor. I’m anything but on the inside. I feel like one of Papa’s capos, eyes darting across the threats in the room on rotation. One misplaced sneeze from the remaining motherfuckers, and I may have to rethink the whole leaving this for Nastasya thing.

She’s beautiful in her vengeance. An absolute angel sent to torture the souls of the damned.

“You made a mistake,” Nastasya explains to the guy. “A really bad mistake.” She shakes her head slowly, all while weighing my blade in her palm.

I shove my fists in my pockets and tent my pants a little to hide how fucked up I am. Now is not the time to get turned on by this shit.

“Who paid you?” Stas asks, rotating the knife so she can grip the blade. “Who gave you the job?”

The man turns to stare down at Jerry, who is still lying on the floor.

“He won’t help you,” Stas says with a little laugh. “You’re going to have to figure out what to say all on your own.”

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