Page 85 of Beautiful Scar

I don’t give a damn.

He knows me. Once I have an idea in my head, I won’t let it go. I’m as stubborn as he is, and maybe even worse.

But if he commands me, I’ll obey.

I’ll hold it against him. It’ll make me burn bitter with anger, but I’ll do what he asks because I’m loyal to my older brother. We’ve been through a lot together, and I learned a long time ago that I can trust him.

If he asks me to do something, I do it without question.

But even he knows this would be going too far. He faces front again, frustration written on every inch of him, but he doesn’t give the order I know he wishes he could spit out.

“At least bring men with you,” he says, nodding at the building. “You were nearly killed last time.”

“Last time, he got the drop on me. I’ll do better.” I check the magazine of my pistol and make sure there’s a round chambered before shoving my weapon back into my holster. I move to open the door but grimace slightly at the pain in my side.

“We both know you’re not fully healed yet, brother,” Arsen says, looking annoyed as he lifts his phone. “You’re taking backup.”

“I don’t fucking need?—”

“You’re taking backup,” Arsen snaps, glaring at me now. “That’s an order from yourpatron, and be happy I’m not asking you to sit this one out.”

Frustration wells up through my guts. I give him a long, hard look, and all the years pass between us. In the end, I nod once. “Yes,patron,” I say sharply.

He rolls his eyes as he sends the order. “Oisin’s yours, but I’d prefer him alive. He has information we can use.”

“I didn’t plan on killing him fast.” I turn toward the drug house, looming in the darkness. “His brother got lucky. He died fast. Oisin won’t share that same fate.”

I stride across the street before Arsen can tell me to wait. Nearby, men pile out of various cars, all of them disguised to look like normal empty vehicles. I draw my pistol and lower it at the face of the lookout on the front stoop.

The young man stares back at me, eyes wide, looking down the barrel of my gun like he’s seeing God for the first time.

“How many inside?” I ask. My men spread out around me. I count ten in all. A good team, well-armed and wearing full body armor.

“I don’t—I’m not?—”

I palm the kid’s face and slam his head back. He grunts in pain and shock, but I refrain from killing him. “How many?” I snarl, shoving the gun against his chin.

“Eight! There are eight! At least, I think so. Please, don’t kill me. I just keep watch for them.”

I release his face and shove him off the stoop. He hits the concrete hard and stares at me, terror in his eyes.

“Run,” I say.

He picks himself up and takes off away from the house.

Before Dasha, I would’ve blown his brains out the back of his head without a second thought. That’s cleaner and easier. No risk of him bringing back some friends to attack while we’re busy inside.

But now I see children everywhere I go. That kid has a mother. He’s got a father. I’d guess he’s no older than fifteen at most, with a long life of petty crime and a substantial prison sentence waiting most likely, but fuck it. At least he’s got a shot now.

“Go in,” I order, and my men swarm the door. One kicks and breaches, while two more hurry through with their guns drawn.

I’m the third one into the hallway. The place is an ugly mess of empty bottles and graffiti on the walls. Three more young men are in the front room drinking cheap vodka and playing dice. They shout and reach for guns, but I shoot them down before they can become a threat. Blood splatters across the walls, and one manages to throw himself sideways. He survives only a few seconds longer than his peers.

He dies with me standing over him, gurgling and choking on his blood.

“Downstairs clear,” the captain of the squad says. He’s a reliable man named Leon. “I’m holding the back and front doors.”

“I’ll take the next level.” I hold out a palm, smiling slightly. “Grenade, please.”

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