Page 5 of Unspoken

Jaw clenched, I dial Frankie.

"Hey, it’s Logan," I say, voice tight but firm.

"Logan?" The line crackles. There’s a mock surprise in his tone when he resumes talking. "Damn. Didn't expect to hear from ya so soon, man. At least not until tomorrow. You’re the kinda guy who likes to think. Ya know what I mean, right?" He laughs on the line.

"Cut the crap, Frankie." I sink deeper into the cool leather of my seat, feeling utterly exhausted. "I want to check out the job we talked about. For the Russian. Put me in touch with the right person."

A shiver works its way down my spine, but whether it's from the AC or what I'm about to step into, I can't tell.

CHAPTER 2

SASHA

I lean against the stone balustrade of the balcony overlooking Vlad's ostentatious garden and gaze out at the strange collection of cacti and rugged shrubs that flourish in this wasteland. The view is so alien compared to the greens of Hampstead Heath where my friends and I would meet up during weekends.

The Las Vegas sun beating down on my face is cruel. This city seems cruel, especially now that Vlad has decided to settle down here for good.

I want to close my eyes and unsee everything that I’ve seen from the moment I landed and till now. It's too bright, too brash, too loud. A tasteful badge of insanity that assaults me with mad splashes of startling neon and crude colors clashing against one another. The sounds are foreign and they rattle my thoughts like rolling thunder.

I bloody loathe this place already and I haven’t been anywhere yet except for one shopping center Ivan, my brother's watchdog, took me to.

I guess I never truly recognized what I had until it slipped through my fingers like whispery grains of sand on a beach in Sussex.

"Cheer up," Alfie would've said, "it's just a bit of sun, mate."

But Alfie isn't here, is he?

Silence has taken his place.

I take a pull from the can, the tepid beer washing down like yesterday’s piss. The taste is revolting, but I don’t care. I want to numb myself with whatever I can get my hands on. Unfortunately, it’s hard to acquire anything stronger than this bloody excuse of a brew on Vlad’s watch.

Wanker deals guns and drugs left and right, yet there’s nothing in his house but water, protein shakes, and whatever it is I’m consuming right now. You’d think a saint lives in this architectural abomination.

It's lunchtime, I think, but the clock stopped ticking the moment Alfie’s life was snatched away in a cloud of flames and debris. His parents likely remain unaware of the actual narrative that led to their son's untimely departure. It was branded as an accident. A reckless prank that spiraled out of control. The campus rumor mill buzzed about some envious soul itching to taint my flashy wheels. Their supposed solution? A handful of pyrotechnical party favors.

Yes, my brother’s bloody hands stretched out this far, across the ocean. From one continent to another to weave a tale so unbelievable.

But the truth is simple.

Alfie was friends with the son of Yuri Solovey.

The can crinkles under my grip—my third? Fourth? Who's counting anymore?

The heat is oppressive, smothering, as if the Nevada desert itself is trying to suffocate me with its brutal embrace. I hate it here. Hate the fake smiles of the housekeepers coming and going, hate the armed, stone-faced Russian dudes patrolling the perimeter of the property, hate my room, hate that my friends are thousands of miles away and I can’t talk to them.

I feel like I’m in prison.

"Fuck all," I mutter under my breath, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. Ash and burnt skin. One thought of Alfie dying from the bomb meant for me has me shaking. I want to end this, this guild clawing at me from the inside. Because he’s gone. Six bloody feet under. And here I am, swigging beer like nothing happened. Plus Vlad yanked me from uni right before graduation. I guess bye-bye degree in graphic design.

There’s a part of me that wants to smash things, but what's the point? It wouldn't bring my mate back, wouldn't erase my family's sordid legacy written in blood and tears.

I let the last gulp of beer slide down my throat, bitter and sharp. The can joins its empty mates on the floor with a thunk. I shuffle back to the monster of a bed that’s more like a raft adrift in a sea of plush carpet. My lids grow heavy as I sink into the mattress, the world tilting slightly. Exhaustion wrestles with anger, each vying for dominance.

As much as I’m terrified to fall asleep because there, in my dreams, I know I’ll see Alfie again turn into thousands of tiny pieces, I can’t keep this up. My head has been throbbing non-stop for days now, my inner voice telling me to stop fighting it. To just let nature take its course. In the end, I give in.

As I drift off, shadows dance behind my eyes, painting scenes of Alfie's laughter turning into echoes of a blast. And even in my sleep, I can feel anger and sorrow coiling around my chest, tightening its hold with every shallow breath.

I’m dragged back to reality by impatient rapping on my door.

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