Page 98 of Unspoken

"Sure." Stan shrugs. "Why are you getting your hands dirty, anyway?"

"It was my fucking job to keep him safe."

"Shit, Logan. If you say he is a civilian and caught up in this beef, it's gonna get real bloody, real fast. I warned you about Shtyk."

My fingers tighten around my beer bottle. "Sasha’s just a kid, Stan. He wants nothing to do with Vlad's dealing."

A kid you’re fucking, my conscience immediately laughs at me in the privacy of my mind.

Stan shakes his head, an unamused chuckle escaping his lips. "Wake up, brother. If the kid's a Solovey, he's part of this war whether he wants it or not. Ain't no such thing as innocent blood in this game."

The truth of his words washes over me. I've seen it before, the way this life swallows people whole, chews them up and spits them out broken and bloody. But Sasha... the thought of him caught in the crosshairs makes my gut churn.

I take a long pull from my beer, the bitter liquid doing little to wash away the taste of dread on my tongue. Outside, a sirenwails in the distance, punching through the rock music blasting in the bar. It’s the sound of the city, a mournful cry that seems to echo the desperation biting at my insides.

I have to do something. Get my hands on some sort of information. I can’t just sit and wait for those fuckers to call back and tell Vlad their demands.

"Did they say what they wanted?" Stan asks.

"Not yet."

"There's gotta be a way to get him back," I mutter, more to myself than to my buddy. "Some angle we haven't played yet."

Stan sighs, his expression a mix of sympathy and resignation. "In this business, there are no angles, Logan. Just moves and countermoves, and may the most ruthless bastard win." He leans forward, his elbows on the scarred wood of the table. "So, what's Vlad doing about all this?"

"He's putting the word out. Calling in favors from some of his shadier contacts."

"The kind of favors that come with a price tag and a body count?"

"Is there any other kind in his line of work?"

Stan huffs out a humorless chuckle. "Fair enough. So, what's the reward?"

"Vlad's offering a hefty bounty. On the street and on the dark web. For anyone who can bring him Shtyk, Toro, or their crew. Dead or alive." I take another swig of beer.

"Shit," Stan breathes. "He's not playing around."

"Would you be? If it was your family?"

Silence settles between us.

Stan breaks the quiet first. "Remember when things were simple? When it was just us against the bad guys, and we knew which side of the line we stood on?"

"Seems like a lifetime ago. Back when the world was black and white, and the badge on our chest meant something."

"And now?" Stan prompts, his eyes searching mine.

I shake my head, my gaze drifting to the small window and the neon streets beyond. "Now, everything's just shades of gray. The lines are blurred, and the rules we used to play by don't mean shit anymore."

"Is it worth it?" Stan asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Working for the Russians, getting caught up in all of this?"

I don't answer right away, the question hanging between us like a loaded gun. Is it worth it? The money, the power, the chance to make a difference in a world that's gone to hell?

I think of Sasha, of the way his eyes light up when he smiles or when his fingers hit the piano keys or hold the pencil. I think of the softness of his skin beneath my fingertips. I think of the promises I've made, the vows I've sworn to keep him safe, to stand by his side no matter what.

And I know, with a bone-deep certainty, that there's no going back. Not for me. Not anymore.

"It has to be," I say at last, my voice raw with the weight of the admission. "Because if it's not... then what the hell am I even fighting for?"

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