Page 16 of Vasily the Hammer

“Vasily, I don’t think that would be wise,” Kostya says cautiously, like I’m being irrational.

I’m not being irrational. I’m just not a fan of coincidences, and the fact that Flagstaff is falling at the same time the best and worst part of Flagstaff has returned to me? And the only person who can explain why she’s here has vanished?

I held Ana yesterday. I got cozy with her. I dodged the questions she attempted to ask me by promising we’d talk later, after I got some sleep.

I don’t even know what we put on the TV, but I think she assumed it was a show we’d been watching together because she put all her attention on it as she slowly inched her way across the sofa to lean against me.

I fell asleep on the sofa with her, and damn if I didn’t wake up after the sun went down, the TV on a whole different show and Ana embedded under my arm, snug as a bug in a rug. And I actually smiled and feltgoodand was proud of myself for carrying her to her bed before getting in my own.

“Why not?” I ask Kostya, staring him hard in the eyes so he knows I’m asking a serious question. Kostya is like a more subtle version of me. Not as tall or as bulky, his hair and skin not quite so pale, his eyes blue but not nearly so intense. It’s how he likes it; he doesn’t stand out. The only thing striking about him is the scar on his neck, one of the few injuries sustained the night of my brother’s death, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. I swore he was going to die getting his throat slit like that, but then it only required a couple butterflies.

Beneath the scar, his Adam’s apple slides down and back up slowly. I’ve known him my entire life, emigrated from Russia with him, mourned his dad’s death as he mourned my dad’s six years later and my brother’s another six years after that. I know he’s not scared of me, but he hesitates.

“We can’t have everything else in the same place as the XQ19. It’ll be too easy for the ATF to catch wind of it. You were the one who pointed that out.”

“We’ll buy a warehouse in Burbank.”

“We need to spread out more.”

“Nevada. Nevada’s easy.”

“You’re being ridiculous! We are already set up in Flagstaff. We own Flagstaff. It is our home. We’re not going to let it fall just because you have this crazy thing—”

“I’m not crazy!”I snarl before I think better of it and bring my tone back down, not bothering to even see which pill I pop to level myself back out.

Slug clears his throat far more timidly than anything Kostya’s done to interrupt. He’s only been with me for two years, snagged from an inner-city gang he was way too smart for, but he’s only ever been honest with me. Loyal. I’ve given him a life he couldn’t have dreamed of. “Boss lady’s doing a mil in upgrades to Flagstaff.”

Boss lady. Benedetti. I consider her loyal too, despite being ATF, but she did just talk me into installing these extra printers in Flagstaff. I didn’t think anything of it. Flagstaff is the same as anywhere else in my territory. I avoid it, but I avoid most places. I told myself Flagstaff was nothing special, even if my skin did crawl every time it was mentioned.

Hell, I approved the expansionbecauseit was Flagstaff.

But why was it Flagstaff? We shouldn’t have everything in Santa Clarita, but we have a place in Riverside. One in Henderson, just south of Vegas, too. WhyhasBenedetti been pushing Flagstaff on me?

I’m not in the mood for insubordination, not today of all days. “Suspend operations in Flagstaff,” I announce to no one in particular.Kostya and Slug, the other print guys here; they’re the most relevant people, anyway. “Fuck Flagstaff, we don’t need it anymore.”

I head to the back door, where Kostya parked today instead of out front like usual. If he follows, great. If he doesn’t, I have a key fob in my pocket and will drive my own ass home. I’m thepakhanhere. What I say—

The front windows explode.

Time goes elastic. It feels like the windows are still shattering as Kostya’s body slams into mine. He’s smaller, but he has momentum on his side. He knocks me down, covering me, protecting me.

Familiar pops fade in and back out, knocking the wind out of me as I relive every fucking second of Artyom’s death in the parking lot of a strip club in Flagstaff. But I was on top of him as he bled out beneath me, and we died together. His death was mine.

I swear I feel blood leaking out of my back to pool around me. I swear I hear it in my breath as it fills my lungs, taste it on the back of my tongue.

I can’t breathe.

I’m dying.

I’m—

A whoosh, and a wave of heat wicks across my face as the others start screaming, popping up from wherever they took cover and running out the back door or rushing to the fire extinguishers.

This is my death. Not shot; burned alive. This is it. This is my Flagstaff.

I’m yanked up like a rag doll, an uncharacteristic show of strength from Kostya as he manages to get me on my knees and shove me toward the exit.

“Stay down!” he shouts at me as though I was ever getting up, but I can barely get myself to move.

---