Page 9 of Web of Lies
Sixty percent of the crowd is made up of criminals, so fights are common. Meanwhile, thirty percent are people hooked onthe thrill or looking to meet their dealer for a fix. That leaves ten percent who were dragged along by someone else or ended up here by accident.
Still, I prefer to do it away from prying eyes, where no one is there to judge how I do it. Just me and the poor bastard who won't make it out alive. I want to be able to do what I want—mock, taunt, and drag it out with a chat if I feel like it—without having to be discreet about the kill. Discreet is boring, and I hate boring. Out in the open, there are rules, and nosy people stick their noses where they don't belong, and it's just stress on top of stress.
At the sight of my target weaving through the crowd, followed by two unfortunate souls, the corners of my mouth twitch. Perfect. The little mouse is heading straight into the trap.
The stuffy summer night air is thick with dust and the lingering stench of chemicals. I lean against the handrail of the old metal bridge stretching across the upper level of an abandoned warehouse and watch the amateur show of a drug deal below. My target is a dealer who has gradually made a name for himself and has wormed his way into a territory where he has no right to sell. Either he's stupid, or he believes that the people running this area aren't paying attention.
I run my fingers over the rusty railing, feeling the bumps under my pads while keeping my hands busy and my mind buzzing. Glancing at the ceiling, then at the men below, I shift my weight from one leg to the other. With each passing moment, my palms grow sweaty as impatience creeps through the chaos in my mind. Every nerve in my body screams to cause chaos. However, the notes stated that if a deal were to happen, I shouldstay put until it was finished. The customers will need to find a new source, and the Bratva already has its dealers ready to step in the moment that little rat is out of the picture.
Hunting down the pests on the street who think they can barge in and climb to the top without consequences is the best part of this job. Plus, it pays well enough. I could certainly earn more money by taking over the jobs my brother left behind after he walked away from this life. The Pakhan has offered me the position several times, but the thought of sucking up to rich folks and politicians while wearing an uncomfortable suit and sipping champagne isn't for me. Never was, never will be. And honestly, those folks wouldn't like me either. I prefer being out on the street over attending glamorous events.
Upon hearing the men say their goodbyes, I raise an eyebrow and watch the customers take their goods and walk out of the building. Meanwhile, my target turns and walks toward one of the tall, rotting wooden crates, counting the cash before setting his belongings down.
It's showtime.
I step back from the railing and turn around. "Well, well, well. Who do we have here?" I call out, my voice laced with mischief, as I walk down the stairs with a bounce in my step. With each landing, the old metal structure creaks under my weight. The man's head jerks up, and his eyes widen as he watches me climb down. I draw my gun, flip off the safety, and step onto the concrete floor.
"Who are you?" he asks, trying to sound tough. But the slightly higher pitch in his voice gives him away.
"Who do you want me to be?" I ask, lips curling into a smirk.
"If you don’t want to buy something, get lost." His voice cracks, barely hiding the panic underneath.
I let out a slow, throaty laugh and take another step closer. "Get lost? Oh, buddy, that's cute. Really cute. But you're stuckwith me tonight." He shifts back nervously, just as I want him to. "You know," I continue, my voice dripping with mockery, "you really shouldn't be wandering around here alone. Not in this part of town. It’s dangerous for people like you." He moves around the crate, trying to put distance between us, but I follow him with slow, predatory steps. There's no reason to rush this. The longer I drag it out, the more entertainment I get out of this.
When I get to the other side, I look down at the stash of cocaine he left out like a rookie. "You're not welcome here," I say, my voice low, looking back at him. "Not with this garbage." I nudge the ziplock bags with the barrel of my pistol. "Not on Bratva territory."
The man's eyes widen with pure terror. His hands tremble as he reaches for the gun holstered at his waist. Without hesitation, I raise my gun and pull the trigger. The explosion echoes through the humid air of the building, bouncing off the crumbling walls as the bullet rips straight through his arm, knocking the gun from his hand. Blood gushes from the wound, and he drops to his knees, crying out in pain as he clutches the injury in an attempt to control the bleeding.
With a sigh, I step around the crate that separates us and find the man cowering on the ground, clutching his arm as he crawls toward his gun. "No, no," I say, and give the weapon a swift kick, sending it flying out of reach. "We're not doing that."
"Please…" His voice trembles. "I can pay you. Please don't kill me."
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head as I tower over him, my eyes locked on him as he scoots backward, desperate to get away from me. "I don't think you can pay me more than the Bratva, can you?" His eyes widen, and I can't help the small, mocking huff that slips from my chest. "Thought so." I raise my gun and aim it straight at his head.
Ending a life doesn't faze me, not when I'm just cleaning up the mess. I don't feel guilt. I don't flinch. I don't wonder what kind of person he could've been if he had made different choices. He made his bed the second he walked into this territory and thought he would get away with it. They're all the same: greedy and blinded by their thirst for power. They're too arrogant to see the danger in front of them. If they had spent half the time building actual connections instead of charging in, maybe they wouldn't have found themselves staring down my barrel.
"Any last words?" I ask.
He opens his mouth, but only a painful whimper leaves his lips as if the words are stuck in his throat. Giving him the chance to speak, to beg, or to say something worth hearing, I wait a few extra seconds, but still nothing. So, I pull the trigger. The shot rips through the air, cutting off his whimpers. The echo rolls through the building, bouncing off the walls until the night settles into a deep, chilling silence.
A sigh escapes my lips as the body in front of me slumps to the ground. Blood pours from the bullet wound in his head, pooling into a dark red puddle beneath him. The smell of gunpowder mingles with the metallic scent of blood, thickening in the air. "How anticlimactic," I mutter as I slide my pistol back into its holster. I walk over to the lifeless body and give it a light nudge with my foot. Stepping over him, I squat down, shove the jacket aside, and search the body for anything valuable or of interest to the Bratva, but there is nothing of note.
I steal a glance at what's left of his face before pulling my phone and headphones out of my pocket. I shove one bud into my ear and press the number of the burner phone. The call doesn't even ring once before the person on the other line picks up.
"I'm all done," I say.
"Good. Is anything useful?" The voice speaks with a thick Russian accent.
"No. You can send your cleanup."
"Perfect. They'll be there in ten." The call ends before I have a chance to respond.
I steal one last glance at the lifeless body before walking out of the building and lighting a cigarette. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the nicotine. My lungs inflate, and the familiar burning sensation soothes the buzzing in my muscles. Tilting my head back, I lean against my bike and stare at the cloudy night sky.
As promised, a black van pulls around the corner about ten minutes later. A familiar face climbs out of the driver's side, followed by another from the passenger seat and one more from the back. The familiar face of the head of the Bratva's cleaning crew approaches me.
"Is there anything we should be aware of?" he asks.
