Page 78 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

There’s no time to be sure the makeshift lock will hold. The moment the chair is in place, I spin and step into the alley.

Just like Arslan said, the man is heading my way.

When the heavy metal door opens, he stumbles away from it. “Whoa. Watch out—”

I jab him in the jaw before he can finish.

He curses and stumbles back, but stays on his feet. He’s too far away to land a punch, so I kick his knee in.

The kick isn’t solid, so the bone doesn’t snap, but he still screams.

A firetruck is wailing down the street behind us, so it’s possible no one heard him. But I’m going to make damn sure he never makes another sound.

I slide my knife out of my pocket, extend the blade, and plunge it into the man’s neck.

He opens his mouth to scream, but it’s too late. I drag the blade through his throat, severing tendons and arteries in one jagged swoop. His vocal chords are shredded. By the time I pull my knife free, he’s already going limp.

Thirty seconds later, he’s quiet and still on the pavement.

“Well, that was a fucking mess,” a familiar voice says. I turn and see Arslan stomping towards me. “You could have given me a heads up about the body. I almost brought my motorcycle.”

“You could have sat him in your lap. It would’ve been cute,” I say.

He narrows his eyes. “You can joke because you don’t have to dispose of a body tonight. Christ, I’m gonna be up forever digging a grave for this sorry bastard.”

“I thought you lived for this shit.”

“I said I liked the killing,” he clarifies. “The clean-up sucks.”

“I would’ve asked Misha to deal with it, but you were right there in my office. Seemed more convenient.”

He scoffs. “This is punishment for visiting my best friend at work?”

“I told you to stop dropping in unannounced. Serves you right.”

“You’re a cruel man, Nikolai Zhukova,” he sighs.

He tosses me a towel and I wipe my hands off. The man was angled so most of his blood spray washed up on the wall instead of my clothes, but there’s no way to avoid getting your hands dirty when you’re dealing with a fountain of a neck wound.

“Where am I burying him?”

“Dumping him on Giorgos’s doorstep ought to do,” I say. “Saves you the digging.”

Arslan sighs. “That’s poetic, but a bit risky. You have a plan to get me out of prison when I get caught hand-delivering a body?”

“You never get caught.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll handle it. And you better get back to your date.”

“Fuck.” I glance back and am almost surprised Belle isn’t standing in the doorway. The woman has a sneaky way of slipping under my defenses, in more ways than one.

“Uh-oh. Date not going well?”

“Not a date,” I snap. “And considering she’s trapped in a closet right now, I’d say it isn’t going super well, no.”

“Trapped in a—?” Arslan holds up his hands and shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t have time for this. I have a body to transport.”

"Good. I don’t have time to explain," I say. I wave him off and turn back towards the door.

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