Page 57 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

My gun aims downward. I press the trigger. His leg sprays blood.

“Eahhh!” he grunts in agony, writhing on the ground.

Now that we speak the same language, I press the newly bloodied gun back under his chin, grinding it in a little to make him really feel its presence, its threat. “Tell me what I want to know. I won’t ask again.”

He’s clutching at his leg, groaning. “I … It’s a new leader. Aggressive type. Hates the Bratva.”

“Who?”

Sirens.

Ludmil steps forward. “Boss …”

I ignore him. I don’t need him to tell me that the police are close. That we have to go soon—very soon.

“Tell me.”

Punk Bitch has crumpled to the ground, chest heaving. “I don’t know. I really don’t. No one does. He wears a mask … They call him Skull God.”

The sirens are louder now. I nod to my men. “You can go. We’re almost finished here.”

They leave, bearing Jaul between them, and then it’s just Ludmil and me again, along with the sniveling waste of space crumbled at my feet.

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” he asks like a plea. “You don’t have to. I’m unarmed. Innocent.”

I regard him. Ugly, twisted, wounded. Even if he does make a claim to the police, cry about us—they won’t listen. They know better by now, if they want to throw anything at Gavril Vaknin, it has to be cement-solid, not based on the word of some criminal.

We don’t kill civilians—but this guy is as far from a civilian as you can get.

I press the nozzle into the gaping mouth of the skull on his shirt. “Innocent?” I laugh. “No, you’re not.”

I pull the trigger.

As his eyes close for the last time, I give him a final message to remember. “As long as I’m in charge, that skull on your shirt marks you for death.”

Then Ludmil and I stride away.

“You did good today,” I tell him as we climb back into the Range Rover and peel away before the police arrive on the scene.

“We all did,” he agrees.

“Yes, but we have a lot of work to do.” Now that I know what’s behind my problems, I also know what I have to do.

It’s war now.

13

Joy

I stride along faster now that I’m out of the rich neighborhood. Chowder’s trotting with a new pep in his step, too. Clearly, the food and wash did him good, better than it did me. Then again, it’s not like he had someone propose for him to be their fake wife and throw his head for a loop.

Me, I’m just trying to figure out what shitty name I should title the shitty story of my shitty life. And pretending that that isn’t distracting me from the bigger mindfuck at play here.

Every time I think things can’t get any weirder or any worse, the universe manages to outdo itself.

Then again, at least Gavril led with his words instead of grimy fingers. At least he let me bathe and eat, and then just told me straight up what he wanted. I almost have to admire the sheer iron ballsit takes to make an offer like that with a straight face.

I transfer Chowder’s twine leash to my other hand, the one that doesn’t yet have rug burn from the makeshift contraption. I shake my head at myself, at the dumb thoughts I’m thinking.

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