“I don’t want you to go,” she says quietly.
I draw her in again, her face pressed to my chest. “I don’t want to go either. But every minute that man breathes is a minute I can’t. Every second he’s alive, I see you standing there again—shaking, terrified, holding a gun. I need him gone.”
Her eyes soften as she peers up. “Aleksei…”
“I will not be gone long.” My thumb traces the curve of her lower lip. “You stay here. The men will not leave this house, do you understand? You are safe here.”
She nods slowly, her hand coming up to rest over my heart. For a moment, I almost stay. I almost give in to the pull she has over me. But that’s not who I am.
This is my fight. My vengeance. My blood to spill.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. “Just come back to me.”
Those words shouldn’t feel like a vow, but they do. They settle in my chest like an oath I’ll bleed to keep.
I kiss her again, longer this time. Deeper. The kind that bruises. The kind that tells her exactly how much of me she owns.
“I’ll come back,” I promise against her lips.
When I turn to leave, she grabs my forearm.
“Don’t be reckless. Don’t get yourself killed.”
I stare back at her. “I will not be the one dying. I swear.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out, and I leave before I can change my mind.
The moment I slide into the SUV, my men climb in behind me. I take the wheel, ignition roaring to life beneath my hand, and we tear down the long road toward Konstantin’s estate, where the surviving man is being held.
The house shrinks in the rearview mirror, but Fiona’s touch stays trapped against my skin.
As I press the gas, I make a promise to myself, to Fiona, to the ghosts that made me what I am: the man who touched what’s mine will beg for mercy. And I will remind him there’s no mercy left in me.
The pigs shift restlessly in their pen, snorting and stomping as the scent of blood thickens the air, heavy enough to make thewhole place feel alive. The only sound I care about is the ragged, uneven breathing of the man tied to the chair in front of me.
His leg wound has been wrapped just enough to keep him conscious. His face is so battered that he’s almost unrecognizable: one eye swollen shut, lip split, cheek already a deep purple. He whimpers when I step into his line of sight dragging the electric bone saw across the grass, making whatever is left of his soul recoil.
Konstantin stands beside me, arms folded, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. “It is in your best interest to tell my brother everything. He is a little bit cranky today, and if he has to drag it out of you, you will wish these pigs would get to you sooner.”
He pats the man on the head like he’s a misbehaving child, then steps back. My other brothers say nothing, watching with a cold stillness.
“You have one chance,” I tell him. “You waste it, and we do this the very painful way.”
Except, of course, no matter what he tells me, I will torture him to death.
“I told you.” He gasps. “We were hired.”
“By…”
He hesitates, and I tsk disapprovingly. I crouch beside him, my fingers brushing the grass, then reach for the aluminum bat I left resting against the feed bin, leaving the saw beside him.
“Still don’t know who gave the order?” I drag the bat up his leg, and he pisses himself.
I should beat him dead just for that.
He opens his mouth, but before the words can form, I swing. The bat connects against the side of his thigh, a sickening crunch splitting the air. With his scream, birds scatter from the trees.
I bring the bat down again, this time against his shoulder. Then his other leg. Then his ribs. He howls, a wet gurgle in the back of his throat.
