Putting on brass knuckles and with a knife in my right hand, I threw him one. He barely caught it, grasping it firmly to his chest while trembling in fear.
“I do play fair, even with people who don’t deserve it.” The streets had raised me, where the strongest always won. My values and the code I lived by didn’t allow me to torture him without giving him a chance.
This way, he could at least hope, because no one could ever best me. But sure as fuck, it would be amazing to see this man try.
“Fight.” With that, I swung my fist at him and he blocked it. In fighting stances, we pushed each other back as he scanned me for weak spots.
Stepping back, I forced him forward as he tried to push the knife into my liver, but I slid to the side and instead hit him square on the chin so his head swung back. Not giving him much time to recover, I stabbed him in the back, but not before delivering a blow to his face.
Groaning, he fell to the floor as blood slipped through his fingers, but I didn’t give a fuck.
All I could see were the memories flashing through my mind like a vivid black-and-white movie.
“Mr. Harrington, you are a witness in this case. Did you see how Radmir Abdulabekov delivered a fatal knife wound to Cliff Harrington on September 19, 2011?” the judge asked from under his glasses, as I sat next to my lawyers. The hearing was closed so no one in the audience could watch it like some kind of circus, while the jury looked at me with scorn and distain.
Conrad straightened up and smirked in my direction, but he quickly covered it with sadness as he hung his head. “Yes. As you know, I came to see my brother, Cliff, on that day, and as I entered his house, this man”—he pointed at me—“held a knife in his hand after stabbing him. Thank God the police were with me, or he would have killed me too.” Then his eyes lit up with anger as he addressed the judge, his voice laced with hatred. “People like him deserve to rot in prison for life.”
The fucker’s words echoed in my ears as the cuffs were put on my wrists while the judge announced my life sentence.
Snapping out of the past, I kicked him hard in the stomach. He groaned louder. Unable to stand up, he crawled on the floor, his white shirt quickly soaking with blood. Whistling loudly, I picked up the gun and pointed it at his forehead while he shook his head, still apparently hoping for mercy.
“You were right, Conrad. I did kill a Harrington after all.” With that, I fired the gun, and he fell on his back with his eyes open, dead.
One down, ten to go. I’d wanted to kill him for so long—his testimony had been the last nail in my coffin—but I couldn't enjoy it much without torturing his mind first. My next victims wouldn’t have it so easy.
I had yet to experience satisfaction from the act.
Removing the latex gloves, I threw them in the bin and washed my hands in the sink then called Vitya.
In five minutes, he showed up along with Misha, to my shock. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Misha rolled his eyes, while smirking at me and giving me a bear hug despite being shorter than me by a few inches. “Dominic sent me. We can’t risk you breaking any laws in the US.” He placed his black briefcase on the floor while rubbing his hands. “Some nice work you have for me here.” He put his gloves on while excitedly sighing in appreciation at the dead man in front of him.
Misha was the Bratva’s cleaner, meaning whenever someone was killed or we needed to dispose of evidence, he would show up and make sure the cops could never trace it back to the Bratva or anyone else. What he did, I had no fucking clue, but he was good at it. The dude was seriously fucking sick. He was lean and nerdier compared to other members, and he never believed in physical violence—although it wouldn’t be good for anyone to underestimate him. He could kill someone and make sure no one ever found the remains.
“Have fun,” I muttered, while he waved us off, not liking to be interrupted during his process.
Exiting the warehouse, two Jeeps waited for us, and Vitya answered my silent question. “Petor will take you to the penthouse so you can rest and stuff.” He was hiding something, but I had no desire to dwell on it. Clearing his throat, he added, “We are leaving tomorrow morning, can’t stay long, Dominic needs Misha there.”
Speaking of the pakhan. “How is he?”
Vitya’s eyes darkened in sadness. “Not good.”
Yeah, he had his tragedy with his own woman and barely had time for the brotherhood. Good thing he had such a loyal man as Vitya by his side.
“I still have ten people to punish.”
“Not now, Radmir. You need to lie low for a while, and then do whatever you please. But you aren’t a prisoner anymore. You are a sovietnik.”
Nodding in agreement, I slapped his back. “Don’t worry, Vitya. Everything is going back to normal.”
His mouth lifted in a mocking smile. “The pakhan and sovietnik suffer and go around inflicting revenge on the people who wronged them. Nothing is normal until both of you can move on from your pain.”
I had no reply for his statement.
Moving on was out of the question until all the people involved had died a painful death. Only then, my heart and mind would settle.
But what would I do to the only woman I had ever loved?
