The stranger glares at Damian, "You going to tell them, or should I?"
Damian shakes off Edward’s grasp, then straightens and glances between us. "This is Nikolai Solonik. He is part of the Russian Bratva."
”The Bratva?" My heart begins to race, my pulse rate ratchets up. "He belongs to a crime syndicate?"
"The Bratva," Nikolai turns on me, "are more than a crime organization, we are a?—"
"—Brotherhood," I fold my arms across my chest. "In fact, doesn't Bratva translate to brothers from the Russian?"
He smirks, "So you English toffs are not completely stupid then?"
"British," I growl. "We’re British, you asshole."
His grin widens, "You British bastards ready to watch your friend take on the reigning champion of the Bratva in the next street fight?"
5
Sinclair
"What fight?" I snap. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Nikolai jerks his chin toward Damian, "Ask your friend."
"Damian?" I turn on him, "Care to enlighten us?"
Damian wipes the blood off of his face, then straightens to his full height. "I met Niko… Nikolai," he glares at the man, "a few months ago at the pub. We got to talking. I told him about my band, how we were trying to break in on the circuit."
He hesitates and I scowl. "Spit it out, you asswipe."
Nikolai winces, "Why is it that insults sound much better in a non-English language?"
I glare at him.
He smirks, then raiseshis hands.
I turn back to Damian, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself? Did you make a deal with him, D?"
Damian grimaces, "Not really."
"Not really?" Saint snaps. "Either you did or you didn’t?"
"Uh," Damian rubs the back of his neck, "he said he could get me on stage at the Roundhouse."
I set my jaw, "What did he want in exchange?"
Damian’s lips firm.
"Tell me, D," I demand.
Damian blows out a breath, "My taking on his best fighter at the next street fight."
"What the—?" I straighten to my full height. "And you agreed to this?"
Damian's jaw tightens.
"You haven't fought since the incident," I remind him.
"So?" He hunches his shoulders.
