Not for the first time I wonder when the Bratva will realize they have plenty of women ruthless enough for this business while they continue promoting worthless men. One day women will rule the world, and men will have no choice but to accept their fate.
We can only hope anyway.
I am much closer now, and I see Brad's eyes dart to me. He gives a subtle shake of his head, but I roll my eyes and continue creeping toward the knife-wielding moron. There is no scenario where he lives. Either someone takes him out now or a hit is put out on him. Once they want you dead, there is nowhere the Bratva can't find you.
"You're a dead man walking," Aleksandr growls, echoing my thoughts, but his hand is still shaking. Jesus, he better not shoot me or Brad.
"You fucked Courtney!" the man shouts.
For fuck's sake. This idiot is risking the entire club—and more importantly, my long-term plans of vengeance—for a cheating girlfriend? And they say women are emotional.
"She fucked half the city!" Aleksandr shouts back. Clearly someone failed de-escalation training.
"You—" Whatever the man intended to say is cut off as my shoe connects with the side of his face, the sharp 6-inch heel going into his ear. There is a horrific squelching sound, and I let the shoe slide from my hand as it goes with the collapsing man. Oops. I actually just meant to knock him out. Brad lurches forward, shoving me behind him as he kicks the knife away from the man's hand. It's clear he's dead, however. He's not a threat to anyone but the carpet now as blood slowly trickles around the heel. No doubt there would be a gush if someone pulled the shoe out.
I sigh. Those had been my favorite.
"Oh my god," another of Aleksandr's friends says, gagging. What a pussy. I remember when I would have been horrified by the scene too, but that innocent girl died a long time ago.
"You saved us!" Aleksandr says dramatically, stuffing his gun in the back of his pants. I have a moment wondering if he will actually shoot his own ass. I don't think he clicked the safety back on.
"Of course," I say, going into a relaxed stance, leaning toward him and running my hand up and down the buttons of his shirt. "I can't let anything happen to the most important man in the club," I purr.
Brad snorts, playing it off as a grunt while he lifts the body over his shoulder. I have no idea where he's taking it, but I'm sure the Bratva has a contingency for this sort of thing. It's not the first time I've seen bodies carried out of here and won't be the last either.
"Someone has to call the Pakhan," Viktor says, his hand still rubbing at the red mark on his neck.
We all unconsciously cringe at that moment. I've never tested if Father would recognize me, and I'm not ready to find out. I have a plan; I have a list. Anatoly, Igor, and Ivan will be long dead before I get to Father. And Volk? Volk may have avoidedgetting his hands dirty, but he's just as guilty. I can only hope that removing the leadership will weaken the Bratva enough to make it self destruct, but I don't really care. Once I've killed The Four, I don't care what happens. I have no illusions of surviving.
Aleksandr signals for the music to be turned off, pulling out his phone. A returned Brad and Jack, a second security guard, start politely ushering non-Bratva customers to the door, handing them vouchers for free entry on another night. Thankfully no one seems upset, but most people know the club is owned by someone whose bad side you don't want to be on.
"It's taken care of," I hear Aleksandr say, his voice sounding defensive. "One of the girls." He's quiet, listening to something on the other end. "Sofiya," he says my name, shooting me a look. "Of course not, she used her fucking heel. Those fucking things are as long as knives." He continues his pacing, wiping sweat from his brow. "Got it," he says, ending the call and shoving his phone back into his pocket.
"You can leave," he says, jerking his head toward the door, addressing the men gathered around the scene. There is grumbling and a definite hesitation in the five or so men as they start making their way toward the back door. "The Pakhan is sending someone," Aleksandr says to Jack, who returns to man the front door.
Aleksandr doesn't say who, but a shiver runs down my spine. I know who Father's second is, and more importantly he knows me. Or at least he used to.
I run through my plans in my head, assessing the men left in the room. Aleksandr isn't a real threat as long as I don't let him pull his gun. Even then, the way his hand was shaking earlier, the odds are high he wouldn't hit anything vital, much less hit me at all if I stay in motion. Jack is loyal and would keep me from leaving out the front. Brad is the wild card. He's a goodman, but he also knows helping me in any way would be a death sentence.
I figure I have a 50/50 chance of surviving if the man coming is who I think it is. He saved me once, but he also made it clear what would happen if he ever saw me again. He's also the only person in the world who knows I'm still alive. Or at least I was. We both know the odds of me surviving in the desert after walking miles, already incredibly injured, are slim to none. But one thing life has taught me is you can never underestimate someone, and I have no doubt he has learned that lesson too. You can't live in this life for any amount of time and not learn to expect the unexpected.
I shoot a thoughtful look at Aleksandr. Would he stop me if I tried to leave? Yes. But can I do it in a way that doesn't raise suspicion? I consider my odds and decide that trying to leave the room is my best hope. Leaving the building altogether would be ideal, but there is no scenario where that happens without violence. I can, however, make myself scarce, and there are plenty of places to hide in this building, especially in the dressing room.
I slowly rise to my feet. Aleksandr shoots me a look before quickly going back to his whispered conversation with Victor.
"Doc's here!" Jack shouts from his position at the entrance, nodding toward an older man who marches in with determination and a black leather bag. He kneels by Mikhail and immediately injects him with medication. Poor Mikhail is always a casualty it seems.
"Can we move him to a table?" he asks, and Brad immediately moves, making a barely conscious Mikhail groan in pain.
Seeing this distraction as my chance, I start to slowly ease my way to the dressing room, but Aleksandr grabs my arm. I hadn't even seen him move.
"Don't leave, he wants to talk to you."
"Who?" I ask. But my question is answered before Aleksandr can speak.
Volk has just walked through the door, and he's headed straight for me.
CHAPTER 2
