They look at each other and laugh, like my hard-earned money is fucking trash to them.
“It’s all I’ve got,” I snap, backing up as they advance. My spine hits the cold brick wall.Shit.
They share a look that makes my blood run cold. The lean one presses closer, trapping me. “Not enough,krasotka. We need more… or maybe we visit little sister instead?”
Red fills my vision. “You touch her, I’ll fucking end you,” I snarl, hands balling into fists.
He laughs, grabbing my chin. “Brave words. But what can little girl do, hmm?”
I’ve had enough. I slam my head forward, feeling his nose crunch under my forehead. He staggers back, cursing in Russian.
But before I can move, the big one’s on me. His meaty hand wraps around my throat, lifting me off my feet. I claw at his arm, gasping.
“Bad move,suka,” he growls, squeezing tighter.
Black spots dance in my vision. I kick out wildly, but it’s like hitting a wall.
As darkness creeps in, one thought screams through my mind: I’m sorry, Em.
14
Dimitri
"Where the fuck are you, D?” Erik’s voice crackles through the phone, irritation clear even over the shitty connection.
“At the fight club,” I lie, eyes fixed on the dive bar across the street. My car’s parked in shadows, windows tinted darker than sin.
I’ve lost my fucking mind.
Instead of pounding some poor bastard’s face in at the fight club, I got Nik to dig up everything on Wren Davis.
Nik doesn’t ask questions. It’s why he’s my bestcapo. Half an hour later, my phone pings with an encrypted file.
I scan through it, my jaw clenching tighter with each detail. A familiar darkness coils in my gut, threatening to swallow me whole.
Eldest of three. Brother Leo Davis, 14. Sister Emily Davis, 17. Father, John Davis, 56—worthless drunk, in and out of jail. No mother in the picture.
Story I know too fucking well.
Life left her fending for herself and her siblings. Holding everything together while the world shits on them. It’s fucking brutal, but she’s still standing. I know this hell all too well.
“Bullshit,” Erik snaps me out of my thought. “Piggy’s asking for you. Seems you made quite an impression.”
I snort. “The money made the impression. All I did was not kill the fat fuck.”
“Yeah, well, he’s singing your praises. Says you’re a ‘man of culture’.” Erik’s voice drips with sarcasm.
“What the fuck does that pig know about culture?” I growl, shifting in my seat. My eyes never leave the bar’s entrance.
No wonder her eyes are so fucking empty.
When you’re forced to grow up too fast, something inside you dies.
I know that look. I see it in the mirror every day.
Erik sighs. “Look, just get your ass to the Rosewood. The Governor’s throwing some fancy shit, and we need to make nice.”
“You go play nice. I’m busy.”
