Kayla stands to the side, her eyes moving to Elijah again. She’s staring at him like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, her expression awkward, maybe even a little nervous.
My stomach growls again, but my throat tightens. Rich people poison, right? That’s a thing. Especially rich people whose whiskey you’ve tried to spike.
Elijah looks up at me, sandwich already halfway to his mouth. Those big eyes full of trust.
I press my lips together. Take a breath.
A chair scrapes. Dmitry materializes across from us—how does someone that huge move so quietly?—and digs into his sandwich like he’s got three minutes to live.
Right. If they wanted us dead, we’d be dead. No need for fancy cheese poison.
I nod at Elijah.
He takes one bite, and his whole face lights up. “Mommy! This is the best food ever!”
His right. I take a bite.
The food is… fuck. It’s good.Too good.The cheese is sharp and nutty, the bread perfectly crispy, and there’s some kind of herb situation happening that makes me want to cry.
I’m only halfway through when Dmitry’s plate is suddenly empty. How did he even—did he unhinge his jaw like a snake?
His phone buzzes.
“Maksim.” His voice goes flat.
Dmitry’s eyes flit to mine, and for a split second, I feel something ominous, something more than just hostility.
What the fuck? It’s heavy, dark, something to do with me.
I keep chewing, but every muscle in my body tightens, waiting for what he’ll say next. I shove more food into my mouth, pretending I don’t feel the weight of whatever the hell is happening.
“Okay, I’ll be ready.” He stands, chair scraping against marble.
The look he gives Elijah before turning away makes my blood run cold.
Not like a guard dog finding a kitten.
Like a guard dog who’s just been ordered to hunt.
8
Leonid
Pop. Pop. Pop.
“Boss, I think this is a horrible plan.” Maksim blows another bubble with his gum.Pop.
“Blyat. One more pop, and I’ll make you eat that gum wrapper.” I lean against the wall, keeping my distance from the ring.
“Just saying. Three hours and still nothing.”Pop.“Guy’s got more lives than my ex-wife’s cat.”
Blood drips onto the canvas. The old man in the ring spits out a tooth, adds it to the growing collection by the corner post. His gray hair is matted red, right eye swollen shut. Still stands.
I built this ring myself. Not for training. Not for sport. Every man deserves one last chance to fight back, to die with honor.
Even my enemies.
Especiallymy enemies.
