I don’t even flinch. Just sigh.
Candy scrambles back, eyes wide, hands flying to cover herself even though she’s always half naked.
“Really?” I ask, not bothering to look at him. “Right fucking now?”
Vaska stands in the doorway, hand still on the knob, face unreadable. He’s wearing his usual black-on-black, knife holster visible at his hip. His dark eyes flick to Candy, then back to me.
“We have a problem,” he says flatly.
I exhale through my nose, adjust myself, and pull my jeans back up. “This better be good.”
Candy looks between us, frozen.
“Out,” Vaska tells her.
She doesn’t need to be told twice. Grabs her purse and bolts.
I zip up, buckle my belt, and stand. “What?”
“You’re not supposed to touch the girls. Amato—”
“Fuck Amato, their stupid rule is, don’t touch the broken girls. Candy was never trafficked, she’s just a whore.”
Vaska exhales, closes the door and locks it. He steps closer. I don’t flinch. He wants to do this now, over a pair of tits? I’ll kill him where he stands.
“We have a fucking war on our hands. You’re at the helm and I will walk with you through every second of this war, but I will not sacrifice aninchof my life for you to fuck around. You’re the fucking Pakhan,bethe Pakhan.”
“Watch yourself Vaska. If you start me I won’t stop.”
“And I’ll make sure you reap what you sow.”
I stare at him. Hard.
My jaw clenches so tight I hear my molars grind. The muscle in my neck jumps, and I feel the heat crawling up my spine—that familiar burn that says I’m about to do something stupid.
Vaska doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just stands there with his arms crossed, waiting for me to prove him right.
“You think I don’t know what I am?” I ask, voice low. Dangerous.
“I think you’re acting like you’ve got nothing to lose,” he says. “And that makes you reckless.”
“Reckless kept us alive.”
“Reckless got you locked in an psych ward for two years.”
My fist connects with his jaw before I realize I’ve moved.
He staggers back, hand flying to his face, but he doesn’t go down. Of course he doesn’t. Vaska’s taken worse.
He spits blood onto the expensive carpet and straightens, eyes blazing.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
He laughs; short, bitter. “Go ahead then. Hit me again. Won’t change the fact that the Turks are currently on our territory while you’re getting your dick sucked by—what was it you called her again? A whore?”
I exhale roughly, fists still clenched.
