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That sounds vague, so let me be specific.

Three weeks ago, one of Dimitri’s runners disappeared after a pickup that should’ve been routine. Two days later, they found him in the trunk of a car with three fingers missing. Maksim’s people had done it because he wanted to prove he could reach into places that weren’t his.

Also, if I’m being honest, I’m in a terrible mood and someone was going to suffer for it regardless. Maksim just happened to be the lucky winner.

And of course, because apparently God enjoys seeing how much pressure my self-control can survive before it ruptures, the one person I have to run into in the woods tonight is him.

The actual, psychotic, shameless nerve to stand there in the dark and tell me that if he wins, he’ll kiss me, while probably fucking my sister.

We move through the woods side by side, if “side by side” can describe whatever violent, sexually hostile nonsense this is.

I can hear low voices inside, but I can also feel Kento glance at me.

I don’t look at him. Mostly because I know if I do, I’ll start thinking about his mouth again, and I’m trying very hard to remain a stable human for the next ten minutes.

“I’m going to stab you if you get in my way.”

His gaze flicks to the knife. “You keep promising, my prince.”

God, I hate him.

We reach the side entrance. The metal door is cracked open just enough to let yellow warehouse light spill in a dirty line across the ground. I hear two guards inside, one near the wall, another farther back by a stack of crates.

Kento raises one hand, counting down with his fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

I slip in first.

The first guard turns just in time to see steel flash. My knife goes straight into his throat. His mouth opens around a sound that never gets born, and I yank the blade free while he’s still folding.

At the same time, Kento hits the second one with his bare hands, and I realize I’ve severely underestimated how fucking strong this man is.

He gets one hand around the guy’s jaw and neck, twists, and the body drops before I’ve even fully registered what he did. One hand. He just did that with one fucking hand. I stare at him, already annoyed, because what the actual fuck?

I knew Kento was strong. I’ve fought him before. I just didn’t realize he was that strong. Wait. Does that mean he’s been holding back when he fights me? Because now that I think about it, I’m doing most of the fighting. I punch him, and he barely ever punches back. Even when we boxed, he was more focused on grabbing me, touching me, or restraining me than actually trying to hit me.

Kento doesn’t even pause afterward. He lets the body hit the ground, rolls his shoulder once, and looks completely fucking unbothered. Okay. Show-off.

I swallow down the thought and step over the first body, already moving deeper into the warehouse. There are crates stacked along the walls and a metal staircase at the far end that leads up to a half-collapsed office level.

Three more men round the crates. One sees the bodies and shouts.

I throw one knife, burying it in the nearest guard’s eye so hard his head snaps back against the crate behind him. Kento catches the second by the arm, slams him face-first into the metal edge of a shelf, and keeps going until cartilage stops trying. The third fires once, and I duck low, sweep his knee, and drag a blade up under his ribs before he even finishes falling.

Someone farther inside starts yelling for Maksim.

“Little late for that,” I mutter.

Kento looks at me over the body he’s currently dropping to the floor, black eyes bright with something pleased. “You’re enjoying yourself, my prince?”

“I’m always enjoying myself when idiots die.”

He steps over a corpse and comes close enough that his shoulder brushes mine as we move. “Liar. You’re enjoying yourself because I’m here.”