Hands trembling, she obeyed—stuffing his limp cock back into his underwear, zipping up his pants with a choked sob, crying like a calf led to slaughter.
Then one of my men killed the music.
The silence hit like a bomb.
“Shut your fucking mouths before I shut them for you.” I barked.
They froze.
“If any of you breathes a word about what happened here tonight, I’ll personally hunt you down and toss your corpse into the same pit as these fucks. Got it?”
The girls nodded, trembling.
I kicked the doors open and pointed toward the hall. “Get dressed. Then get the fuck out. My men will take you to town.”
They scrambled for their clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands while I signaled two of my men to escort them. If theytried walking from here, it would take hours—and they’d freeze before they made it halfway in what they were wearing.
Look at me. Practically a fucking saint.
The room was empty now—except for the bodies and my men. Blood soaked the carpets, slicked the walls, pooled under twitching limbs, while the last of my men stood over the wreckage, breathing heavy, their blades still wet.
I turned to them, nodded toward Pakhan’s crumpled form. “I’ll take care of him now.”
A beat of silence.
Then I smiled, slow and mean. “I’m about to turn this house into a bonfire. There’s cash stashed everywhere. Help yourselves, boys—just try not to act like you were raised by wolves while you do.”
The reaction was instant. A burst of rough laughter rolled through the room, followed by firm, approving claps. Heads dipped in sharp nods, shoulders squaring as the mood shifted upward in one disciplined surge.
“Hell of a night,” I added. “You did good.”
“Thanks, boss,” one of them said, still catching his breath.
“And sorry,” I added, deadpan. “Next time, I’ll give you a minute to come before we start the executions.”
Another one wiped blood off his knife. “It’s fine. But you owe us. Big time.”
“Drinks on me,” I said.
“Make sure the drinks come with tits,” someone muttered, and the room broke into grim laughter.
Sashko wiped his blade on a rag. “Time to head home. If I’m not at the door by dawn, my wife starts digging a grave—just in case.”
The others started filtering out too, still grinning. I kept a few of them behind—just in case any of Pakhan’s friends decided to drop by unexpectedly.
I turned back to the task at hand.
Pakhan was still out cold.
I grabbed him by the ankles and started dragging him out of the room. His arms flailed limply behind him, his head cracking against chair legs, doorframes. His shoulder clipped a cabinet hard enough to knock over a glass ashtray that shattered on the floor. I didn’t slow down. He was dead weight, and I hauled him like trash, careless and cold, leaving behind a trail of blood and bruises as we went. If he was anywhere close to coming around, that would’ve put him right back out.
After I dragged him into the study, I hauled him up and dropped him onto the heavy oak desk like he weighed nothing.
Then I slid off my blood-smeared jacket, reached into the inner lining, and pulled out the folded photo of Mila. The last thing he’ll see before his final breath… will be her face. Let that haunt him.
A knock at the door.
I tucked the photo into the back pocket of my pants.
