Page 13 of Fractured Ties

“You always cut yourself,” Konstantin mused.

Kolya shrugged. “Hazard of the job, no?”

“Or maybe you should lay off the knives.”

Maybe.

But maybe not.

“Napitok?” Kaz offered, pushing a glass of vodka down the bar toward Kolya. He gave the man a nod but continued his work all the same. His mind was still hyper-focused on the dried blood under his fingernails, and what it all meant. “You know, I’m starting to get it, now, Konstantin.”

Kolya’s brother grunted under his breath. “Came here to do one thing; end up with him making a fucking game out of it.”

“I’m not saying the man didn’t deserve it.”

“Better to keep Kolya on that leash when we can, Kaz.”

Kolya heard their words, but he wasn’t really listening. Sometimes, his nature of killing and the way he could lose himself in the act was disconcerting for those around him. Sure, they put on a good show when he was in the midst of it all, but it was after when his work was fully on display that he found those around him gave him a second or third look.

Or their stares lingered a bit too long.

They didn’t get it.

His mind didn’t work like theirs.

And that was okay, too.

“Place is empty—shit, you sent them running once they could leave, Kolya,” Anatoly said, coming to slide into the stool beside Kolya’s.

Yes, he hadn’t missed how fast the few patrons inside of Ivan’s warehouse were quick to up and go once he’d hissed out the word leave. Of course, he had probably been quite a sight standing next to Ivan’s burned and sliced corpse, with a good portion of him soaked in the dead man’s blood. It was hard to say—he didn’t remember a great deal.

That was usually how it worked.

He hadn’t exactly intended to start cutting into Ivan—removing the man’s tattoos would have done a good enough job before his death—but once Kolya got started, it was difficult to pull him off. Like a fucking dog with his jaws locked on the body of a victim, he wasn’t letting go until someone made him, or the prey was dead.

“What’s left for the boss?” Anatoly asked.

Kolya wasn’t in the mood to speak, and Anatoly already fucking knew what Vadim wanted them to do after Ivan was dead. Find something worthy of repayment for Ivan’s debts. Anatoly was only talking to hear himself talk because like most people, he found Kolya to be disturbing after an event like this. Talking filled the silence.

Talking was better than thinking about what he had seen, or what was running through his mind. Talking about something else—anything fucking else—might keep them from needing to talk about all of that instead.

Fuck it.

Kolya didn’t care.

“Here, brat.”

Kolya took the lit cigarette Konstantin offered. His last one had been tossed because the filter soaked up too much blood from his fingers and started tasting like shit. He liked to smoke while he worked—old habits died fucking hard for him.

“Well?” Anatoly asked again.

“Would you shut the fuck up?”

Kolya’s voice came out raspy and hoarse. Like his mouth and throat were both dry, and the words dragged their way out of his chest to get out. The force behind his tone was still as clear as day, and it was enough to send silence covering the bar.

Konstantin and Kaz passed a look between one another while Kolya stared at the tip of his cigarette. It burned bright red—hot, and warning. He blew the ash from the coal away, and then stuck the filter between his lips for a hard, long drag.

Smoke filled his lungs.