Page 7 of Fractured Ties

“I get a fucking headache just listening to the two of you,” Konstantin grumbled, following to catch up with his brother. “Try to get along, yes?”

Kolya scowled. “This is me getting along, Konstantin.”

Konstantin tipped his head to the side, bowing to the matter. “Fine.”

“Anatoly is already in the place, then.”

“According to his last text.”

“Would have liked for him to be across the goddamn state.”

“Vadim wanted—”

“Vadim wants too fucking much from me,” Kolya snapped. “He could bend a bit to shit I ask for when it’s not very much to begin with.”

Konstantin opted not to reply to that, and instead, stepped up to the warehouse door to open it for his brother and Kazimir who had been quietly following behind the whole time. So was the Markovic way—they listened and soaked it all in so they could use it later.

Smart, really.

“Blyad.” Kolya tossed his brother a look, seeing that Konstantin was tight-jawed, shadowed in his features, and his eyes had gone rather dark. It spoke of his irritation—probably at Kolya. “Let’s just get this done with, yes?”

“Fine by me, brat.”

Situated on the outskirts of the city, the warehouse Ivan Kozlov used for his main business didn’t look like very much on the outside. Steel walls, and a tin roof. Very few windows, although the place was certainly large enough to be a good three or four floors high. Kolya knew there were a few windows on the upper floors on the north and east sides of the building, but certainly not low enough for someone to look into and see anything.

Up above the entrance doors—ones Kolya had only walked through maybe twice before, as this wasn’t his scene when he much preferred the other side of the Boykov business—a security camera zoned in on his face.

He gave it his best fuck-you smirk.

Complimented by his middle finger.

Inside, the first thing to greet the three men was a long, darkened hallway. The smell coming through the corridor reminded Kolya of dirt, decaying something, and rotting hay.

Not surprising, considering …

“What’s this place for?” Kaz asked.

“Fights,” Konstantin replied.

“Fights?”

“Animals,” Kolya uttered low. “Ivan’s got a sick thing for that shit. Vadim said nothing because—well, fuck, look at this place, yeah? Tucked away, never been raided, and illegal animal fighting hasn’t been touched on in the news cycle in half of a decade.”

“Brings in decent money from it, too,” Konstantin added.

“Except for lately, I suspect,” Kaz put in.

Kolya shot the man a look over his shoulder. “Da. The boss says he owes debts, so that money is coming from somewhere.”

“Vadim only steps in when it comes from his pocket, or he knows it’s going to,” Konstantin muttered.

“Quiet.”

The two men hushed under Kolya’s warning as they neared the door at the far end of the hall. He didn’t need for their discussion to be overheard by whoever was watching the first set of inner doors. It was only because of his previous two visits to the warehouse that Kolya knew basically what to expect once he got a little deeper into the place.

Twenty-thousand square feet of hell, that was.

The door opened before Kolya could even knock on it. The man waiting on the other side kept a firm grip on an AR-15 like it was going to do something to Kolya if he looked at it the wrong way. It was only once the man actually took a good look at who was standing there that he backed off a bit and dropped his gaze to keep it from meeting a higher-ranking man’s. All the security in this place was only used for after shit when down. Nobody was ever watching the cameras when the place was opened for business because only certain people even knew this was a place that was opened for business.