Page 132 of Bratva Menace

“Oh, shit.”

His body rammed into me and hit me with the force of a fucking freight train. He picked me up in a running tackle and slammed me up against Sergei’s desk. A knife came speeding toward my face.

I blocked it just in time, holding it away from my eye.

“What the fuck, Mr. Average?! I thought we were friends!”

Vernon growled, trying to drive the knife forward and pierce my stunning blue eyes. How dare he! They were my best feature!

While holding his wrists in place to ensure the blade didn’t get any closer, I swung my elbow up in a swift move, hitting him in the jaw. He barely moved. Barely fucking felt it. I hit him again and again, and still, the blade kept coming, inching closer and closer to me.

“Get”—whack—“the fuck”—whack—“off me!” Whack. Whack. Whack.

The dude didn’t budge, and my arms were beginning to tire. I didn’t have much longer. I needed to get the fuck out of that position quickly, or I was going to end up joining Sergei.

Think. It slid an inch forward. Think. Another inch. Think⁠—

I flung my arm out to the side, clasped a glass snow globe, and smashed it into the side of his face.

He roared in anger, fumbling backward. I kicked him in the chest. He grunted at the impact, shuffling back another few steps. I got back onto my feet and moved away from the desk. I needed space. The freedom to move around. Getting backed into a corner with that dude was not a good idea.

Vernon cracked his neck. The knife was still in his hands. With a twirl, he switched it into a reverse grip, the jagged edge facing outward for maximum damage. He seemed to change right before my eyes. Where I had once deemed him as an unassuming man, quiet and non-threatening, he was suddenly the complete opposite. Deceiving. Lethal. Dangerous.

Turned out, we had a lot more in common than I thought.

I palmed the other blade behind my back and flipped it to match his grip. We eyed each other cautiously as we circled around the room.

“Who are you?” I asked. His footwork was impeccable, his stance immaculate. He was a man with training, that much was clear, and that made him a man to be weary of.

“I’m the man hired to watch over Sergei.”

It was the most I’d ever heard him speak.

My gaze flicked to the man in question, dead in his chair, and back to him. “You ain’t doin’ a very good job. No offense.”

Noises reached my ears from the rest of the house. Sounds of battle. Fighting. Screaming and gunshots. That was when I knew Sergei’s last act before he died was completely and utterly fucking us over.

“You’ll die for that,” Vernon said, his body tensing. There was no more discussion. He struck hard and fast, swinging his blade in a powerful arc upward. I reared back, avoiding the strike as the blade whistled through the air.

He twisted immediately and went to stab me in the thigh. I pivoted, light as a feather on my feet, and swung my elbow back. He blocked it by placing his palm up near his face and tried to jab me in the stomach. Our blades clashed as I brought mine up to intercept.

We locked into an intense knife fight, slashing and hacking at one another with deadly, quick strikes. He was very good. Fast as fuck, and not at all hesitant in his moves or attacks. He got me a few times, slicing up my forearms and biceps. They were superficial wounds. Nothing to be concerned about. The adrenaline hammering inside me masked the pain, making sure I could barely feel the thing.

I kicked the knife out of his hands. It clattered to the ground. The fucker tried to tackle me again. I swerved out of the way, twisted so I was at his back, wrapped my arm around his neck, and stabbed him in the chest from behind. He cried out in pain, struggling against me. I pulled the knife out and struck again, stabbing him in a different spot. I did it over and over and over again, hacking away at him with fury. Even when he started to slowly sink to his knees, I kept going, like a man utterly possessed. The squelch of each impact was like music to my fucking ears.

I finally let him go, and he fell to his back, choking and gagging on his own blood. Brown eyes looked up at me, full of pain and anger.

“You—have no idea—what you’ve done,” he gasped out. A puddle of red began to form around him.

I panted, slightly out of breath, my chest heaving.

“They’ll come for you for this. You’ll—all—die.”

Dropping to one knee at his side, I grasped his shirt and pulled him toward me. “Who? Who will come?”

He smiled, and it was eerily familiar to the one Sergei gave me during his final moments. Triumphant. “Everyone.” Then, he slumped, dead.

I rose back to my full height and put my hands on my hips. “Well, that was ominous as fuck.”