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"What makes you think you should be reassigned to any of ourcrews? How the fuck can any of us trust you to obeyuswhen you’ve proven that you’re lying sacks of shit?"
Anthony protested weakly, "Your da cultivated that—"
"He cultivated you lying to him?"
"No. He wanted us to be like family. To have each other’s backs."
"There’s having each other’s backs, and there’s hiding shit like a drug addiction from him. There’s hiding shit like the fact Cain was buying product from another faction." I waved the gun in my hand. "No, you’re all fucking runners again. Don’t care if you’re too old and too fucking fat to run, Jonesy. You made your bed, and you’re going to lie in it."
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a slip knife before I crouched down in front of Cain.
Resting my gun on the floor beside his shoulder, I sliced through the duct tape on his face, ignoring his screams as I slit his flesh open at the same time, deep enough to cut into the bone.
When his features were free, I saw that Brennan had worked him over in my absence because he was pummeled to fuck.
Watching the blood oozing from the deep wound, I questioned, "Where did you buy the drugs?"
"Why’s it matter?" Cain slurred.
"Because I don’t fucking trust you, that’s why. I know what it takes to maintain a habit, and I know that you make good money, but you don’t earn enough for that. Especially some chemical that's 'exclusive.' That means you were getting the money or the drugs from somewhere else. Where?"
"Fuck you." He went to spit at me, but I shifted out of the way, surging to my feet before I kicked him in the head.
"Where did you get the drugs?"
"Fuck you," he slurred again, so I kicked himagain.
To my audience, I declared, "Disobedience—when I'm your leader and you're supposed to be so fucking loyal to me."
I dropped to my knees once more, hiding a grimace at the force of the collision, and I grabbed Cain’s nose with one hand and my gun with the other. Squeezing the nostrils closed until his mouth dropped open, I shoved the butt of the revolver between his lips.
Pushing it down his throat until he was gagging and choking on it, I looked up at the men, spying what I’d intended from this gathering.
Fear.
Respect.
I wasn’t going to lead them like Da did—but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t cultivate both at the start.
"Cain’s obviously not understanding his position," I drawled, watching as guys at the back stood up for a better view.
When the bastard spewed, vomit speckling his jaw, chin, and chest, some chunks even landing on his forehead, I pulled the gun away.
As he retched, rolling onto his side to get his breath back, I asked, "Where did you get the fucking drugs from?" At his silence, something broken only by his sputtering, I seethed, "Don't make me fucking kick you—"
"Stepanov!" he cried out.
I stilled.
"Stepanov is against Maxim Lyanov," Lucas informed me, jumping to his feet again.
Bratva.
But we were goddamn allies.
Jesus fuck.
"There’s infighting in the Bratva?"
