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I’m coarse five o’clock shadow while she’s supple and soft. She smells like honey and milk, cream, a dash of peaches and champagne. While her original aroma lingers beneath the surface, I sense the shift in her, the way she’s changed just from the little time we’ve spent together.
It almost feels like we’ve grown close.
My thumb traces her cheek, seeks the corner of her mouth, tilts her chin back to expose her lips to me, and then—
Gunshots impact the side of the building.
Instinctively, I shove Liya beneath the table, covering her with my body. An explosion shakes the ground, and shouts reverberate beneath the sharp ringing in my ears. Pain ebbs around my skull, but I ignore it.
“Get them!”
Gunfire shatters the air as my brigadiers flock toward the point of attack. Liya clutches her head while bowing toward the ground. My hand remains on her back as steady and strong as my desire to retaliate. Protecting her comes easily for me. It’s almost the only thing on my mind.
But not quite.
“Gennadiy!” I scream. “Kostya!Stepan!”
“Pavel Sergeyevich!” Stepan shouts while jogging toward the table. He crouches low to speak to me. “Five men! Wearing masks. You should stay back.”
“Fuck that,” I spit while grabbing my gun from its holster. “Get the girls out the back exit and then get up to the entrance.”
Stepan salutes me and darts off. I turn to my wife, who is shivering so hard that I think she might vibrate off the face of the earth. I cup her face and force her to look at me.
“Stay here.”
She shakes her head. “No, Pavel, don’t—”
“Do as I say!” I roar.
I spring from beneath the table while ignoring her pleas to return. Everything is up for grabs in love and war. This fight is no different. If I stay behind with her, then I’ll lose more of my Bratva. With two recently defected, I can’t afford it.
Even if it is from battle.
The five assailants press in from the hole they made near the club entrance. Expert shooters descend upon my brigadiers, who hold their ground. I flip a table and use it as cover as I focus on one of the three assailants coming my way. He’s shorter than the rest, too distracted by the firefight flashing to his left to notice I’ve got him in my sights.
Come on, asshole.I cock my gun and steady my hand.Just a little closer…
I pull the trigger, sending a bullet through the cheek of his ski mask. He flies back in cartoonish fashion, limbs flailing as he soars through the air. His head whacks the ground, body slumping instantly from impact. The two assailants with him turn in my direction and point their guns. I exhale slowly, keeping both eyes fixed on the nearest one.
He goes down the same as his buddy and I revel in the victory of it, encouraged by the triumphant cheers of my brigadiers. The other two assailants are down. This is the only one left.
And he’s mine.
I shove the table aside and step forward, features twisted with fury as I march up to the idiot who thought it would be easy to attack my Bratva. He stumbles back and fumbles his gun as I raise my weapon. Instead of knocking him out, I shoot him in the leg, satisfied with the pained howl he releases as he hits the ground.
He clutches his right knee. Blood waterfalls through his fingers and pools under his tactical boots. “Son of abitch.”
I kick his gun from his hands. “Do you have a death wish? Is that it?”
Silence permeates the club. A damaged light flickers in the corner of the room. Electricity crackles somewhere in the vicinity. The giant hole in the club allows a warm breeze to swarm the area, the sound of cars honking and bugs chirping mingling with the injured groans of my boys.
My brigadiers.
MyBratva.
And this man is going to pay for that.
I rip his mask from his face and sneer. “Vorobyov.”
