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I smirk. “Good man. You can wait for me outside. I’ll only be a moment.”
As Pasha leaves, I walk calmly toward the stairs, only quickening my pace when he’s out of view. I take the stairs by two, arriving in my bedroom in seconds.
The gun I need is already on my bed, cradled in a polishing cloth on my silk sheets. I don’t have to use it on people often, but I do take it out to the range in my backyard as often as I can. It’s better to know how to kill a man and not need to, than to be caught off-guard and hit everyone but your target.
I check my phone one last time before I get in the mood to talk shit to Angus. I’ve given him enough chances to come clean with me. Ignoring the man who loaned you the money to buy your bar is a poor choice when that same man is willing to reverse someone’s kneecaps to send a message. You fuck with me just once, and there’s no guarantee you’re ever going to be able to walk again.
I tuck the gun into the holster on my waist, clearly visible to anyone who passes by. I have a few more on me in more hidden places, but this one sends a message to everyone who sees me. Don’t fuck with the Russian Mafia.
I change into a pair of thicker jeans and throw on a jacket before heading out the door and joining Pasha.
The air is cooler at night, but it never seems to get colder than 70 degrees in the summer. So, despite the breeze, I’m sweating under my jacket by the time I arrive at Smoke, Steel, & Whiskey with Pasha. He’d better be right about it being open again. I need a drink.
As we park, it becomes obvious that the business is in full swing. It’s Friday night, and there’s a group of bikers smoking weed outside the front door. I walk through the skunky haze into the golden light of the bar, immediately met with the sound of clinking glass and the deep, slurred voices of men who smoke like chimneys and drink like fish.
“Stay close,” I warn Pasha as we walk up to the bar. It’s just the two of us today, and things can go sour quickly if Angus decides to act cute.
I slide up to the bar, ordering a couple of waters for Pasha and me. There’s no time for booze. Maybe after we collect the money.
When the bartender looks at me, I feel a sudden rush of interest, my skin prickling as her bright, curious eyes meet mine. “Would you like to open a tab?” she asks sweetly.
I shake my head. “My drinks are always on the house. You must be new here.”
Her bottom lip comes out in a slight pout, and she tilts her head to the side.
So innocent, so naive.
“I don’t believe I know who you are. It’s a dollar for the water,” she says.
I sense Pasha tense up beside me, and I put my hand on his arm to calm him. I can take care of this. I doubt this sweet young woman has any idea who she’s dealing with. If Angus had any sense at all, he would’ve told her that I’d be coming.
“My name is Savva. I’m here to collect what is owed to me, and the least you can do is give me a water. Be grateful I haven’t ordered a blowjob instead,” I say, watching her sweet expression melt into confusion and disgust.
“You are not entitled to anything, sir,” she snaps, turning away from me. “Go home.”
She tries to step away, but I move faster, reaching over the bar and grabbing her arm, pulling her back toward me until her face is inches from mine. The entire room goes quiet, but nobody challenges me. Everyone already knows who I am, and they value their lives too much to interrupt me while I’m working.
“What the fuck?!” the bartender squeals, jerking back and freeing herself from my grip. “Get out. Now!” She points to the door, looking around at the other patrons in disbelief as they bury themselves back into their drinks and ignore her plight.
“Seriously? Nobody is going to do anything about him?” she asks, her voice growing airy and desperate. In any other circumstance, these men would pay out the ass to beat the shit out of someone who was harassing a pretty young woman, but nobody is willing to lift a finger if it means going against me.
I smirk, crossing my arms and leaning over the bar. “How about you go grab Angus and tell him to stop hiding in the back. We need to talk. Oh, and grab a couple of waters for me and my boy,” I say, nodding to Pasha. “We’re thirsty.”
She frowns, but it’s not the disgusted snarl she gave me just moments earlier. She looks confused this time. “Angus?” she asks.
I sigh, my patience wearing thinner than the bartender’s blouse. “Yes, Angus, you airheaded slut. Get him before I go back there and beat his head against his desk for being a pussy bitch.”
She swallows hard, pulling her shoulders back in what can only be interpreted as an act of defiance. “I’m sorry, but you can’t see Angus. He died a few weeks ago in a motorcycle accident.”
I’m struck back by her words, shocked that I never even considered the possibility that Angus could be dead. I never heard a word about it, not so much as an obituary in his name.
Doubt creeps in quickly, and I feel inclined to challenge her. “Perhaps Angus would like me to think that he’s dead, but then who is running the bar?”
She plants her hands on her hips and purses her lips at me. “I am, and if you don’t leave immediately, I’m going to call the police.”
I roll my eyes. “Right, a girl like you could run a place like this. Did Angus put you up to this? I’m not really in the mood for jokes.”
She shakes her head, stepping away again to pour a beer for another customer and speaking over her shoulder. “No, it’s not a joke. I have inherited the business from Angus because I’m his daughter. I hope that’s not too much for you to wrap your underdeveloped brain around.”
