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CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
Vadik
Dimitri’s house—or should I say his father’s house—is much the same as it was when we came over as kids, when our fathers used to do business together and our families gathered for holidays and such.
Strange, to think that the man I’m ready to sacrifice anything for to get him off this earth was once a childhood friend.
Not that my brothers and I liked him much when we were kids. He was a spoiled, pain in the ass, whiny boy, and we teased him mercilessly. Maybe it’s no wonder we grew up to hate each other.
But the hate, the hard-core part of it, anyway, didn’t really start until his father died and left his share of the club to Papa, completely overlooking and passing over Dimitri. The humiliation he experienced when that happened turned someone already prone to bitterness and animosity into a monster of epic proportions. He went from being merely annoying to unbearable, unwilling or unable to accept that his father didn’t leave him the club because he was sure he’d only run it into the ground.
The truth hurts, sometimes so much that we tell ourselves lies about it.
So Dimitri chose to believe our father stole the club out from under him, rather than what was clearly written in his father’s will in plain black and white—that Dimitri was bequeathed all the other less consequential family businesses, just not the club that our fathers founded together. The fact that everyone in our world knew what happened and why, heightened Dimitri’s humiliation, and his anger eventually pushed him over the edge. When it comes down to it, the man really just flat out lost his shit. It’s not uncommon for men in our world to become unhinged, but the natural order of things, because these men are so volatile and unpredictable, dictates that their days are numbered. They are just too much of a risk to keep around.
We let him come around the club though, in the spirit of temporarily keeping the peace. Turned out that even that charitable gesture bit us in the ass, something that seldom happens because we see most shit coming our way well before it reaches us.
Bottom line is, the man is no end of trouble, has been for a long time, and the end that is coming his way is inevitable and well-deserved. It aways has been, even going back to before his father died.
Maybe his father knew and that’s why he didn’t leave him the club.
But none of that is my problem, at least it won’t be for much longer. Today, Kir and I—while Niko waits for Charleigh the stowaway to get a ride back to the compound—are inside Dimitri’s house looking for some hidden room to see if it might get us closer to the bastard, or at least closer to proving he murdered our parents.
What might it hold that no other room does? I have no freaking idea, except for the hunch that I’m going on.
Papa taught me to listen to my hunches. They may not always be accurate, he said, but they are there for a reason.
Problem is, my hunch is also telling me we might have made a mistake coming here today, even though our advance team assured us the coast was clear.
Kir and I are quiet. Actually, more than quiet. Years of practice allows us to enter just about any place undetected. But, guns drawn, we move through the familiar house, and in the reflection of a window, I see the butt of another gun waiting for my brother and me to round the corner. I stop in my tracks and with a minuscule shake of my head, Kir understands we’re not alone.
From where we stand, I watch the gun move, as well as the man holding it, probably some hired lackey who doesn’t get paid enough for the shitty risks he has to take to put food on the table. But that’s not my problem right now.
Staying alive is.
While we have this guy in our sights, the advantage is ours because he is unaware that we do. The question is, are there others?
There most likely are.
A place like this would never be guarded by only one guy.
I’m not pleased our advance team didn’t pick up on the fact that there were men waiting here for us, ready to ambush. But again, that is something I will have to deal with later.
I could take out the man approaching us right now, and that would be the end of him, but that would also give away our position to anyone else in the house. I’m not usually one to hesitate—neither is my brother Kir—but we need to weigh the risks we’re facing.
I mouthNikoto Kir, and he nods, holstering his gun and grabbing his phone to send a text. He’s done in under fifteen seconds, weapon back in hand, and I feel much better that Niko knows what we are facing inside.
I just don’t know if Charleigh has gone back to the compound yet. If not, I’m not so sure I want him to leave her alone.
But the options swirling in my head force action when the gunman we’re watching begins to round the corner. Before he can even register my brother and me waiting for him, a gun fires. The man’s eyes widen in surprise as his body arcs forward. He stumbles, then falls to his knees, and I kick the gun out of his hand beyond his reach.
Kir covers me while I do this, and when the man falls, I can see behind him, explaining where the shot came from.
Behind him, at the end of the hallway, is Charleigh, pistol drawn, standing in perfect shooting posture.
Holy shit.
She has a lot of explaining to do.
