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“Car bombings,” Shura answered shortly, his jaw ticking. “Executions. They take the little ones, the younger members, or any family member they can access easily. Fucking disgusting. Killed off John the Finger’s wife and two of his young son’s . . . many more, but those were the most. . .”
I didn’t want to know how they had killed them, not with the haunted way that Shura’s voice trailed off. He was not a man easily made ill, but even his face looked green in remembrance.
“We cannot stay here. . .” I ground my teeth together as I tore my gaze from him. “This place has already been compromised once.”And I frankly didn’t know why the hell my father had come back after that. The knots in my shoulders seeming to tense even further as I looked to the byki standing by the only door in this windowless room.
“Da. Your father knows. He was waiting for you.” Shura rolled his shoulders, as if trying to loosen his own tension.
“Did you tell him that was stupid?” I bit out, only to laugh at my own abrasiveness a moment after.
Shura, for his part, snorted, and looked at me as if to question whether or not I had lost my mind. “It is not my duty to question my Pakhan,” he muttered, lifting his brow as if to remind me of the same.
“Da, da, da. I hear you; I hear what you say. I do not agree. This . . . all of this feels wrong. It sits in me wrong, like this waiting around will reap foul consequence.” My accent was growing heavier the longer we stood there, that paranoia doing the same. “Show me the houses that are still secure—that haven’t been used recently.”
Shura grunted, raising a tablet I hadn’t noticed him carrying by his side. He’d been prepared, obviously, and I should have expected no less. If there was any loyalty in question, I knew it wouldn’t be his.
