Istood with my brothers, staring down at the piece of shit traitor who was working for Solovyov. He had been working for my family in Russia for years before he moved to the U.S. to work under Gregor. I didn't even know when he turned on us.
I sucked down the rancid air and kept my hands tight at my sides, trying to control the urge to lash out with a yell and a hail of fists.
It wasn't the traitor's constant lies, or even the way his blood was staining my new white shirt that pissed me off.
It was Kostya's grating laugh.
I loved my brothers, as they loved me. We were loyal to each other and had a bond that would never be broken. That bond also meant they were the only men who could see through my bullshit and knew how to get on my last goddamn nerve.
"Kristoff," Kostya said, squatting down to be at eye level with the man. "All you have to do is tell us what we want to know. Then all of this will stop."
The man wheezed and Kostya stood back up before slamming his fist into the man's face again. Blood poured from his nose and the newest cut on his lip like a fountain.
"Come on man, these shoes are new," he said, taking a step back. "If I would have known you were such a bleeder, I would have dressed more appropriately."
"What is the appropriate ensemble to wear to an interrogation?" Pavel asked.
"Well, that would depend," Kostya said, keeping his tone light. "For the ones who know how to clot, black on black is good for hiding the occasional stain, but for a man like this who gushes blood at the slightest tap...perhaps a stylish rain slicker and galoshes? Something fitted, sophisticated, and easy to clean."
Pavel pursed his lips, considering it, and nodded, before he turned and punched Kristoff in the mouth. Kristoff leaned over and spit a molar onto the concrete in a glob of blood and spit.
"And for the guest of honor?" Pavel asked. "Surely they have a different dress code. This entire event is dedicated to them."
"Well, that depends...for most, something that you don't care about, that you can just simply burn after."
"What about something constricting that will help slow the blood loss?" Pavel asked. "Or maybe a dark maroon color to match the blood. Make it look less obvious?"
"If that was the goal, they should wear brown pants with how often they shit themselves," Kostya added and both my brothers started laughing like we had all the fucking time in the world.
Maybe they did. But there were other things I needed to tend to. Like the spitfire I left sleeping in the hotel. The manager on duty sent me a message when she left, and I knew soon she would find out what I did, and I wanted to watch her reaction.
Most women would have been overwhelmed with gratitude for the luxury apartment, eager to please me for such generosity, but Viktoria wasn't like most women.
She was going to lose her mind, and I wanted to watch her pale cheeks turn as red as the golden-red highlights in her hair and her brilliant blue eyes fill with rage. When I left the tonic on the nightstand, she looked so peaceful. An angel with a halo of silky hair on the black silk sheets, sent to tempt me away from business.
Then she rolled over, the sheet slipping down her body, revealing the marks I'd left on her pale skin. My claim on her was undeniable; my blood ran hot thinking of all the ways I would mark her as mine again. What would she look like with my mark on her neck, claiming her for everyone to see?
"What do you think, Artem?" Kostya asked, pulling my mind back to the dank little room.
"What?"
"We are discussing the finer points of fashion for a situation like this. What do you think our guest of honor should have worn?" Kostya said while Pavel gave me a loaded look that I had no interest in interpreting.
"Black tie. Only the finest suit, one that has been perfectly tailored. It's really the only thing a man should wear when he meets his maker. Normally I would suggest reserving that for the funeral, but there is no need."
"What?" Kristoff said, barely able to lift his head or meet my eye through all the swelling. "But I didn't—I would never?—"
Kostya cut off his lies with a punch to his kidneys.
I lowered myself down to Kristoff's level. He needed to hear me and see my face to really understand the gravity of the situation he found himself in.
"You know what you did, Kristoff. We know what you did. Now you will answer our questions."
"If I do, Solovyov will kill me," he whispered, his body trembling.
Pavel and Kostya laughed behind me.
"Kristoff." I shook my head like a disappointed parent looking at their child's report card. "You're not leaving this room alive. Your fate was sealed the moment you betrayed us."
