Verity:
Sweet. Theme is Leather and Glitz. I’ll send the car at 10pm xx
“Verity will pick me up later. Will you be coming with me?”
He nods sharply. “Absolutely. There is no way you’re going into Volkov territory on your own.”
Perfect.
I grin wide, and he side-eyes me warily.
“What is it?” he asks nervously.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply sweetly. “Just that if you’re coming, you’re going to have to wear leather pants.”
Chapter Six
Veon
FUCK.
Chapter Seven
Maxim
The blood between my fingers is turning sticky. I’ve been at this little chitchat with Alex for quite some time now, and I’m still no closer to finding out who has been selling secrets to the enemy. I’ve got the police up my ass, and the damn Quinn’s thinking they can muscle in on my territory. Someone has been giving both of them a helping hand. I thought Alex would be able to shed some light on the situation, but all he’s given me are split knuckles and cries of despair.
“Please, stop… I don’t know... anything…” His voice is weak and raspy, and there’s a definite gargle bubbling in the back of his throat. Must have a broken rib and punctured lung.
I reposition the brass knuckles on my hand and roll my neck. “You might be right, Alex, but there’s something that just doesn’t quite add up.”
I smash my fist into his cheek, enjoying the way his cheekbones crunch beneath my hand.
Alex spits out a mouthful of blood and looks up at me with defiant eyes. Well, one is defiant and the other is swollen shut. “It wasn’t me.”
I walk behind him, my steps slow and steady, echoing in the tiled room. “Then why did Niki give me a picture of you talking with Conor and Cillian Quinn? Can you explain that to me because I’m going to have a hard fucking time believing you were catching up with them for shits and giggles.”
His mouth bobs open and closed like a fish, and I know I’ve got him. “Maxim, please, I—”
I slam my fist into his stomach, and he splutters and tries to catch his breath. “It’s Mr. Volkov. And there’s nothing you could possibly say to save you from this.” I punch him again, this time in his sternum. The bone cracks, and Alex throws his head backward with a cry of pain. “You’re a traitor, and do you know what I do with traitors?”
His lips tremble, and tears roll down his split cheeks. I press two fingers to the side of his throat, loving the pitter-patter of his pulse as it thuds a frantic rhythm beneath my touch. The rapid beat of it sets my own heart racing, adrenaline spiking in my veins like a fucking drug.
Alex whimpers as I force his chin up to make him look at me.
“I cut off their heads and send them to the enemy.” I give his cheek a careless pat before letting his face go. Alex breathes asigh of relief, but it’s short-lived. I step behind him and wrap one hand under his chin and one around his forehead.
“Max! No, stop. Don’t—”
Then I twist his head and snap his neck in one swift motion. His body goes limp when I let him go.
What a waste. There’s not much I hate more than being betrayed. It’s like something slithers over my skin, unnatural and uncomfortable, and it makes rage boil in my veins until I eradicate everyone who was even remotely involved.
Mercy is not in my vocabulary. It can’t be. There’s no place for it in my world.
Mercy makes you weak.
Fear is a much better control mechanism.
