Cold Hearted Bastard (Underworld Kings)

Dmitry had told me his father came to Vasyli’s every week at the same time and always took the private back room for his meal. After his meal—and a couple of forced sexual acts from the women he brought with him—he’d go back to his apartment, which was heavily guarded and had too many witnesses, and do unspeakable things to the females until they limped home the next morning, bruised and sore and destitute in ways they’d never imagined.

But here, at Vasyli’s, he was unguarded, too arrogant in feeling he was safe in this part of the city. And that was true for the most part. But not tonight.

I hadn’t wanted Galina to go anywhere near Leonid, because it would rack up my rage even higher. I hated having her near him, but this was the quickest, most convenient route to get this shit done with Leonid. I didn’t want to wait, and neither did Dmitry or Nikolai. Waiting would just make the risk of Leonid finding out even greater… if he didn’t already know. Not much got past the sadistic bastard.

At the thought of taking down Leonid, I felt a satisfaction fill me. I’d make sure it was the most bloody, brutal killing possible. He didn’t deserve any less.

My anger rose so fast and high I was choking on it. The memory of Leonid looking at her, the fire in his eyes as he no doubt thought of all the ways he’d break Galina, had me curling my hands tightly into fists. I remembered the way she’d trusted me with the truth of her past—one I’d handle for her whether she wanted me to or not, one I’d take out once this was all said and done.

I’d hunt down the motherfuckers who thought to degrade and hurt her. I’d make them cry and beg for death before I gave them the final blow. I’d make sure Galina never had to live in fear again.

The bartender made himself fucking scarce like a fire had been lit under his ass. Akim disappeared as well. The heavy weight of silence was now the only thing that I let filter through my conscience. I had several guns strapped to my body, all concealed yet easily accessible. But that’s not what I’d be using tonight.

Tonight, and just for Leonid, reserved for fuckers who personally wronged me, or in this case, the only important thing in my life that they wronged and threatened—Galina—I’d use my fucking hands. I’d make this intimate.

I wanted to see—feel—the blood flow out of Leonid’s body as he looked into my eyes. I wanted my face to be the last thing he saw before he took his final breath. Just thinking about it got me off.

I could hear a few raised whispers coming from the kitchen, the clang and bang of pots and pans before total silence once again surrounded me. I made my way toward the back where the private room was, my heart a steady, calm beat in my chest, the thirst for blood surrounding me like a lover’s caress.

The door Leonid was behind was shut, and I stopped in front of it, hearing the sound of a soft female cry on the other side, followed by the unmistakable clank of silverware hitting a plate. I knew the sick shit Leonid liked, how he got off on a woman’s tears.

I unsheathed one of my knives and curled my fingers tightly around the hilt, the weight substantial, the blade sharp enough it would go through flesh seamlessly. With my other hand, I reached for the door handle and silently opened it, the hinges greased, everything still so silent aside from the unobstructed noises now coming from the room.

The interior had the same setup as the main restaurant with the Russian aesthetics, but there was only one white-linen-covered table set in the center topped with plates filled with different items. No one had heard the door open, not with the sound of one woman weeping and the other making the unmistakable sounds of giving head.

Leonid sat facing the door—never presenting his back and being vulnerable. His head was tipped toward the ceiling, his eyes closed, and one hand tangled in the hair of the woman giving him the blowjob. His hold was so tight in the strands that his knuckles were white, and there was no doubt the female had to feel that pain all the way down her spine.

I turned my attention to the other woman, who sat at the other end of the table, her wide eyes trained on me, her face tear-streaked, a bruise already marring her cheek. Blood had trickled out of her nose, and she hadn’t bothered wiping it away, a crimson trail, a visual of the kind of pleasure Leonid got off on.

“Sosi eto, gryaznaya shlyukha.” Suck it, dirty whore. To emphasize what he wanted, he lifted his hips with enough force the girl gagged, clawing at his thighs. She pulled back enough to suck in a lungful of air before she was right back to sucking his dick.