Cold Hearted Bastard (Underworld Kings)

Leonid opened his eyes and righted his head, and our gazes locked. He wasn’t surprised to see me here; that much was clear by the lack of emotion on his face, but then again, that's what I wanted. I wouldn't kill him unknowingly. I wanted him to know his life was ending tonight. It would give me even more pleasure.

He grinned slowly and pushed the woman away, her small body becoming unsteady before she righted herself and hurried to the other side of the room. He tucked his cock back into his pants and zipped it up, all the while staring at me.

In Russian, he said, “She’s a poor substitute to the mouth I really want sucking my dick.” He reached out and picked up an olive, popping it into his mouth before chewing it and washing it down with a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. He made a show of looking behind me. “I don’t see that sweet piece of virgin ass to give me that visual, but”—he lifted his hand and tapped his finger on his temple—“I have her image seared right here. Makes fucking these sluts more fun.”

I kept myself calm, didn’t show any reaction. I didn’t need to let my rage—which was paramount and tangible right now—control me. That's what he wanted. Leonid wanted me to let unused emotions make me sloppy.

“Ubiraysya.” The girls scurried fast as fuck out of the room, and once we were alone, I reached behind me and closed the door with a soft click, never taking my focus off him.

“Care to join me for a drink?” He picked up the vodka bottle and tipped it in my direction. “Seeing as one of us is going to die tonight…”

“I didn’t come here for a drink.”

He took a long swig and watched me before swallowing and setting the bottle back down. “No, you didn’t.” A long, terse moment of silence passed, one where I felt things start to escalate. “My sons think I don’t know betrayal when I can smell it like a hound chasing a rabbit.”

I kept my face emotionless.

“The little bastards were always a disappointment. I blame their weak whore of a mother.” His smile was like the flash of a shark’s teeth. “You came here because of the girl.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking from the shift of his weight. “Yeah, you came here because of the girl.” He chuckled low and deep, and I knew I’d let my mask slip by the way he laughed harder and tipped the vodka bottle in my direction. “Not the sharing type, huh?” He shrugged. “I was never one to get attached. I like to keep my options open, and with so much willing pussy available, it’s a buyer’s market.”

“Trafficking, forcing women to fuck you, or the fact that they are too afraid of your wrath to say no isn’t willing pussy.” I took a step closer, thoughts of Leonid forcing Galina to do anything rushing through my head in disgusting, vile clarity.

Leonid didn’t speak, just kept that stupid fucking grin on his face. He held his arms out, his three-piece suit stretching wide over his chest. “Do you think you can take me down?” He slowly pushed himself up to his full height. His gaze flickered down to the knife in my grasp. “Hand to hand, eh?”

I kept completely still and at ease. I was ready for this. I pushed Galina out of my mind, the very thought of her having no place for what was about to happen. Without taking his gaze off me, Leonid started to unbutton his jacket before removing it and hanging it over the back of his chair. He moved around the table and took several steps toward me, stopping when he was an arm's length away.

For long moments we didn’t speak, just held each other’s gazes, the aggression and testosterone, the suffocating thickness filling the air. And then he struck like a cobra, his hand reaching for my neck. I had no doubt he planned to crush my windpipe, tear my trachea right from my throat.

I ducked and dodged right before he could wrap his thick fingers around my neck. I thrust my arm his way, trying to lodge the blade into one of his kidneys, but he moved out of the way quickly, the knife grazing his shirt. I heard him hiss and knew I’d at least nicked the motherfucker.

We both stumbled back before I charged forward, my body crashing into his. I used momentum to push him backward and against the table. Plates and cups fell to the ground, glasses breaking, my boots crunching on the debris. We grappled for supremacy, with me trying to stab him, but the fucker was stronger than he looked, his arms corded with muscle, so he was able to block any hits.