Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I had no intention of fucking up. Not just because I wanted to be the one to get this kill and wreak utter destruction but also because I didn’t want to get my brother, or Amo, who also knew, in trouble.
I got out of my pickup and approached the back entrance of the building. The neon sign on the front declared it a brewhouse, which it was by day in its public areas, but at night and in the spacious basement, Jabba’s little brother had a laboratory for designer drugs. I wasn’t supposed to go in. I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. Especially not Kirill. His wife had told us everything there was to know. She was the brain in their marriage, even if Kirill masqueraded as the one who led the business. Luckily, she had sung like a canary at the mere threat of torture. She had no loyalty to her husband or the Bratva. Her loyalties lay with Louis Vuitton and Prada and whoever guaranteed that standard of living. She was dead now.
I peered through one of the windows into the inside. Wooden casks were used as tables, and an array of beer cans and bottles were displayed on shelves on the walls. I broke the door and moved into the deserted inside of the brewery. No flights of beer and loaded nachos were being served now. I wasn’t sure if a silent alarm had been set in motion, but even if it had, there was only one exit out of the basement. I prepared the explosives and set a timer to five minutes. Maybe reinforcement would be here by the time the bomb exploded, and even more Bratva assholes would die.
I was supposed to leave right away. Instead, I watched the flap door behind the bar for signs of movement. I wanted to make sure Kirill was really inside. The flap door lifted, and a head poked through. Not Kirill. “This place will blow up in a couple of minutes. Send me Kirill and I might let you leave.”
The head disappeared, and almost a minute later, Kirill left the flap door. He wasn’t as meaty as his older brother, but they shared the same Jabba-likeness nonetheless. He cursed in Russian, something very nasty about my mother.
The timer was at two minutes.
“My brother should have fucked your future wife too,” Kirill said.
I pulled my knife and aimed it at his loin. The blade hit its mark, and Kirill sank to his knees with a satisfying howl. Matteo had taught me how to throw knives and Dad how to throw axes. Amo and I had often practiced throwing axes for fun. Throwing a knife came in more handy on the job, though.
Ninety seconds.
I pulled the jawbone of Jabba’s favorite cousin from the pocket of my leather jacket and walked toward Kirill’s writhing form. I had carved XO Max into the bone after I’d tortured the guy to death last week. I wouldn’t get to be as thorough this time, nor could I wait for Kirill’s death. I knelt beside him, put the jawbone down beside his shaking form, enjoying his horrified expression, then I rammed my knife into his back in a way that immobilized him so I could carve an M into his still flesh-covered jaw.
My eyes sought the timer. Twenty seconds. Fuck. I shoved to my feet and whirled around, then raced toward the exit. I’d hate to die because I carved my initial into Kirill’s ugly face. I’d hate it even more for Jabba to find my dead body. He was supposed to find the bodies of his family members until the disgusting rat finally emerged from the gutter.
Primo would definitely kill me if he found out I didn’t follow his instructions.
I was halfway to my pickup when the blast of the explosion hit me and tossed me to the ground. My ears rang, and the scent of burnt hair and flesh told me I had been a bit too close to the explosion than Primo would consider safe. I sat up with a groan at the intense pain in my back and neck. The building was up in flames, and debris littered the street. A dent in the hood of my truck indicated I should have parked down the street where Primo had suggested. But he wanted to be professional. I wanted to get revenge.
Who the fuck cared if I burned myself? Not I, that was sure.
I pushed to my feet despite the static in my ears and got in my car. In the distance, I could hear sirens. Soon, this place would swarm with police, paramedics, and firefighters.
I sat straight as I drove home, not wanting to lean against the backrest. It felt as if part of my T-shirt had melted into my skin, and I didn’t want to make it worse by putting pressure on the burns.