Page 7 of Brutal Knight

“And you don’t?” Bourbon said, peering over Romero's shoulder, who was still working on Dante’s tattoo.

Coulter just chuckled. “Speaking of women, Tatiana almost shit a brick when you called her up last night, Knight.” Coulter's knowing smirk had my protectiveness surfacing.

"How about you just worry about keeping your firecracker under control. I can take care of my own problems."

“Tatiana's not going to make it easy for you to claim her,” Coulter shook his head.

"And Aster's going to lock you in your room and burn it down if you don't get home soon.”

"She'll do no such thing,” he smirked, "as she's currently tied to the bed."

"Goddamn," I choked out a laugh, and Bourbon just ran his hand through his hair, smiling and shaking his head.

"If you're done gossiping like old ladies," Torian, who had been quiet the whole time, even when he was getting his tattoo, stood up, slipping his phone into the pocket of his black jeans. “I’ve got somewhere to be.” Torian was Bourbon’s concierge: his official enforcer, in charge of ‘special projects’.

“Who's the one in a rush to leave now?" I asked, winking at him. We all knew what Torian was preoccupied with these days.

"Unlike you and your useless dick, I have work to do." He gave me a hard stare. I only smirked back at him, not saying anything. When he was bored with my lack of response, he scowled, then turned towards Bourbon. "Unless you have anything else for me, I need to go take care of myproject.”

“Actually you two,” Bourbon looked between Torian and me, “I need you, Knight, to find Benny. Then give him over to Torian.”

Benny was the last of the old Don’s loyal men. He’d promised to be at the swearing in ceremony last night but he’d disappeared in the middle of the night.

Bourbon didn’t need to explain what he meant by ‘give him to Torian’. We all understood that Benny’s disappearance was a clear sign he wouldn’t switch his loyalties over to Bourbon, and for that, he needed to die. As Bourbon’s enforcer, it was Torian’s job to make that happen.

Personally, I could kill Benny in my sleep, but no one here knew about my past. There was only one person alive who knew about the trail of blood behind me, and I wanted to keep it that way.

After agreeing, Torian pulled out his wallet, stopping to place a hundred dollar tip on Romero's desk before walking out the door without a backwards glance. That was my cue to leave; I had somewhere to be, too—the sweetest part of my day. Even if she was asleep, she wouldn’t mind waking up for some midnight tea.

After that, I needed to finish my plans for Tatiana. If the cartel was becoming more dangerous, I needed to have everything in place to protect her, my number one problem being re-gaining her trust.

I stood to leave, tipping Romero and saying my goodbyes, and Coulter jumped up after me. “I’ll walk you out.”

Bourbon barely gave us a backward glance. He was back to brooding, silently watching Romero finish Dante’s tattoo.

As soon as we were a few steps out the front door and out of earshot, Coulter stopped. “You and Bourbon weren’t here when things went down with the cartel, but you saw how fucked up I was that night. The Mendozas are ruthless, and they won’t wait for us to take them down. I need you alert and ready, you understand?”

I stared down the street, watching the crowds walk past the intersection, thinking about how tore up Coulter had been that night. He was lucky they hadn’t killed him. I wasn’t sure they hadn’t meant to.

I never wanted that to happen again.

These men, myfamily, had saved my life on more than one occasion, and I owed them my loyalty and my life.

“You got it.” I nodded. “Whatever it takes.”

If only I’d known then what was brewing in my own backyard, and the danger that my own woman was in, I’d have warnedhimto be ready to kill.

TWO

age8

The tall, grey building was as cold and weathered as the sheeted ice surrounding me. I gripped the canvas bag to my chest, my fingers digging into the soft, worn material as the harsh wind blew my hair in my face.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the playground. It was old and dirty, the blue and red paint faded under the harsh Russian weather. It was probably built in the seventies. And there was only one swing left. It’s not like I could play there with a friend.

"Hey!" A girls voice called out in Russian, over the squeaking, creaking of the swing.

I set my eyes on the front doors.Don't look over there. Don't look over there.

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