Page 38 of Jett

“She’s not cut out for this life, Prez.” He shakes his head. “She hasn’t had to deal with this kind of shit before. She’d never seen a dead body before all of this, much less realised what our enemies do to our women if they get a hold of them.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“We’re gonna make this right, Prez.”

“My wife is dead, Kick. There ain’t no making it right. There’s only revenge.”

***

WE BUST THROUGH RYZHANOV’Sgate with the van and jump out, shooting motherfuckers left right and goddamn centre. I make my way to the front door and lift my machine gun, firing at the guard’s hand. He screams and drops his weapon, and I shoot the lock from the door before dropping him where he stands.

“Ryzhanov!” I shout as another guard rushes me. I don’t have time to aim, and I’m tackled to the ground by three-hundred kilos of fat Russian. I pull my knife from the sheath and stab his gut over and over until the chunky bastard slumps all of his weight on top of me. Blood pours from the gashes in his abdomen, making my hands slick as I try to move him off me.

I finally crawl out from under him, and I’m hit in the back of the head. I see stars, but I come out swinging and kick the shit out of the arsehole who hit me. He’s a lanky kid, no more than twenty, and right now he’s in my fucking way. He pulls a Glock from the back of his pants. My own gun is being held hostage by a dead, fat Russian right now, so I slowly ease my hands up in surrender.

“Get on the ground!” he commands. His eyes are wide and panicked, and his hands shake as he aims the gun at my head.

“Okay,” I say placatingly. I bend my knee as if I’m about to go down, but I pick up the metal bowl he hit me with and fling it at him. It strikes him clean in the nose and he drops his Glock. I snatch it up and shoot him in the head.

Someone comes up behind me and I whirl with the Glock in my hands. Tank arches a brow, and I lower my weapon. “Ryzhanov?”

“I don’t know. He’s gotta be here somewhere, right?”

“Boys are still outside. I’ll have them slash the tyres of those shiny cars in case Ryzhanov tries to flee.”

I point my chin in the direction of the rest of the house. “Get Trigger in here. The kid’s like a fuckin’ bloodhound. I want every inch of this house scoured, and I want Ryzhanov alive.”

Tank and I fan out, and I kick in each closed door I come to. He’s nowhere to be seen, and when I circle back to the main entrance, a movement catches my eye. A blond male in a sharp grey suit fires at me. I duck behind a wall and take aim. “You’re fucked, Ryzhanov. All of your men are dead and I’m not letting you leave this goddamn room.”

He laughs. “I guess I am, but then, so was your wife. She tasted so sweet.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Oh, and she begged. Do you know what it does to a powerful man to have his enemy’s wife on her knees?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth!”

“Her life wasn’t the only thing she begged for. It’s a shame I had to kill her. I’d grown rather fond of her in our time together.”

I stalk out from behind the wall. I don’t care that I’m exposed, that years of dealing with fuckers like this should mean I know not to react. But I walk right up and shoot Ryzhanov in the chest. He goes down like a sack of shit. Blood bubbles out his mouth and the fresh holes in his torso. His rib cage moves in a succession of short, sharp breaths and I press my boot to the centre of his abdomen. Crimson blood runs in rivulets down his expensive suit. He coughs, and it pours out of his mouth.

The overhead lights glint off a slick, metal surface and I glance at the TV cabinet. A Samurai sword sits in its display only a foot from where I’m standing. I reach forward and pull it from its perch, then I stare at the gleaming silver blade.

“An eye for an eye, motherfucker,” I say as I bring the sword down on his neck. It takes several swings to lop his head clean off, and by the time I’m done, I’m soaked with blood. I drop the weapon and stagger back, leaning against the wall to take in my handiwork.

Jesus Christ.

Tank glances at the ruin of Ryzhanov and then up at me. “Time to go, Prez.”

I stare at Ryzhanov’s inert body, the bloody sword on the ground, and his head hacked off from his neck, and it all feels anticlimactic.

I killed the man who killed my wife.

An eye for an eye, and it doesn’t even matter anymore.

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