Page 143 of Ruined By Blood
The Russian. The fucking pretentious Russian who thinks he's better than everyone because he quotes Dostoevsky while ordering hits.
"Why?"
"Contract... she has a contract..."
I knew about Evelyn's contract with the Bratva. A stupid fucking deal her father had made, putting her in Volkov's orbit.
But why grab her like this?
"Tell your boss—" I start, then stop myself. Dead men don't deliver messages.
I press my gun under his chin. "Actually, you won't be telling that piece of shit anything."
The shot is muffled against his flesh. Blood spraysacross the white marble behind him as his body slides down the wall.
I turn to the remaining man, the one choking on his own blood from my throat punch. He's still alive, struggling to breathe. One more shot, and the lobby falls silent except for the soft dripping of blood onto marble.
I holster my gun and move to Evelyn, kneeling beside her. A bruise is already forming on her cheekbone where that bastard hit her. I check her pulse. Strong and steady.
She'll be okay physically, but they would have taken her to Volkov if I hadn't been here.
But I've been.
And now, she comes with me.
Let the fucking war begin.
