Page 11 of Brutal Union
“Ah, Privet, Amerikanskaya devochka.” He nods, and I bristle at his greeting. For those of you who don’t speak Russian he said ‘hello, American girl.’My blood boils because it’s not that he just disrespected my title as leader of the Bratva but he just referred to me as an American as if where I was born counteracts my true lineage. “Sorry for the…boytalk.”
I place both hands flat on the table, and hiss.“You know, Draco, I have killed men for less disrespect.”
My eyes finally land on Draco, as if he was ever really that hard to miss—built like a butcher, broad shoulders stretching the seams of his tailored charcoal suit. The fabric clings to muscle, not vanity. His face is carved from violence: a long, jagged scar runs from the edge of his left brow, slicing clean across his cheek to the corner of his mouth. It warps his smile into somethinggrotesque—half sneer, half smirk—and all signs of a Bratva snitch.
“Kill?” Draco chuckles, running a hand full of thick gold and diamond encrusted rings over his close-cut , military-neat shaved head. “Trust me, Amerikanskaya. I have bigger monsters than you.”
Sho whistles low under his breath and leans back in his chair, as he sets up two more chips to bet for the next round as the dealer clears the table. “I would have to disagree, Draco. Nadia is one scary princess.”
Draco’s laughter booms across the table, crude and heavy, shaking the ice in his untouched glass. He leans back, smug and round, brushing a meaty hand over the close-cropped bristle of his head. The diamonds on his knuckles flash like teeth in low light.
“She may have been an assassin,” he wheezes, still catching his breath, “but I bet I could kill her, if I wanted.”
I chuckle smoothly at him, sliding my thumb over the edge of the new cards from the dealer. “You have a large mouth, Gnilaya suka.”Rotten bitch.“Always have.”
“Back in the motherland. I could have your tongue cut out! Huh? Is that what you want, you stupid--”
I don’t wait for his insult to complete. In one smooth, merciless motion, I rise from my chair and move to his side, dress splitting at the thigh to reveal the black leather holster strapped snug against my skin. My fingers find the handle of the blade without hesitation and I drive the knife clean through Draco’s massive hand, pinning it to the table with a sickening, wet crunch.
His howl cuts through the room like a gunshot. Blood pours from his hand, spilling across the green felt in a dark bloom. The dealer rushes away from us as nearby patrons glance in interest. This is a criminal underground organization after all, so no one truly bats an eye at this grotesque display of power.
I lean in close, my breath warm against the shell of his ear, my voice cold enough to still his heart. “You should be afraid of me, Draco. I’m the monster you forgot to fear.”
His other hand jerks toward the knife, as he grits through his teeth. “I will have you hanged for this.”
“Being so close to home makes you forget yourself.” I snarl , twisting the knife in his hand. “I am more powerful than you are, suka. I could have you amputated, decapitated, on all fours catering to me like the fucking dog you are.”
I jerk back, and his free hand flies to the handle to pull the knife out from his hand, but before he can grip the hilt, I stab again, swift and exact, through the meat of his second palm. Both of his hands are now skewered to the table like slabs of putrid meat, blood streaming down the carved grooves of the table’s edge.
Draco roars, struggling like a trapped beast, face twisted in rage and agony. “You bitch!”
“Yes, I am that bitch, and you are a dead man Draco, if you keep fixing your lips to speak to me like this.” I hiss in his face, as he roars against the table.
Before I became queen of the Bratva, I was their most deadly assassin: known for my dramatics and cruelty, but even with evidence and rumors of my deeds, men like Draco let a thing like a pussy cloud their judgement. They think because I am awoman, that I am not strong. That I am not cruel. That I can’t be deadly.
Sho doesn’t even flinch. He lifts his glass, swirls the amber liquor, and takes a thoughtful sip, before pointing at a struggling Draco.
“I’d stop moving if I were you,” he says lazily, eyes flicking to the blade handles. “She’s got a third one. And she’s always been fond of the throat.”
I straighten, blood slick on my fingers, and meet Draco’s stunned, pain-glazed stare. “You are to report to Brother Sergei Volkov by dawn for your punishment.”
“You stupid bitch. You think--”
I grip the back of his head and slam it into the table with all my force. His head lolls back up with a thick line of blood sliding down the middle of his forehead.
I lean down, the stench of metal and melons wafts off his flesh as I snarl in his ear. “This is a courtesy of Brother Volkov that I do not kill you myself as he has his own bone to pick with you, but one more rude comment and I will send you to him in pieces. Do you understand your orders, soldat.”Soldier.
“Y-yes,” he groans, hanging his head down between his shoulder blades in shame.
“Good,” I purr, pulling back and making eye contact with an amused Sho. “What?”
He shrugs, leaning back on the high chair and interlocking his fingers over his abdomen. “Nothing.”
My eyes scan the room and the other patrons quickly avoid my gaze.
“I just thought you were here to kill me,” he mocks. “I am feeling jealous, that’s all.”
“If I wanted to kill you,” I arch a bow, and move closer to him. “You’d be dead.”
