Page 7 of Brutal Union
Roki groans from behind the bar, already reaching for the mop. “You’re cleaning this up, Matsumoto.”
I flash him a lazy salute, stepping over the shaking man. “Yeah, yeah. Put it on my tab.”
2
NADIA
The manin front of me cradles his arm like a newborn, his face flushed with pain, lips trembling as the Russian nurse we keep on retainer in Japan holds his arm out, away from his body and aligns it back with the socket.
Rebecca, the nurse, is small and squeaky, her thick Russian accent making her roll every "r." Her bright red hair is a tangled mess on top of her head, and she wears thick rainbow-colored glasses. I was assured that, despite her eccentric appearance, she’s the best in the business.
“Deep breath in,” she instructs, gripping my subordinate Emil’s arm with both hands.
He obeys, inhaling deeply as she counts down from three—only to snap the joint back into place on two.
“Fuck,” Emil hisses, biting his lip as he recoils.
“Oh, don’t be baby. You fight like man. You get man-like injuries,” Rebecca drones, securing his newly aligned shoulder before turning her attention to his unnaturally crooked wrist.
“Emil,” I snap. “You said you had a message, not that you needed a hand to hold while getting medical attention.”
“I did, Madam.” He nods, grimacing as Rebecca tugs his arm closer for inspection. “Sho says ‘if you want me, you need to come get me yourself, princess’.”
I hum, more irritated by the smug way he rolls his tongue over the word “princess” than the message itself. I know it’s verbatim—Sho always calls meHime, the Japanese word for princess. Screw him for thinking I’m some delicate royal. If anything, I’m a fucking queen. This is just another grievance to add to the ever-growing list against the man who escaped captivity and left me a bloody heart that I refused to let anyone wash away for three months. I don’t know why. And I definitely don’t want to analyze why it intrigued me as much as it enraged me.
“And why were you the only one left alive?” I ask.
Sho and I think alike—leaving no survivors sends just as strong a message as sending one. In fact, it’s astrongermessage. It means: send your best, because I’m not going down without a fight.
Emil swallows hard, avoiding my gaze, the vein in his temple pulsing. He clears his throat. “Because I was the last one to fight him one-on-one.”
I snort. He must think I’m an idiot. I know how my men fight because I trained most of them myself. But Emil wasn’t part of my training sessions—he doesn’t realize I know that Russians fight relentlessly. The moment the first guy landed a hit, everyone else would’ve swarmed Sho at once. It would’ve been wave after wave of brutal attacks, meant to exhaust him.
Because Sho wasn’t just a hit. If he were, I would’ve sent my younger brother, Aleksandr, and called it a day. But Sho isspecial.
Sho knows where my father is. The same father who murdered my mother, tormented us with her body parts, and used his Yakuza connections to orchestrate his escape. After almost killing Nikolai and undermining my rightful place as Queen, Sho deserves whatever nightmarish execution I plan for him. Most recently, I envisioned slicing his chest open and ripping his beating heart out with my bare hands.Gnarly, but satisfying.
Emil studies me for a moment before adding, “He took us out one by one. That guy is a hell of a fighter.”
I smile, becausethatI believe. I’ve seen Sho fight. He’s a beast. That’s why I sent twenty of my best men, and even that wasn’t enough.
Did I just thinkmyguy? No.Aguy.Thatguy. He’s not mine.
“I believe he beat the crap out of our men,” I purr, leaning forward, flashing the smile Nik says makes me look like a sociopath and Aleksandr claims gives him the creeps. I scrunch my nose, shaking my head slightly. “What Idon’tbelieve is that he let the last one go.”
Emil pales. He knows I despise liars. Not just because I can sniff them out like a bloodhound, but because people only lie when they think you’re stupid enough to believe them. And for him to lie tome? He must think I’m the dumbest person in this room.
I glance over his injuries, noting the breaks in his wrist and joints—mostly on his left side. “Tell me, Emil, do you swing with your left or right?”
“Left.”
“Hmmm, interesting.” I hum, rising from my chair and strolling over to him. “Rebecca, let me.”
Rebecca immediately steps away from the dining table, retreating to the corner with sadistic curiosity in her eyes. I fix my gaze on Emil, noting his shallow breaths and the way his gaze flickers anxiously around the room. A chuckle crawls up my throat as I watch the slight tremor of his body. They don’t call me Queen for nothing.
I grip his shoulder, kneading it as if I’m a masseuse working out a knot. “You see, I think Sho got his hands on youlike this.” I grab his uninjured arm, applying pressure to his shoulder while twisting his wrist in the opposite direction.
Emil sucks in a sharp breath, his tongue lolling from the pain.
