Page 11 of Brutal Unionn
I look down at my two cards, a Queen and a two of hearts, which means I have a count of twelve, given that the Jack, Queen, or King in Blackjack counts as a ten.
Sho chuckles, slowly looking over his cards, before flashing me one of his tiny smiles that makes him look more adorable than deadly. Not saying that Sho is attractive to me anyway.
“Are you offering?” Sho fully smiles, and my eyes roll over the sharp edges of his jaw.
He taps the table at the same time I do, and the dealer slides each of us a card, but not for himself, meaning he is closer to twenty-one than the both of us. I look down at my new card; it’s an eight of spades, making my total twenty. Sho looks at his and taps again before turning to me with a smug smile.
“Queens don’t really kneel do they?” I tease, swiping my hand across the fuzzy felt of the table, signaling that I don’t want any more cards.
Sho responds. “They do in front of a King. Wouldn’t you agree, Draco?”
Draco chuckles from his perch at the edge of the table, the sound low and guttural, like gravel grinding beneath a boot. A card slides across the table to Sho, and he sucks his teeth, flipping over his cards to reveal a bust.
“Only if the King teaches her. Queens and peasants alike have a place, no?" Draco says, his voice thick with a Russian accent,slow and smug like he’s trying to enunciate through the accent.
“And where would that place be?” I question flipping over my cards and revealing my twenty while the dealer reveals his nineteen. The chips bet that round all go to me.
I roll my shoulder back, pushing my hair over my shoulder so Draco can get a better look at my face.
“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 something grotesque—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 thedealer 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--”
Draco’s scarred grin warps wider as he leans closer, voice thick with mockery. “Back in the motherland, I could have your tongue cut out. Is that what you want, you stupid?—”
I don't let him finish his insult. Before he can blink, 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.
“Bitch I will have you skinned alive for this?” Draco lets out a manic laugh, and I recoil at the sound.
Sho leans in close, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. “Allow me, Hime.”
Draco’s other hand jerks toward the knife, as he grits through his teeth. “I will have you hanged for this.”
In a flash, he slams Draco’s other massive hand flat against the table, thecrack of bone echoing beneath the weight of his grip. His other hand flashes, and a knife buries itself through flesh and wood with a sickening crunch.
“See Nadia doesn’t want to kill you, but I will.” Sho snarls in his ear.
My breath catches, chest tightening, as his claim settles over the room like smoke. Mine. His. The way he says it—like it’s already law—makes my pulse thunder.
Draco struggles, spit flying as he growls, “I will have you hanged for this?—”
Sho twists the knife without breaking eye contact. “You forget yourself, suka. One more word and I will cut out your tongue myself.”
