Page 49 of Violent Possession
The armor of sarcasm and anger cracks, and underneath is something raw. He opens his mouth to answer, perhaps to deny, perhaps to curse, but there is no answer. Responding to objectification sounds easier than responding to being calledunderstandable.
It’s at that moment that a familiar silhouette appears in the doorway.
Ivan has arrived.
GRIFFIN
If you asked me now, carving a sashimi knife into my jugular and demanding that I justify my existence with an answer, all I’d be able to say is “I don’t know”.
I have no fucking idea who this guy is.
Alexei is calm.Perfectlycalm. He greeted him in a casual business style without a hint of surprise. He knew. Heplannedthis.
I know when a man wants to kill you. Depending on the face, it’s not hard. And Alexei’s colleaguedefinitelydoes. Tear off my skin, my nails, my eyes. It’s a feeling similar to being in the ring facing a maniac who would stick a knife in your chest for twenty dollars and a shot of cachaça. They don’t need much incentive.
My whole body tenses. Eight meters to the door, three to the kitchen, two to the emergency exit behind the bathroom, no viable route without passing through the line of fire of those eyes. The entire city could be exploding outside and I wouldn’t be able to escape this minefield.
Right. All right. I grew up in Bakersfield, where every corner only exists to remind you that one day it’ll be your last. I ignore the fear.
I try to understand: the newcomer is big, wearing an expensive suit, but it doesn’t give him dignity. He doesn’t have Alexei’s elegance, nor does he look like just any henchman. He must be someone important.
And he hates me. The question is:why?
My eyes dart to Alexei. He’s at ease, gesturing to the empty chair.
The stranger finally sits down. His weight makes the chair creak. He looks at the five steak plates in front of us, digesting the excess with a silent arch of his brow—instant, not subtle judgment—and then fixes his eyes on me, waiting for some thoughtless movement. I feel like coughing, just to see if he reacts, but I don’t want to lose the staring game.
“Vania,” Alexei says. “Griffin. I believe you haven’t been formally introduced.”
Vania. A woman’s name. At the very least, a Las Vegas stripper.
The big man,Vania, stares at me. His gaze is heavy, full of a hatred he makes no effort to hide. “So this is the famous Iron Arm,” he says, speaking thickly. He wants me to feel small, but what I feel is a slight tingling in my fingertips—it’s longing for a fight, for the adrenaline. It’s been too long since I broke anyone.
Alexei gives a social smile, ignoring the hostility. “You’re early, Vania. That’s not like you.”
“I decided not to take risks. Not with...him,” Vania says, gesturing with his head in my direction. I’m a threat to him. “I can’t leave you alone with people like that,Lyosha.”
What the hell kind of name is that? Something flash in Alexei’s eyes. A quick, almost invisible irritation at being treated like someone who needs protection. The observation isn’t subtle.
I’m big. This Vania guy is a monster. Alexei, next to us, looks thin, fragile, though I know, from experience, that he’s probably the most dangerous person in this room.
“Don’t worry about me,” Alexei forces himself to say, and a waiter materializes beside us, visibly nervous about the new addition to the table, to discreetly refill Alexei’s wine glass—the one I took.
Vania doesn’t even look at the menu or the waiter, but says to him, “Vodka. Double.”
The accent is subtle in English, but when they said those strange names—Vania, Lyosha—it got thicker, more... Russian. Are they family? They don’t look alike at all. Vania is a muscular mountain. Alexei is made of straight lines and sharp angles. But there’s something in the way they look at each other... a fucked-up history, full of resentment.
I thought Alexei had family problems. So what the hell is this? A business meeting or a dysfunctional family reunion?
“How long have you been fighting?” Vania asks me immediately. There’s an accusatory tone.
I peek at Alexei. Is there something I should know? He gives me no sign other than a small smile, a veiled permission.Answer.
So I just answer.
“Always.”
Maybe Vania was just testing if I was capable of speaking.
