Page 154 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

I head out of the safehouse at a jog. Konstantin follows me outside. “Boss, what are your orders?”

My orders. What the fuck are my orders?

“Give me three hours,” I reply. “Then release Matvei. He’ll take the lead in my absence.”

Truth be told, I have no idea what the fuck is going to happen three hours from now. Who will be alive. Who will be dead.

But it doesn’t matter. The whole world has boiled down to this moment.

I stomp on the accelerator and take off through the streets in the direction of Wild Night Blossom. I don’t bother with being discreet when I arrive. I run up on the curb and park the jeep there, right in front of the entrance so that it’s blocking the door.

Then I jump out of the jeep and slam the door knocker as hard as I can. It opens immediately—and I’m greeted with five guns aimed right in my face. The Yakuza men holding the weapons are grim-faced and stoic.

They step aside, guns still raised, and usher me in. As soon as the door closes behind me, two of the men holster their arms and give me a head-to-toe patdown.

They remove weapons from my hips, my boots, my belt. I let them—even though my fists are clenched, eager to break the skulls of every single one of these motherfuckers.

“This way,” one of the guards says when they’re done, nudging my back with the butt of his gun.

I start walking, following the two guards in front of me. How easy it would be to take them all down now. I glance around at their expressionless faces as the adrenaline in my body screams to be made use of.

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

NOW.

I duck suddenly and hurl myself backwards into the guards at my rear. I throw my elbow into one soldier’s face and then swing him around to use as a human shield.

The gunshot from his comrade gets him instead of me. But not before I’ve managed to get hold of his weapon. I rip it from its holster and deliver a quick trio of shots into the throats of the others.

That leaves one standing.

Having served his purpose, I toss my dead human shield to the side and stare at the last man left. His face is no longer expressionless. He looks like he’s about to shit himself, actually.

I point my gun at him. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“I… I…”

“Answer me now or I’ll kill you like the rest of this scum.”

“Straight ahead and make a left,” he manages to stammer.

“Thank you,” I reply politely.

Then I shoot him in the head.

I step over his still-twitching body and make my way down the broad corridor. I take the first left I find and walk into a large, shadowy space that has many doors and many opportunities to hide.

I can’t see anyone, but I know I’m not alone.

Just as I suspected, a handful of Yakuza goons step out of the shadows at my sides and another rank of them approaches from the distant shadows.

All of them are armed. All of them look perfectly at ease.

The line ahead of me parts for two men. I tense instantly when I see their faces.

Viktor Ozol and Eiko Sakamoto.

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