6. Andrey

6

ANDREY

Luca glares at the peeling walls of The Last Resort Inn, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "This establishment is beneath us."

Bujar rolls his eyes. "We're not here for a slumber party, Luca. Or are you and your alligator skin loafers too good to even set foot in a place like this?"

"We should have sent our men to handle this, is what I'm saying."

"Where's the fun in that?" Cevdet asks.

I glare at all three men until they fall silent. Then I step in front of them, my shadow falling across the dark parking lot, distorted into something monstrous by the low-angled light at my back.

"We agreed on our purpose tonight, gentlemen," I growl. "We're here to make a statement and show a united front. The Halcones don't know what they're up against yet. Maybe if they do, they'll be more wary about starting a war they can't possibly win."

"Hear, hear." Cevdet applauds, his soft clapping the only sound in the eerily quiet night.

He's not used to doing the grunt work anymore. This is probably the first mission he's been on in well over a decade, so I understand his excitement. He practically foams at the mouth every time he looks up at the corner unit where Edgar Vargas is supposedly sheltering for the night.

Luca pulls out a sleek knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight. "Well, then we might as well get this over with."

The four of us trudge up the steps of the motel, having already secured a second key card from the receptionist's desk. Shura has his gun aimed at the poor schmuck manning the front desk so he can't alert Vargas about our impending visit.

"Who's going in first?" Luca asks.

"I think our fearless leader ought to do the honors," Cevdet suggests.

That subtle thread of sarcasm running through everything he does and says irks me, but I set the irritation aside. Now is not the time for me to lecture him on his tone. Instead, taking the key card from Bujar, I hold it against the access point until the light flashes green. I push my way inside, only to hear the fevered rhythm of grunting and heavy breathing.

The woman underneath Vargas is staring listlessly at the ceiling, chewing on her bottom lip as though she's staring at a clock, waiting for the bell to ring.

Vargas is too busy with his pale, scrawny ass in the air, pumping into his less-than-enthusiastic "date" for the night, to be aware of the audience standing in his room.

It's the woman who realizes they're not alone. She frowns at the new shadows thrown across the ceiling and then her gaze flickers to the door.

She takes one look at me and screams right in Vargas's ear, causing him to roar like a bullfrog. "The fuck , woman?!"

He slaps her across the face, still determined to fuck her even as she fights to get out from under him. Only when she refuses to lie back down does he follow her gaze to the door.

" ?Mierda! " He jolts, nearly rolling off the bed.

The woman hurls herself to the filthy carpeted floor and scrambles backward to a seat on the far wall, naked and trembling. Vargas attempts to lunge for his gun on the end table, but Bujar beats him to it.

Suddenly, Vargas finds himself staring down the end of his own gun—stark naked and completely unprepared.

"Who the fuck are you?" he croaks.

Cevdet looks offended by the question. "Who are we? Only your worst nightmare."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the cliché machismo as I stride further into the room where the hooker is pressed against the wall, her mascara running in black streams down her hollow cheeks.

I kneel in front of her. "What's your name?"

Her teeth are chattering so badly she barely manages to get the words out. "I-I-Ivy."

"Known this useless fuck for long, Ivy?"

"N-no. He picked me up on the street corner… Said he wanted me for an hour."

"Has he paid you?"

Her eyes widen nervously. "No."

I pluck out a couple of hundreds from my wallet and hand them over. "A little friendly advice: always take payment up front. Now, go."

She stares at me incredulously for only a second. Then she grabs the money I'm offering, pulls on her clothes at the speed of light, and gets the hell out of this godforsaken shithole.

Part of me wishes I could do the same.

"We're off to an exciting start," Cevdet chuckles, taking one of the two patchwork chairs beside the bed with a relieved groan.

Vargas looks past Bujar and the gun he has pointed at his head to meet my eyes. "You're him, aren't you?"

He's trying to sound confident and nonchalant, but I don't buy his bluster for a fucking second. The man is unarmed and unclothed, surrounded by enemies, and sporting a shriveled pair of blue balls.

It's not exactly his lucky night.

"My reputation precedes me."

He glowers. "Your reputation has been exaggerated. What's the matter, Kuznetsov? Too weak to kill me on your own?"

Cevdet scoffs. "We're all here to protect our own investments, not because Andrey needs our help. "

Vargas looks from me to each one of my allies. He's a fool for not doing his homework prior to kicking this hornet's nest. It's about to cost him his life.

"You didn't think I was expanding on my own, did you?" I ask as I saunter closer. "Unlike my father, I learned to play well with others. This way, we all get what we want. And right now, you and your little gang are threatening that."

"You don't know what you're up against," he snarls.

I pull out my gun and wave it carelessly in the air. "Then, tell me. I'm dying to know."

His eyes track my gun. "You don't want to kill me. My cousin is a lieutenant… He's high up in the Halcones. Killing me will only piss him off."

"You assume I care whether I piss him off or not."

Vargas's hands are shaking now. He balls them into fists, but he can't hide his fear.

"You're also assuming that you're important to your cousin," I continue. "But let's face it, Vargas: he sent you on a suicide mission when he aimed you at one of my clubs. You're not nearly as important as you think you are."

Cevdet giggles under his breath, but I keep my face still and grim.

"You're gonna kill a defenseless, unarmed man?" he asks.

"What makes you think I'm going to kill you at all, Vargas? Maybe I just want to have a little chat."

"You won't get anything out of me, so you might as well just get it over with and fucking kill me! I won't talk."

"Then you'll die," Cevdet interjects cheerfully.

I give Cevdet a warning look. I need answers before this mudak realizes he'll be far worse off if I let him go back to his masters than if I execute him myself.

"You don't really want me to kill you, do you, Vargas? It'll be much easier if you do what I ask and agree to take back a little message from me."

Sensing an opportunity, Vargas's eyes go wide. "A message?"

"To your bosses."

He pales. "W-what's the message?"

"Stop."

His gaze darts to Bujar, then Luca, then Cevdet, hoping for a reprieve or a punchline or maybe just a goddamn miracle.

He gets none of it.

When no one says a word, he swallows, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his face. "I can't tell them that."

"Why not?" Luca barks.

"Because they'll kill him," I guess.

"Then the man is useless," Cevdet decides. "Just kill him now and be done with it."

"No!" Vargas cries, twisting in my direction. "No, don't kill me. I'll do it. I'll take the message back to the head Halcones."

But I sense the lie hidden behind those confident words. He's got "runner" smeared across his face in big, bold letters. He's exactly what Cevdet called him: useless.

Sighing, I raise my gun and shoot.

Vargas drops to the floor, his eyes glazed over in disbelief.

Luca steps forward and looks distastefully at the body. "I thought we were keeping him alive?"

"I was sick of hearing him blather," I reply. "And besides: his body will carry the message just as well as his lips would have. Maybe better."