2. Ivan

2

IVAN

“ Y ou need to come with me, brat .”

“Good afternoon to you, too, brother.” I don’t look up from the padded leather seat where I’m sitting with my cheek against the headrest. Behind me, I can hear the soothing buzz of a tattoo gun, feel the sting of the needles as they pierce the skin of my shoulder repetitively.

I’ve been looking forward to this appointment for weeks. A little self-care, after a month that has, quite frankly, felt like a year. And now one of my brothers is here to interrupt it.

Lev, from the sound of it. My least favorite of my siblings. Not that I get along with any of them.

“We don’t have time for this. You’re needed down at the warehouse.”

“Get Grigori to do it.”

“Grigori is busy.”

I grit my teeth, tilting my head up just enough to see the stocky, white-blond man standing a foot from the chair with his arms crossed over his hard-muscled chest. He’s dressed to the nines as always, wearing a tailored dark suit and glossy dress shoes, tattoos climbing out of the sleeves and collar to wind over his hands and up his neck. His ice-blue eyes are flat and humorless.

I think I got my sense of humor from my mother. God knows neither my father, nor my three siblings’ mother ever had one.

“There are plenty of men who can do what you need me to do.” I’m staying vague because Alice, my tattoo artist, doesn’t need to know exactly what I often get my hands dirty doing. I think she suspects, given what she knows of my background, but I don’t need to make it crystal clear for her. She might stop tattooing me, and she’s the best artist I’ve ever met.

She’s also good at a lot of other things, although we quit fooling around a few years ago.

“And I’m telling you that I need you to come with me.” Lev’s face doesn’t so much as twitch. “Or should I tell your father that spending time with your tattoo artist took precedence over family business?”

The way he emphasizes Alice in the sentence, the way his gaze flicks to her with just a hint of the icy threat that I know all too well, is what gets me to give in. I’ll fight my brother on his bullshit all day, but I’m not going to let someone innocent get caught up in the violent mess that is my family.

“Fine.” I twist my head around to look at Alice. “I need to call a raincheck on this. Can you cover me up and we finish tomorrow, maybe?”

“I’m booked until next week.” The buzzing stops, and she sits back. “But I’ll figure out where I can pencil you in.”

“Thanks, dorogoy. ” I say it quietly, and she shoots me a look as she pumps green soap onto a paper towel and wipes it over my half-outlined tattoo. The sting makes me suck in a breath, but it’s welcome.

“One day, I’m going to put that in a translator.” She pats a bandage gently over the tattoo.

“You’d like it.” I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes. There’s a casual, friendly intimacy between us, the kind that only comes from knowing every inch of each other’s bodies over the course of a few months spent rolling in the sheets together, until we mutually decided it was better if we call it quits. Now, we’re good buddies.

Sometimes I do think she digs the needle in a little harder than she has to, though.

“You know the drill.” She nods at the tattoo. “I’ll text you with the next time you can come in.”

“Sounds good.” I glare at my brother. “Well? Let’s fucking go, then.”

He leads me out to the blacked-out Escalade waiting at the curb, sliding inside without a word. I follow, leaning my head back against the cool leather as I try to get my head in the right place for what I know is about to happen.

There’s only one reason for us to be going to the warehouse, and it’s going to end with me washing blood out of the crevices of my fingers later tonight.

It’s not unusual for me to be called on for something like this. I’m one of my father’s enforcers, but I’m not a grunt. Which means if Lev is demanding I go with him to take care of whoever it is that they have down there, there are only two possibilities.

It’s someone who requires a particular special touch, someone they want good information from—or Lev wants to watch me, and see my reaction to whatever this man has to say.

There’s not a lot of trust in my family, and no love. Loyalty, though, is expected. I’m not supposed to have the side jobs that pad my bank account. I should be entirely reliant on my family, even if my father only tolerates me and my brothers hate me.

Fuck that. I’m not going to allow my life to be ruled by people who want to see me fall. I’ve always relied on myself whenever I can, and I intend to keep it that way.

Regardless, this world that I live in is cutthroat—survival of the fittest at its finest. I can guess all fucking day at the reasons for Lev’s demands, but when it comes down to it, the only thing that really matters is that I don’t let him see me flinch.

No matter what.

The SUV pulls up near the warehouse. It’s a shabby-looking structure, one that no one would think twice about looking at. The kind of place that is just assumed to be barely standing, owned for the value of the land underneath it and nothing else. Which makes it a perfect spot for ‘questioning’ anyone who gets on the wrong side of my family.

Unlike a lot of the Bratva enforcers and soldiers, I don’t get a lot of pleasure out of violence. There’s a certain satisfaction to torture well done, to keeping someone alive long enough to get the information desired, making sure they spill their guts in exactly the way that I need them to. But I don’t like hurting others in this way. I’m not a sadist.

At least—not this kind.

“You want to fill me in?” I ask as Lev and I get out of the car. He grunts, and for a moment, I think he’s going to let me go in blind. But then he nods.

“Lower-level guy. I don’t even know his fucking name, honestly. He was supposed to help run interference for the last shipment of women. Keep a lookout for any feds or anyone else coming in. He didn’t do a very good fucking job, since that shipment got busted. Three of our best guys pinched, and a bunch of pissed-off clients that aren’t going to get their girls. We think he tipped someone off.”

“You think he’s stupid enough to do that?”

Lev shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe someone got to him and scared him. At any rate, he probably sang before, and he’s gonna sing to you now. Let us know what happened, so we can dig out any other traitors and get this show back on the road.”

I nod grimly, following Lev to the warehouse, keeping one step behind him so I can sort out my thoughts before I get in there.

The fact is, I know exactly what happened. That poor fucker who is about to end up in pieces didn’t tip off the feds—or at least, if he did, he wasn’t the only one.

That original tip came from me.

For months now, I’ve been working under an alias, feeding tips to the police and FBI about my father’s criminal activity—at least, the activity pertaining directly to the human trafficking he’s involved in. I’m not trying to cripple his empire entirely—honestly, I don’t give a shit if he sells weapons to the Irish or deals drugs. I couldn't care less about any of that. But I do draw the line at selling women.

Once he got into that business, I decided to make it mine to shut it down.

My chest tightens as I step into the warehouse. Despite the chill outside, it’s hot and stuffy inside the metal structure, and it smells strongly of blood and piss. One look at the man hanging in front of me, and the dark stain down the leg of his trousers, and I know why.

I also feel like shit for what’s about to happen to him. But I don’t have any choice.

For the greater good, and all of that. For my good, because if anyone finds out what I’ve been doing, it’s going to be me hanging up there instead of him.

That’s not something I can allow.

I’m not a self-sacrificing man. I take no pleasure in the fact that this man is about to die, but I’m not the type to give my life for his—or for anyone. And that’s what it would be, if my family found out the truth about what I’ve been doing.

Truthfully, I’ll probably give him a better death than they would give me.

He’s not squeaky-clean, anyway. No one who works for my family is. And likely, if I dug enough, I’d find something on him that would be worth stringing him up.

The man twists in the manacles holding him as I approach, his eyes widening with fear. “I—I don’t know anything,” he splutters, his bare toes scrambling for purchase on the concrete as he tries to push himself reflexively away from me. As if there’s any getting away. As if there’s anything at all he can do to escape his fate.

There are only three human reactions to a situation like this, though. Fight, flee, or fawn. He can’t do either of the first two, and it’s only a matter of time before he goes for the third.

They all do, eventually. And it never, ever works.

I ignore him for now, walking to the table at one side of the warehouse. “Get a tarp laid out,” I call over to one of the grunts standing around, watching the scene unfold in front of them, and I hear the heavy clunk of boots on concrete as they jump to obey. I can feel Lev’s eyes on my back. Now that I know the situation, I know he’s watching me for hesitation. Watching for some sign that this is personal.

The tricky thing about being an informant is that sometimes, there’s information that no one outside of the family would know. Sometimes, information gets disseminated among the family for exactly that reason—so my father knows if someone is leaking it. And it’s a sensitive thing, to slip information to the feds that will help, without ever leaking anything that would mean my family knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there’s a rat among us.

The thing is, I’m the kind of rat that’s hard to trap.

I hear the low moan that the man behind me lets out, as I heft a metal toolbox onto the table and open the lid. I could do everything that I’m about to just fine with the knife on my belt and a pair of pliers that’s already sitting on the table, but getting someone to talk is as much about showmanship as anything else. The sight of me opening up this toolbox, sorting through the implements inside, is making the man behind me think about what’s possibly coming next. Warming him up to sing sooner rather than later.

The truth is, I won’t use half of what’s in here. Maybe not any of it. Not on this guy, anyway. But he doesn’t know that.

I pick up the pair of pliers on the table, and stride towards him, grabbing a metal folding chair by the back on the way over. I set it down next to him, looking up at his pale face and bloodshot, wide eyes.

I set the pliers down on the chair with a heavy thunk , and he jerks, rattling the chains he’s hanging from. His toes scramble against the concrete floor again.

“Now, now. Those toes are going to be plenty abused by the time I’m done with them. No need to rush things.” I reach for the hunting knife in my belt, drawing it slowly out of the oiled leather sheath, and I see his eyes flick down, widening until it looks like they might pop out of his skull.

“ Please —” he moans. “Please, please?—”

I chuckle, running one fingertip over the serrated edge of the blade. “It’s funny, you know,” I murmur, raising the knife to rest the tip of it at the hollow of his throat. “There are really only two situations in life where I hear someone beg like that. One is a situation like this. Man trussed up in front of me, about to be asked all kinds of questions.” I drag the knife down, catching the blade in the front of his sweat-soaked t-shirt, as I begin to cut it free. “The other is a pretty woman in my bed, all wet and waiting for me to give her all the things she’s pleading for. Funny thing, too, is–”

I jerk the knife down sharply, ripping the front of his shirt open to reveal a skinny, pale white chest. He’s hairless as a fish’s belly, right down to the single stripe of dark hair that runs into his filthy pants. “Both times, more often than not, involve chains.”

A grin spreads across my face as I dig the point of the knife into the man’s belly, just above his navel. “Now, we’re going to have a little talk. You’re not gonna like a lot of what I do to you, but there will be less of it, the faster you answer my questions. But I want you to think about something else, too.”

“What—what’s that?” the man pants, looking down at the knife. That acrid scent of piss fills the air again, and I hear a drip on the concrete, between where he’s hanging and I’m standing. I wrinkle my nose.

“Well, for one thing—and this wasn’t what I was about to say—but you might wanna consider not pissing yourself for the rest of this interview. I don’t like the smell, and I might just think about taking something off before it’s time. If you know what I mean.” I raise an eyebrow, and the man jerks backward, flailing in the chains. It makes him buck forward into my knife without meaning to, and the point digs into his fish-belly skin, sending a thick rivulet of blood dripping down his stomach.

He cries out, whimpering, and I laugh coldly.

I don’t actually find any of this funny. I’m already thinking ten steps ahead of what happens next, because Lev is still watching me. My ass is on the line right now. Which is exactly why I’m putting on such a good show.

Award-winning. Oscar-worthy. If I were auditioning for tough Russian guy who takes fingernails right now, I’d have the part before another five minutes goes by.

“But what I was going to say—” I dig the tip of the knife into the small wound I’ve created, opening it further. “---is that you shouldn’t just be thinking short-term. I know this all hurts right now. And it’s gonna hurt for a while. I’m not going to lie to you about that. But think about your end, too.”

“My—end?” The man lets out another shallow whimper, and I see tears starting to track down his face.

It makes me hate Lev a little more for this. My whole family, really. Because this guy is no operative. He’s not tough or intelligent enough to actually have leaked anything, and I’d know that even if I wasn’t the one who had actually done it. This man is a grunt. He’s never going to be anything more than a low-level runner who is probably working for my family because he needs to pay off gambling debts or an overpriced car payment or some slumlord on the South side.

And he’s going to die, painfully, because my father is too goddamn greedy to stick to just making money on guns and drugs. He had to involve human flesh in it—the unwilling kind. And some sacrifices have to be made, so that I can keep throwing wrenches in that operation.

“You’re going to die today.” I feel a shudder vibrate through the man at that flat declaration, and he lets out a sobbing moan.

“Please—”

“Don’t waste your breath. You’ll need it. And no amount of pleading changes that outcome. It wasn’t even my decision, honestly. But how you die, is.” I twist the knife again in the shallow wound, pushing it deeper, and the man cries out.

“It—hurts?—”

“It does,” I agree. “And what hurts even more, is me opening up your stomach the rest of the way, letting you stare at your own guts baking on the concrete while I leave you here to die at the end of this. It’ll take a while for you to go, like that. In this hot warehouse, all alone, with no water. Nothing but looking at your own insides while the clock ticks away. Or?—”

I step back, pulling the knife free. He’s still hurting, but there’s no new pain right now. After we go for long enough, that lack of fresh pain will start to feel good. Like a gift. A reward.

“Or, I can end you with a bullet. Fast, clean. All the pain will stop. Right now, I know you still want to live. You can’t imagine bargaining for how you die instead of a chance to live. But we’ll get there. Right now, I’m just telling you to think about it.”

“Think about—” The man pants, looking down at me. Sweat drips off of the shaggy hair plastered to his face. He looks horrified. Frightened. I can’t help but wonder who he’s thinking about right now—who it is that he’s never going to see again.

Or maybe there isn’t anyone.

I know if it was me, hanging there right now, I wouldn’t have anyone to miss. But honestly, it’s better that way.

If there were someone for me to miss, then that would mean that there was someone that I’d be about to hurt by dying, who I wouldn’t want to.

And I’m too good at hurting people to let that happen.

—-

Thirty minutes later, the muffled sound of a silenced gunshot mingles with the whimpering moans of a dying man. The moans go silent instantly, and the body slumps in the chains, hanging heavily over the gory tarp.

I let the hand holding the gun fall to my side, letting out a heavy sigh as I crack my neck in one direction and then the other. “Clean it up,” I order the crew waiting on the other side of the warehouse, striding towards where Lev is waiting next to that damned toolbox.

I didn’t actually use anything in it. But I wipe the pliers down, dropping them inside before I look at my still-glowering brother.

“Why did you kill him?” he demands sharply. “He didn’t give you enough.”

“He gave as much as he was going to.” I close the lid of the toolbox. “That’s why otets wants me to do these jobs, and not you. Because I know when they have nothing else to give.”

Lev chuckles grimly. “So what? You should have kept going until he was dead. Maybe something else would have slipped.”

Exactly what I wanted to avoid. I don’t think this man—Bobby was his name, slipped out during one particularly fervent plea as I took off a toenail—knew jackshit about what I’m doing, or any of our operations, actually. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, working for the wrong fucking family. But there’s always a chance that he did. That he heard something. That some fed was stupid enough to offer him a shot at getting out for information. Normally, they wouldn’t work with someone as weak as Bobby, but sometimes the cops can be pretty fucking dumb, too. Especially the city police force, when they decide to start sticking their noses into things, hoping to find something that will let them show up the feds.

“Again, that’s why I do this work.” I stride towards the warehouse door, desperate for a breath of fresh air, even down here. The smell of blood and human waste is giving me a headache. “You do that—eventually, they start to realize that your promise of an easy death is bullshit. And then they get pissed. Rebellious. They’ll endure all sorts of pain just to not give you anything else, since you lied to them.” I step outside into the cool air, sucking in a deep lungful of it. “The promise of an end to pain is a great motivator. If you take that away, they have nothing to strive for. Nothing to bargain with.”

Lev makes an irritated face. “Regardless, otets will be unhappy. All he gave were two names. Other low-level men. No real information.”

“That’s because he didn’t actually have anything.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, searching for a rideshare app. I’m not riding back with my fucking brother. “And now he’s dead. We move on to the next one.” And I make sure my tracks are covered twice.

“What the fuck are you doing? We’re having dinner with family tonight.” Lev tries to snatch my phone out of my hand, but I’m leaner and faster than he is. I move out of the way, hitting the next available ride.

“Maybe you are. I’m going to go get my fucking tattoo finished. And then—who knows?” I shrug, grinning. “Maybe a stiff drink and some pussy.”

Lev is still glowering at me as I walk away. He hates everything about me; I know that. My attitude. My lack of giving a shit what he, and the rest of my family, think about me and where I came from. My popularity with women. The fact that I manage to not need our father, and to hell with whatever consequences that brings.

But I don’t give a shit how he feels about it. I’m not going to change my life for anyone. And eventually, I’ll find a new one.

One where I get to be only the man I want to be, and no one else.