Page 51 of Brutal Unionn

“I’m not.”

“I’ll gut you.”

“You can try,” I murmur. “After you give me the name.”

Bhon doesn’t let go of my collar. Not yet. His eyes flicker—searching me for deceit like he’s dissecting my soul one cell at a time. And then, slowly, his grip slackens.

“Fine.” He breathes, backing away one step.

He turns from me, dragging a hand across his smooth slick back hair, that one loose strand still hanging across his temple.

“Boris Petrov,” he says.

The name cuts through the air like a gunshot, echoing in the tight space between us. “Are you sure?”

“I met him six months ago,” Bhon continues. “He was greying, still a huge hulking man, just in a shitty grey coat and missing some teeth.”

“Where?” I demand.

Bhon’s jaw flexes. “An apartment in Matsuyama. Fifth floor. He didn’t have the money to afford me, but knew a man named Draco who did. He gave me Nadia’s picture, and told me his name was Nikolai.”

Matsuyama. A quiet, coastal city on the island of Shikoku.

“And you accepted knowing he was lying about who he is?” I ask.

He turns slowly. “It’s not my business who someone is, and besides, I am the best in the business, according to him. He needed me because I have never missed a target.”

My stare hardens. “But you missedthisone.”

Bhon smiles, but there’s no pleasure in it.

“No,” he says. “I let her live. Because Boris didn’t want her killed cleanly. He wanted her to suffer, a job like that takes time and energy that a clean kill doesn’t.”

I nod, a smile rushing across my face. “The fuckers ego got in the way.”

“Most men do,” he nods. “Now Duri.”

“Guildhouse School in London, under the name Nathan Choi.”

Bhon nods slowly, letting the name settle into his bloodstream like a sedative. For a moment, the killer vanishes, and something vulnerable—something human—flickers behind his eyes.

“Nathan…” he repeats under his breath, like it tastes foreign on his tongue. “Guildhouse School.”

I nod once. “Dormitory C. Corner room. He likes astronomy. Paints when he can’t sleep. I made sure he’d never have to lift a blade. His adoptive parents Guilda and Franklin love him dearly, but they will be expecting you.”

Bhon’s jaw clenches again, but it’s different this time—like he’s grinding down a scream, or a prayer. He turns away from me.

“This changes nothing between us,” he mutters.

“I didn’t ask it to.”

“But I owe you now,” he adds, eyes flicking to mine. “And I hate owing people.”

“You’ll repay me when the time comes,” I say, already moving toward the door.

Just as I reach the velvet curtain, his voice cuts through behind me, low and dark:

“Sho.”