Page 67 of City Of Thieves

“Not interested.”

“I will tell you everything you want to know, but first you must earn it. Vasily always bragged thatYama’sWidow Maker could beat anyBoynyafighter. Let us see if he was right.”

Irritated at the turn of events, I swing my gun between them. “Or I could just shoot you both right now.”

“Da… But then you will never know the truth.”

“We all make sacrifices.”

His smile widens. “Funny you should say that.”

Once again, the door behind him opens. This time, my fucking heart flatlines as Tatiana stumbles out into the arena, her slender arm engulfed in the guard’s tight grip as he shoves her forward.

Killian didn’t reach her in time.

Acting on instinct, I start moving toward her when Oleg shouts something in Russian, and the muzzle of a gun is jabbed into her side.

I freeze when I see her face. “Let her go. This is between you and me.”

The Russianpakhansurveys the scene, his mouth curling in distaste.

“She’s not a part of this.”

“You made her a part of this when you brought her here.” Turning toward Tatiana, he says, “And do not make the mistake of thinking I am not aware of who you bought that painting for,kiska.” He motions toward the cage. “Fight and win, Marchesi, and I will give you the information you want, as well as thesuka. But if you lose…” His voice trails off as a slow smile stretches across his face. “You die watching my men fuck every hole she has.”

If Oleg was expecting a reaction from Tatiana for this, he’s shit out of luck. She’s stronger than that…She’s smarter.

Her eyes remain on mine the whole time.

“Look at me,suka, not him.” Losing his temper, Oleg strikes her with the back of his hand.

Rage pounds a thick and heavy beat through my veins.

He touched her.

Those three words slide like an avalanche inside my head, gathering speed and strength with each repetition.

Lowering my gun, I walk a solemn path toward the metal cage, averting my eyes as Oleg settles Tatiana into one of the two metal chairs outside the ring. I toss my gun away to the raspy sound of sliding metal across concrete as I kick off my shoes and rip off my jacket and red tie.

Nothing matters but winning.

The killing machine climbs in after me, his movements stiff and robotic as he tries to stare me down. “You will die,” he clips in a heavy Russian accent.

“Not today, motherfucker.”

It goes against everything I know to attack first, but I can’t waste time on strategy when there’s a loaded gun being pointed at Tatiana.

With an animalistic roar, I throw an overhand punch that lands like a hammer against solid brick. He barely flinches, which pisses me off. Before I have the chance to throw another, the bastard’s on me, slamming into my left shoulder until my back is pinned against the cage. Just as his fist pulls back to shatter my nose, I find my opening and drive my knee hard into his gut, quickly followed by a hard kick to the ribcage.

The back-and-forth brutality goes on for ten more minutes, each punch growing bloodier and bloodier. We’ve taken each other to the mat more times than I can count. By the twenty-minute mark, I’m fucking exhausted. Blood is streaming in my eyes, and I’m starting to sway.

Then I hear Oleg’s vicious words in my ear again.

It’s that image… The mere threat of any other man hurting her that sends the black walls shooting back up with renewed voracity.

After that, I feel nothing. I see nothing. All I hear is the snap of bone as I throw punch after punch, one word falling from my lips.

Mine.