Page 11

SASHA

“W hat the fuck is this supposed to mean, Kirill?” Damien lunges in our direction as soon as we’re out of the Pakhan’s house.

I step forward, my shoulders squaring for a fight or the possibility of one.

Before he manages to grab Kirill in a chokehold, I’m already standing between the two men. Viktor, Yuri, and even Damien’s guards don’t move an inch, despite the clear war that’s about to take place.

“You, step the fuck away before I fuck up your pretty boy face.” Damien speaks so close that I smell the nicotine on his breath.

Most days, Damien has casual and sometimes amusing moments, but today is definitely not one of them. His shoulders are taut with tension, and his eyes blaze in a mixture of light green and a raging gray.

Still, I can’t let him attack Kirill. The rest of the guards might choose not to interfere in such instances due to orders from both men, but I already promised Kirill my loyalty, and I intend to prove it in action, not words.

It’s been three months since I got back my bodyguard job. Or more like, kind of forced Kirill to offer me back my job. I thought that as long as I was where I was supposed to be, everything else would work out. That, sooner or later, he’d learn to trust me again.

I definitely thought wrong. I greatly underestimated Kirill’s ability to completely erase me even while seeing each other every day.

And he has erased me for three months. Didn’t speak to me directly for a whole month until I thought I was going insane.

The only reason he went back to speaking to me, and only in clipped direct orders, was because I nearly got myself shot during a shipment gone wrong.

He pushed me to the ground—like that time when we were a captain and a soldier—clutched me by the nape to hold me in place, and told me, “Stay the fuck down.”

They were harsh, cold words, but I wanted to cry. Beneath the callous edge of his order, I could hear the smidgen of care he has for me. Something I thought I’d lost for good.

After a whole month of starvation, it felt like a sweet reward.

It’s not an exaggeration when I say it took all my willpower not to hug him or at least grab onto the hand he held me down with.

Since then, he’s given me direct orders instead of using a middleman, usually Viktor, who—to be fair—was getting sick of being a messenger.

But the state of things hasn’t changed. He doesn’t like me in his presence for any extended time or if we’re alone. I’m tasked with activities that are far enough from his vicinity that he doesn’t have to see or hear me.

It’s like he’s allergic to me.

No. It’s worse.

He’s disgusted with me. He doesn’t look me in the eye without a slight tic in his jaw and a subtle darkening of his gaze.

I’m still trying to convince him that he can trust me, and he still believes I’m an enemy of sorts.

Back to the present, we’re the last ones to leave the Pakhan’s house after the weekly meeting, and Damien is clearly pissed off that Kirill suggested stopping an ongoing war with another organization and got the majority of the others to agree.

Damien, who, unsurprisingly, led the on-ground war with his brigade, reacts badly to the prospect of taking away his favorite hobby.

So the fact that he came after us the moment we stepped outside was expected. Now, we have to deal with his bursts of anger and whatever unpredictable things he has in store for us.

I shake my head once, placing a palm on his chest. “Step back.”

He seizes my wrist and starts to twist it with brute force, but I free myself before he breaks it. Then I use my hold on his hand and push him back as I move so that I’m standing fully in front of Kirill.

Damien pauses and narrows his eyes. So, yes. I’m no longer the weakling he could send flying during that first meeting. Kirill might have given up on me, but Maksim and especially Yuri haven’t.

Yuri even has a special program for me that I’ve been following to hone my skills to a T, and I never skipped a day of strength training.

Unlike Viktor and Maksim, Yuri isn’t as strong in combat and always withdraws or has a subpar performance in physical training.

However, he’s the best teacher alive. Unlike Kirill, he doesn’t teach using force or terrorizing methods.

He’s more of a steady progress type, and it’s been working perfectly for me.

He’s patient and understanding, and most of all, I feel like I’m going out to see a friend whenever we have our daily sessions.

“I’m warning you, pretty boy.” Damien balls his hand into a fist. The veins pop on the tattoos decorating the back of it. “If you don’t move right this instant, I’m going to break your fucking neck and feed your fucked-up corpse to my dogs.”

I don’t change position. In fact, my shoulders snap backward, and I jut my chin forward, ready for the fight.

Damien’s upper lip lifts in a snarl as he steps forward.

Before I can get into a defensive position, large hands fall on my shoulders from behind, pressing down, then effortlessly pushing me to the side.

Or maybe it’s so easy for him because I’m too dumbfounded to think or react. Kirill steps in front of me so that he’s toe to toe with Damien, and the only view I have is of the taut muscles of his back.

Ever since he recovered from his injuries, he’s been spending all-nighters at the gym or doing hand-to-hand with Viktor. As a result, he has gained more muscle than before.

His shoulders have broadened, and his physique has sharpened to a level that looks more menacing than when we were in the army.

This noticeable change in his build certainly doesn’t help when I’m trying to stop being affected by his presence, warmth, and intoxicating scent that I’m currently breathing into my starved lungs.

Kirill slips a hand in his pocket and tilts his head as he speaks to Damien in a bored tone.

“As I told everyone inside, and you obviously weren’t listening, this war is draining our resources and offering nothing in return but some form of entertainment for you.

Therefore, it’s tasteless, needless, and, most importantly, profitless.

It’s more logical to work on gaining allies than indulging in meaningless wars. ”

“Blah, blah, and fucking blah!” Damien gets in his face. “Those wars are my only source of entertainment and the one thing I do best. If you take them away, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Take a rest and work on your anger issues?”

“Only if I get to kill you. Pretty sure my anger issues would be fucking resolved.”

“I will refuse that offer, but here’s another one for you. How about you explore endeavors other than fighting like a madman? Don’t you get bored?”

“Fuck no.”

“You need other sources to help you let go of all this toxic energy. How about you learn more effective ways to invest your fortune? I can help.”

Damien raises an eyebrow. “Does that mean you finally agree to fight me?”

“How did you get that from my last sentence, I wonder?”

“The fact that you killed my fun and are under obligation to offer me something in return, or I will break your fucking neck while you sleep.”

“That won’t be possible, but here’s the deal.” Kirill clutches Damien by the shoulder, and I step to the side to get a better view of him.

His face is serene, calm, and since he’s kept the light stubble after his injury, he looks like a different type of beast. He’s scarier, more closed off, and…unreachable.

I can watch from afar, but it’s impossible to touch him. It’s even more impossible to know what he’s thinking anymore. It’s like he locked himself in a vault and threw away the key.

“Allow me to invest twenty percent of your assets. One condition, though. I get fifty percent of the gains.”

“You fucking high? Fifty percent?” Damien, who everyone knows doesn’t give a damn about finances and would’ve already gone bankrupt if he didn’t have the right people by his side, thinks that amount is crazy. “My broker guy takes care of my investments. I don’t need you.”

“I’m telling you that, even with my fifty percent cut, I can give you more than what your broker currently does.”

Damien narrows his eyes, seeming frustrated, then he lifts his hands in the air. “I don’t give a fuck about money. So if this is the master plan you came up with to dissuade me from stopping that war…”

“I’ll get you another war.”

Damien pauses, and his eyes shine like a kid who’s found countless presents under the Christmas tree. “How soon?”

Kirill adjusts his glasses with his middle and ring fingers. “Pretty soon.”

“If you’re fucking with me—”

“If I don’t give you that war in the span of a few months, I’ll fight you.”

“Not months . Only one month, and even that is fucking pushing it. I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do during all that time. I might start killing people randomly, and no one wants that drama in their lives, now, do they?”

“You need to rein in the fucking craziness, Damien. It’s your weakest point and the only thing that’s holding you back from moving up.”

“I don’t want to move up. I want the fucking war that you’ll give me in a month, and if you fail me, you’ll fight me anytime I wish to.” He pushes him with his shoulder. “If you fuck with me, I’ll kill all your men. Starting with the pretty boy Sasha.”

On his way out, Damien pats my shoulder. “No hard feelings. It’s only business.” He leans over to whisper in my ear, “Get in my way again, and I’ll stab Kirill while he sleeps, got it?”

My spine jerks, and I remain frozen long after Damien and his men have gotten in their cars.

Kirill spins around and faces me with those emotionless eyes that I’m starting to dread seeing. “What did he tell you?”

“You…heard him.”

“What did he whisper to you just now, Lipovsky?”

“That…uh…I shouldn’t get in his way again.” I omit the last part, and something tells me Kirill can feel I’m hiding something, because he narrows his eyes, a muscle clenching in his jaw, and he remains like that for what feels like an hour but is actually a few seconds.