Page 36 of Massacre

“I’m starting to believe Reaper knew what the fuck he was doing when he sent you my way. Fucker needed a goddamned break from you.” King scowled, taking his seat at the head of the table.

“More like he was trying to dodge a bullet,” Cash chuckled.

“All set up, Prez,” Nav, the Silver Shadows intel officer, said before taking his seat. The screen on the wall flickered on, and I saw most of my brothers and Reaper glaring at me.

“This better be really fucking good, Massacre,” Reaper seethed as his eyes locked on mine. “I was with my pregnant wife, trying to see if I could knock her up again.”

Some of the Silver Shadows chuckled at that.

I cringed.

Shit.

Bossman was with Remi.

“Sorry, boss.”

“Save it.” Reaper sat forward, placing his hands on the Golden table. “What the fuck have you done now?”

“I’ve got a problem.”

Reaper’s eyes narrowed. “Once more. What the fuck have you done now?”

“You remember when you asked about my time with the Bratva and I said I would tell you when I was ready? Well, I’m ready.”

A hush fell over the room.

Just beyond the low glow of the light, the Silver Shadows leaned in, their curiosity sharp like blades. I could feel the weight of Reaper’s stare, and the heavy expectation that came with it.

This wasn’t a moment for jokes or half-truths.

My throat tightened. I knew the bossman would not like what I said next. It wasn’t like I had a motherfucking choice. “During my time with the west coast Bratva, I saw and did shit that made my stomach curdle, but nothing compared to a man named Yuri Nikitin. He made Petrovitch look like a motherfucking Boy Scout, boss. He’s evil. I don’t know how else to describe him. You know me. I don’t scare easily, but that fucker scared the crap out of me.”

“Well, this isn’t good,” Nav spoke up. “Yuri Nikitin was born 1974 in a small farming village outside Pern, Russia. It’s right next to the Ural Mountains. Yuri is the son of a local farmer. There is nothing known about his mother. No siblings.”

Sypher leaned over and frowned. “That can’t be all.”

Nav shrugged, turning his computer toward Sypher. “Check for yourself. There is nothing else.”

“Don’t bother looking,” I muttered. “The man is a fucking ghost. Be happy you found what you did.” Leaning forward, I rested my arms on my legs as I hung my head. Taking a deep breath, I added, “I’m sorry, boss. I know you told me to stay out of trouble and to keep my head down, but I couldn’t take it anymore. He was going to kill her.”

“What did you do, Massacre?” Reaper asked as he leaned forward in his chair.

“Her name was Savoy Noelle. She was innocent. A victim in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was something about her. Something familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Over the months as I worked my way deeper into Petrovitch’s good graces, I would see her sometimes slinking, hiding in the shadows. It wasn’t until I saw the mark on her back that Irecognized her.” Looking at the screen and into Reaper’s eyes, I clearly said, “She was Heretic’s daughter, boss.”

I watched as Reaper closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. “Tell me you didn’t. You told me you cut all ties to them.”

“I did, but she changed everything. Boss, I had to—”

“Not another fucking word, Massacre,” Reaper firmly ordered, slowly getting to his feet. “King, I’m formerly requesting a visit to Diamond Creek. Is that going to be a problem?”

King looked from me to Reaper, then asked, “Trouble?”

“It’s Massacre. Trouble is his middle name.”

“Permission granted.”

“Massacre.” Reaper glared. “You are confined to the Silver Shadows’ clubhouse. I am giving King permission to lock your ass down any way he sees fit until I arrive. So help me God, Massacre. You step one fucking toe out of line. If you breathe wrong, I will gut you myself. Understood?”