Page 17 of The Games of Madmen

Well, it will now.

His hand resembles a steak, joints heavily tendered for the grill. It’ll be a long time before he uses it again. I hope Brenda likes wiping asses because he’s going to need help with his.

“He’s trying to say something,” Zahkar mutters with a frown.

“Speak the fuck up, Angelo. Say what you need to say.” I nod for one of our men to help him along if he can’t get his shit together.

Heavy pants sputter from Angelo as he pleads with me, finally finding his voice amidst the pain. “I’m s-sorry. I’ll p-pay. I’ll give it back.”

Again with the money. He got knocked in the head a few too many times tonight because he’s dense as fuck.

“That money is pocket change to us,” I bite out, slightly offended that he still thinks it’s the money I’m pissed over. “You’ll pay for your transgressions in a way we decide is sufficient. Are we clear?”

Closing his eyes, his breathing labors and he begins to slump forward in defeat.

“Now, you get a choice,” I say as I look down at my new glass. “The money you fraudulently made or…” I pause because I love when motherfuckers squirm. “Your lover’s life?”

Brenda sucks in a sharp breath and whimpers.

I sip my drink, savoring the familiar burn of our own Rainbow Vodka, unbothered by the fear emanating from her. Now that’s arealdrink. Exquisite. Divine. Uniquely ours. We’ll export this to the US because those dimwits need a taste of Moscow, not the other way around.

“Make your choice,” Zahkar hisses.

Real sobs shake Angelo’s broken spirit. It’s so pitiful it makes me sick. “The m-money,” he mumbles.

Brenda begins kicking out and snarling curse words at him from behind the napkin in her mouth.

Zahkar barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “He wasn’t offering this deal to you, Angelo. He was speaking to the woman you just tried to trade for. Unbelievable.”

My feet carry me to the flailing woman who stiffens at my approach.

Licking my lips at her distress, I pluck the napkins from her mouth, enjoying the feel of her thick lips as I do. “You, sweetheart. The question was for you. The money with no strings attached or spare your lover’s life? What’ll it be, hmm?”

Red blotches have sprung up all over her creamy flesh and her eyes dart around frantically with indecision. She’s tempted. Apologies from him are never going to fix them. Whatever they were is as broken as his hand is now.

Who would offer away their partner so easily? She can’t be his soulmate. No money in the world could buy my soulmate from me.

“Him,” she spits out, breathing heavily through her nostrils.

She’s a raging bull and angry at having to make this decision. Under different circumstances, I may have enjoyed her company inotherways.

“Very well.” I motion for the guy holding her to release his grip.

She yanks her arm free as soon as he loosens his hold and tries to aid Angelo to his feet.

“What do you want us to do with them? Dump them in the alleyway?” Mika asks.

Clicking my tongue, I shake my head. “We’re not savages, Mika. Take him to the hospital. Let him be a lesson for others who have forgotten whose house they come to play in.”

“Right, sir.”

Ever since we’ve begun expanding Klub Chernyy to a chain all over Russia, we’re having to spend time away from our home—Moscow. And the more we’re away, the up and coming generation of fighters lose their manners and inflate their own egos to take chances they shouldn’t. This kind of unruly behavior will only increase when we spend time overseas.

It’ll do them good to have such a vivid reminder.

Fear is something that everyone should have, especially for my brother and me. Yet it appears they need reminding. So, we will educate them. We’re nothing if not adaptable to the times and willing to show them our hospitality comes with a certain expectation.Manners.

But most of all, respect for the game.