I found myself making sure my hair was still covering my neck before I shook my head. “Nothing. Just an unfortunate event.” I cleared my throat and started shifting on my feet, not liking the way his look made me feel.
But fortunately he didn’t press for more answers. I didn’t know why he even asked about my neck in the first place. It was very clear by his stoic expression he didn’t care one way or another.
“You come here quite frequently.” I could have slapped a hand over my mouth at what just came from me.
One of his dark eyebrows crept up ever so slightly, as if he was surprised I’d been so forward with my statement.
“I do,” he said slowly, evenly.
Tonight he wore a dark jacket, a white pressed shirt underneath. He looked more like a businessman than somebody who should be dining in the middle of the night at Sal’s.
I could see tattoos that crept up from underneath the collar of his shirt along the base of his throat. I could even see some on his wrists that also marked the back of his hands. I wondered how much more of him was covered in ink.
“Yes, the usual, Lina.”
The way he said my name sent a visible shiver through me. And it was very clear by his expression that he didn’t miss it.
My pulse was rushing through my ears, so I couldn’t think clearly, let alone speak. I forced myself to turn around and walk toward the back to put his order in, and once again, the entire time, I felt his gaze on me.
Who was this man? What was he to me? And how was I going to handle it?
7
Arlo
After I left Sal’s, I knew exactly where I needed to go.
Yama, or the Pit as it was called in English, was like a split personality. One where, on the surface, you had something pretty, something tolerable. Socially acceptable. Beautiful women, exotic drinks, an atmosphere expensive and pleasing to the eye. A man could get his wildest fantasies fulfilled in the rooms above.
But then there were the bowels of Yama. The pit of hell itself. And inside that was so deep and dark not even light penetrated.
And for a long time the Pit had been the only way for me to diminish some of the darkness that lived inside me.
The killing, the cleaning and fixing for the Ruin, for the Bratva, did help satiate all the heinous shit I felt deep down. Having somebody to go up against, someone who had the strength and agility, the same evilness lurking in them and willingness to give it back tenfold, was a whole different kind of fight.
It was the hits to my body, that pain wrapped up in brutality, that made me feel something other than the brokenness that shaped the man I was today.
And it was in this sphere where the bloodthirsty anger of what made a person survive came to the surface. It came alive, growing until it threatened to swallow you whole. And then you unleashed it within the metal cage, letting that blood and flesh cover your chest and soak the ground, a visual that you were strong, that you were here, that no one and nothing could take you down.
It meant you were real.
I sat on a small, bloodstained wooden bench in the corner of the cage and focused on my taped hands, my fingers extending and contracting as I flexed them. I hadn’t been to the Pit in several months, not feeling that darkness creep up on me.
But ever since that all-consuming desire for Lina arose, I’d felt myself starting to unravel, to fray around the edges as it spread outward until I’d be nothing but tatters on the ground.
The need to possess her had started to control me. And that was a very dangerous situation. I’d never given any part of myself to another person, never allowed anyone to have that kind of control over me.
So this was what I needed, to brutally destroy, to feel pain… to allow someone to give it to me.
And then my opponent stepped into the cage, a six-foot-five hulking beast who went by the Russian name Razoreniye. Or was simply known as Ruin in English. A killer for the Bratva, a man who was darker and deadlier than even me. He had no mercy, no empathy… nothing holding him back from being as dark as he wanted.
And he was exactly the man I wanted to fight tonight. He’d be as violent toward me as I would be toward him.
And right now I needed that more than anything.
He stepped in close, the lifelike wolf head tattoo covering the entire front part of his chest and other Bratva insignia inked on his big body.
The sounds of the bastards thirsty for the blood that would spill rang through the room. Bids for who would win this fight were shouted out in Russian, the words flowing together so they all sounded like the same string of notes through my head.
I stood, rolling my head around my neck, adrenaline making my muscles feel bigger, more powerful. If Razoreniye could have smiled in sadistic pleasure, I was sure he’d do it now. As it was, we both faced off, neither of us giving anything away.
And when the bell rang, all hell broke loose.
We were two tornadoes slamming into each other, fists a blur, the punches coordinated, the pain a welcome retreat. I absorbed it all, letting Razoreniye hit me more times than I’d ever allow another person to. And it was because that was the only way my inner war was tamed.
The only way I could gather any kind of fucking control.
I had a busted lip, a cut above my eye, and the dark pleasure of the relief I’d yearned for coursing through me as I left Yama and stepped out into the night, cold fall night of Desolation, New York. The feeling of my cell vibrating in my coat pocket had me reaching inside and pulling it out as I made my way toward my Mercedes.
I didn’t recognize the number that flashed across the screen, but it would have only been someone close to me, or the Ruin, as no other soul would have had this number.
I hit Accept and put the phone to my ear, not saying anything. Whoever it was could either start speaking or hang up after all they heard was dead air.
“We need your assistance, Arlo.” The deep voice was instantly recognizable. “We need your help with a cleanup.”
Twenty minutes later I pulled to a stop in front of Butcher and Son, a decades-old abandoned slaughterhouse on the outskirts of Desolation. I parked my Mercedes and let the headlights illuminate the large bay doors. Although I didn't see any other vehicles, I knew what waited for me inside.
After killing the engine and getting out, I scanned my surroundings, my hand tucked into the inner pocket of my jacket and my fingers wrapping around the grip of my gun.
When I was confident I was alone, I went to the trunk, grabbed my duffel that held the basic supplies I’d need to clean up the body, and made my way toward the slaughterhouse.
Once inside, the scent of age and mold slammed into my sinuses. My vision adjusted to the darkness, and I searched the large interior of Butcher and Son. I spotted the corpse in the corner, but the dark shape not far from it had my body coming even more alert.
With my hand back on the grip of the gun, I moved toward the two bodies. It was when I was a few feet away that I stopped and focused my attention on one of the men lying supine on the slaughterhouse floor.
Stone. Another associate of the Ruin. And he was alive. Really fucking interesting turn of events.
If I were a man who could be surprised, this would have been one of those times. As it was, I felt nothing but annoyance that this wouldn’t be an easy, quick fix like I planned, and instead I’d deal with two bodies instead of one.