by S. M. Soto
“Christ,” he laughs. “I bet you’re so bloody proud of yourself, eh? What’re you waiting for mate, do it.”
So many fucking options. And each time he opens his fucking mouth, he makes the decision harder and harder. I can’t decide what I want to do first.
Closing the distance between us, I drop down to my haunches, leveling our gazes. “You took my girl.” I blow out a sigh, and when he least expects it, I stand up, swing out, slamming my fist into his face. His head jerks to the side, blood dribbling from his split lower lip. “You threatened the life of my child.” Another hit, this one on the opposite side. As I wipe his blood off my hands and onto his shirt, I lean back down, so he can look at me and read the seriousness in my eyes. “And now, you’re going to die.” Rearing my fist back, I strike him in the face much harder than the last two. I felt the moment his jaw cracked against the force of my blow.
Taking my time, I slide the knife out of my back pocket and steady its weight in my palm. I watch him, deciding where to stick it. A nonvital place. That’s a given.
Just for kicks, I lean into his space, jerk his face toward mine and slice the knife across his cheek. The bloodlust screams in elation when dark red blood spills from the wound. The skin slowly separating from the finely crafted blade.
Finlay hisses, and I enjoy the sound of his pain so much, I slash again and again and again. I keep slashing until droplets of his blood start dripping onto the floor in a rhythmic sound. It’s similar to the sound of droplets of water, but his blood is different. When it hits the tile beneath him, it sounds thicker and heavier. And when it accumulates? It moves in sync, swirling down the drain beneath his chair.
“Your death will be slow…” I slash the knife up the length of his arm. “Painful…” I slash again along the other arm. “Fucking barbaric,” I say coldly as I slash the knife across his skin for the tenth time.
His head has long been resting forward. He’s still breathing, I can tell by the rise and fall of his chest. I made sure not to slice any major veins or arteries. I planned on dragging this out as long as I could. But only while he was awake. What fun is playing with your prey if they aren’t awake to see their expressions?
I clean the knife free of his blood with my shirt and stuff it back in place. I turn on my heels and am just about to leave when I hear his body shift on the chair. The sound of his voice has me grinding my teeth together in irritation.
“Want to know my biggest regret, Creed?”
I turn smoothly on my heel but don’t answer him. He’s going to tell me anyway.
“My only regret is that I wasn’t able to kill your seed. Maybe someone else will finish the job for me, eh? Oh, that’s right,” he gives a raspy laugh. “Half the underworld does want them both gone already. You’re welcome, by the way. Grigori and Danilo were great partners to have. Well, that is, before you killed them.”
My lips curl over my teeth in a snarl, and my fists ball in anger. Just the thought of this bastard hurting my child makes me want to go over there and snap his neck. But by the glint in his eyes, I see that’s what he really wants. He doesn’t want to live. He doesn’t want to survive. Because he knows I’m going to torture him. He knows I’m going to give him hell. Too bad for him I don’t give a fuck. I got all the fucking time in the world.
Closing the distance between us, I grip the knife from my back pocket and slam it down on his leg. The blade embeds itself in the meaty portion of his thigh and he grunts with pain.
I already knew he had to be working with Grigori and Danilo. Danilo’s last words to me were proof enough. But now that I know for sure? Finlay has just brought the wrath of hell upon him.
“Not likely.” I turn toward the corner table and grab the duct tape. Can’t have him trying to remove the knife with his teeth. That would ruin all my plans. I smile, a real genuine smile when I see the sweat beaded along his brow bone.
“Fucking hurts, doesn’t it?” I whisper, my voice tinged with glee.
He shakes his head as he stares at me. A spark of indignation in his eyes. “She doesn’t even know how crazy you really are, does she?” he asks, voice laced with disgust and anger. I smirk at him. “You’re just as crazy as I am. We’re one and the same, Creed. And you hate it.”
I laugh, and instead of cutting off the piece of tape, I wrap it around his whole head. “We’re nothing alike, Finlay. Want to know the difference between me and you? I know how to hide the crazy. Hide the bloodlust. I may revel in the spilling of blood and bringing death, but I’m not you, Finlay. Because at the end of the day, I got the girl. She chose me. She’s having my child all the while you’re going to suffer at my hands.”
His eyes narrow, and he growls beneath the tape. His skin flushes red with anger. No doubt from all the expletives and threats he’s shouting beneath there. It’s all fucking music to my ears.
With a smirk on my face, I turn on my heel and slip out of the basement to check on my girl.
I PUSH THROUGH THE HEAVY wooden door with ornate detailing and have to fight to hold in my smile when I see the two of them watching TV together. Shit brings me back to our childhood. It was always Sophia and Alexis—both annoying little sisters I couldn’t seem to get away from.
“Don’t you two look cozy.”
Both heads swing my way, and my eyes latch onto my sister. She looks tired and fuck if it doesn’t make me angry.
Angry at her.
Angry at Creed. At Finlay. Our fucking predicament.
“I’m going into the kitchen to get Soph some water. Did you want anything, Gar?” Lex asks over her shoulder as she walks toward the door. I shake my head, my eyes fixed on my little sister who is once again resting in a hospital bed. She might not be in a real hospital, but fuck, she might as well be.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Soph sighs. My boots echo on the pristine floor as I close the distance. Taking Lex’s empty chair, I cross my arms over my chest.
“Like what?”
Sophia flings her arm my way, gesticulating her hand in my general direction. “The way you’re looking at me right now. Like I’m broken.”
I crane my neck back, staring up at the ceiling for strength. I do this often whenever I’m with my sister for long periods of time. It never fails. She’s always been too independent, too headstrong. So fucking annoying.
“Did I say that?” I smart, and she narrows her eyes.
“You didn’t have to Gar, I can see it written all over your face. So, just get it over with. Yell at me already. Tell me how stupid I am. Say everything I know you’re just waiting to let out.”
Scrubbing a rough hand over my face, I bite my tongue, because as much as I want to do all that, I can’t help but feel grateful that she’s okay. That they’re both okay.
“I’m not going to do any of that Soph, I’ll save that for Creed.”
Sophia scowls, not liking that either. Unable to help it, I chuckle and shake my head. Leaning forward, I let my gaze roam over her, settling on the bruise and dried blood on her head. She still needs to shower and get cleaned up, but knowing Creed, he’s probably already warned her to stay in bed until he returns. I don’t even blame him. The only thing she needs right now is rest.
“I’m glad you both are okay, Soph. I don’t know what I’d do if—” my throat suddenly feels tight and I swallow past the lump forming, not wanting to look like a little bitch. Sophia’s eyes water and she reaches out for me. Taking my hand in hers, she squeezes and her eyes that are identical to mine glisten with tears.
“Thank you for always being here, Gar. I know I don’t say it enough.”
I laugh. “Damn right you don’t.”
“How’s Wendy?”
Her question has the muscles in my body tensing. That probably wasn’t the best topic to change the subject with. I don’t want to think about Wendy. I don’t want to think about anything but her safety right now. I shrug my shoulders noncommittally. Anything to keep from answering. But of course, that doesn’
t work for my sister.
“What is it?” she asks, a knowing inflection in her tone. See what I mean? Too god damn smart for her own good. Most of the time, that is.
“Don’t really know. Last I heard she was seeing someone else.”
The words are like acid on my tongue, and I grit my teeth, anything to push down the pain. I’ve thought about it enough. I don’t want to dwell anymore. This is what I wanted for Wendy after all. For her to be happy.
Doesn’t stop me from feeling bitter.
Jealous.
Possessive.
“Oh, Gar…What happened?”
“She wanted more, and I couldn’t give it to her. So, she’s dating someone who can. A fucking square, goody-two-shoes little shit who can give her everything I can’t.”
I can feel my sister’s gaze burning into my skin. I can feel everything she isn’t saying, and I’m just waiting for her to say whatever I know she’s dying to.
“And why can’t you give her what she wants, Gar?”
I scoff. “You being serious? Look at where we are, Soph. Fuck, look what happened today for Christ’s sake. You think Wendy can handle that? What happened today? I don’t want to drag anyone else into this.”
“It’s not dragging if she wants to be here with you, Garrett.”
“It is if she doesn’t know what I do. She doesn’t know that this is who I am. She thinks she has me figured out. She doesn’t know half the things I’ve had to do on the job. And if she did know half the truth? She’d run the other way.”
Soph rolls her eyes. “God. Now you sound like Creed.”
I shrug. “Well, he did have a good reason to try to keep you away from him, but of course, you being you, you never listen.”
She gasps in mock outrage, but she knows it’s true.
We both laugh and when I least expect it, Soph drags my attention back to her. Squeezing my hand, she forces me to meet her stare head-on.
“I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Don’t be. She’s better off this way. This is what I wanted. Plus, I don’t have time to worry about anyone else but you and my nephew.”
This makes her smile. Like she’s been doing absentmindedly, her hand rubs small circles on her stomach.
“I still can’t believe that pretty soon I’ll have an actual baby in my arms, kicking and screaming.”
I chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure it does a lot more than that.”
She strikes me in the arm at the comment. “Asshole.”
“You didn’t even let me finish!” I laugh. “I was going to say if anyone can do it, I know you can.”
My sister wipes a stray tear and squeezes my hand. “I love you, big brother Gar.”
My chest squeezes. “I love you too, Soph.”
Alexis comes back in through the door with one of the maids and a cart filled with food.
“Since we have strict orders for you to stay in bed, I thought we’d bring dinner to you.”
I push out of the chair, making room for Alexis and the cart of food. I start walking toward the door when my sister’s voice stops me.
“You don’t want to stay and eat?”
I shake my head. “Nah. I need to get cleaned up.” I motion to my still bloodied clothes and she winces. Her gaze drops down to her own clothes that are equally dirty.
“Right. Sorry.”
“I’ll be back to check on you later, Soph.”
I push out of the room and walk down the hall toward the foyer. I have a feeling I know exactly where Creed is, and if I know him as well as I do, I’d bet the motherfucker started without me.
Fucking bastard.
For once, we’re in agreement on the same things: Sophia’s safety and torturing Finlay. I want my chance at him. He hurt my sister. Nearly killed their baby, and he murdered my parents. He’s the reason we lost our family. He’s the reason I lost my childhood. He’s the reason I had to break my back in order to care for my kid sister. I lost years of my life. Spent days and nights killing myself trying to make ends meet. Trying to make sure my little sister didn’t get lost in the system after their death, trying to prove I could handle caring for another human other than myself. And it was all because he was fucking sick. A deranged lunatic.
I quicken my stride in search of Creed and when I spot him walking up from the basement steps with smatters of blood, I narrow my eyes.
“Couldn’t even fucking wait, could you?”
He blows out a sigh, not stopping to chat. I follow in step beside him, trying to reign in my anger.
“It wasn’t my intention. And tomorrow, after he gets patched up, he’s all yours. Just don’t kill him.”
Some of my anger settles at his words.
“What’d you do?”
“Played with him until his blood circled down the drain. Also got him in his leg with my knife. Felt it was fitting. Him strapped to a chair with no way out.”
I can’t help the sadistic grin that breaks out as I picture him, hogtied, fucking strapped to that chair with no way out and a knife jammed into his leg. Serves the motherfucker right.
“So what’s the plan?”
We head down the west wing of the sprawling estate, toward his office, and I know he means business when he settles behind the desk and goes straight for the liquor.
“The only plan I have right now is keeping Sophia safe. That means getting her away from here. Away from anyone in the underworld who can use her to get to me. Anything that is a threat to her and the baby needs to be eliminated.”
A deep pit settles in my stomach. “And what does that mean exactly? This better not be you pushing her away again. She won’t last.”
He takes a long drink from his tumbler and slides another toward me. I blow out a sigh and drop into the seat and take it. Hell, after the day we’ve had, I need it.
“It’s not. I’m getting rid of Grigori’s men one by one and then, I’m going down the list of anyone who dares to step out of line. The Sabella’s have run shit for years and that hasn’t changed.” He runs a hand through his hair, a faraway look in his eyes. “That threat, it also means my father. So being here…I can’t have her and the baby growing up in this place. It’s too risky. Matteo will try to use it to his advantage.”
On the one hand, he has a point. But on the other hand? His father may not even make it through the night, I think that’s the last thing he needs to be worrying about and I tell him so.
“He took a shot to the chest. I don’t think he has anything up his sleeve for the time being. Do you really want to uproot her now?”
“I’ve already had Clarence and Monte looking into things. A new place. More security. Higher precautions. The works.”
I lean back in the leather throne chair and down the contents of the tumbler. “That’s why you haven’t worked on the nursery,” I mumble more to myself. Sophia had complained that Creed seemed resistant to set up roots here. And of course, since she’s Sophia, she thought it had something to do with her. “She loves this place, you know? She won’t leave here without a fight.”
Creed scrubs a rough hand over his face and nods. He knows this as much as I do.
“Look, I get it. But quite frankly? It’s risky. At least here, you can have your eye on Sophia and Matteo and his men twenty-four seven. Out there? You can’t. That’s not even to say he makes it through the ni—”
“He’ll make it,” Creed cuts me off.
I nod my head sharply because his tone brooks no room for arguing.
“And if he doesn’t make it, Creed, what happens then?”
He glances to the side, staring off into the distance for a while before saying, “Then I become him. I take over. I become the king of Chicago.”
“And my sister?”
Slowly, his gaze drifts back to mine. “She becomes the Queen.”
I suppress a groan.
With a nod, I straighten in the seat, squaring my shoulders. Gone are thoughts of Wendy and the what if’s—what could’ve been. Th
e only person I’m ready to focus on is Sophia and her safety.
“Where do we start?”
“First, we get rid of every threat.”
I follow Creed, pushing up from the chair and head down the hall to gather the guys.
“Let’s go kill some people.”
I wonder idly if it’s against protocol to travel with men who aren’t in the mafia. I’m still contemplating this as we push through the doors to a strip club, owned by the Bratva. Almost like we’re in a fucking movie, the upbeat club music is cut off, the half-naked girls on the stage freeze, likely realizing nothing good can come from this visit.
Creed instructed Kam and Jose to stay out back with a few of Matteo’s men, just in case there were any stragglers. Lorenzo and Giovanni are holding back with me, letting Creed handle this. I can smell the contents of the duffle bag Giovanni is holding. The stench is enough to curl anyone’s stomach and make them want to vomit. I glance at him and Lorenzo out of the corner of my eye, both of them look content, like the smell wafting from the duffel isn’t deathly.
Jesus.
Creed steps deeper into the club, and the lights suddenly flick on. Gone are the pulsing neon lights and thumping bass. A few men stand from nearby tables, their gaze fixed on Creed, narrowed with rage. They’re likely wondering what him, of all people, is doing on their turf.
A crowd of men walk toward Creed, one in particular leading front and center. He’s tall. Lanky. A cigarette dangling from his lips and a Berretta M9 dangling from his hand, ready to use if need be.
“A living ghost in the flesh,” the man drawls, his lips still pursed around his cig as he talks. “What do we owe the pleasure, Sabella?” His Russian accent isn’t as thick as Grigori’s was, or any of his other men I’ve heard talking. He was likely born here, into this life. He was Solntsevskaya through and through.
Instead of answering, Creed steps closer to the guys and the tension boils. Their guns are dawn, all aimed at Creed, who looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s much too calm for a man who can be shot dead within seconds.