Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I hate these people. My mother and father ran away from Baltimore to escape them. They gave my mother money, and beat her when she couldn’t pay them back on time. Their own sister. They’re rats and killers, and this garish woman shouldn’t even speak of my mother, let alone insult her. It disgusts me to think that I’m blood related to her.
“It’s okay, Valentin.” Aram’s standing behind his sister with a tight smile. “My niece here simply hasn’t come to terms with the way things are.”
“She’s a bore, Aram,” Sona says, crossing her arms with a very satisfied smile on her face. “All I did was talk about her parents.”
“Tell the girl to apologize, Valentin.” Aram looks at him with a steady, menacing smile. The pure image of a nightmare beast. “Go on, tell her, and we can go back to negotiating.”
“She insulted my parents,” I say to Valentin, desperation rising in me.
Valentin’s jaw works. “Nobody’s apologizing to anyone.”
“No?” Aram’s smile grows. “So you think it’s okay that your wife insulted my family?”
“Don’t play this game,” Valentin warns. “I know what you’re doing.”
“No, you don’t.” Aram steps closer like he’s enjoying this. “Tell your bitch wife to apologize. Tell that worthless stray dog that she’s not worthy to sit at the same table as my family. Tell her she’s lucky I didn’t cut her mother’s tongue out. Go on, Valentin. Tell the worthless whore.”
Valentin’s fist snaps forward. It smashes into Aram’s face with a vicious force, hard enough to crack the Armenian boss’s nose sideways. Blood spurts from his face as he staggers backward.
And all hell breaks loose.
Chapter 18
Valentin
Ishould know better. It’s obvious what Aram’s doing.
This whole fucking situation is just a ploy.
As my fist slams into the Armenian’s face, I feel like I’m floating above myself and looking down on the scene.
The way Sona’s sitting, a smug grin on her face.
She clearly sat with Karine to antagonize her.
The way Aram demanded an apology and insults Karine right in front of me. That was designed to make me react.
And now here I am, reacting.
The worst way possible.
I can’t even blame Karine. I dragged her into this, thinking I could play the game and come out ahead, but I hadn’t properly prepared her. The whole Brotherhood, sisters and wives and brothers, they’re all a bunch of scheming bastards.
Sona knew what she was doing. And Aram did too.
This is exactly what they wanted.
An alliance was a fantasy. A long, slow, drawn-out revenge was never going to happen.
I wanted to get close to them. I wanted to figure out how they worked, where their weaknesses were, what they considered their strengths.
Then I was going to dismantle them little by little before crushing Aram under my boot.
Aram’s nose breaks under my knuckles.
And all my plans change.
The room explodes into chaos. Sona topples backward off her chair with a shriek and goes to check on her brother, making sure he’s not dead. If only I were so fucking lucky. I turn from the downed Armenian boss and grab my wife, pulling her against me and drawing a gun, as the Brotherhood soldiers start shouting and pulling weapons.
My men do the same.
I don’t know who starts shooting first, and it doesn’t matter.
In the close quarters of the country club, it’s a fucking slaughter.
Bullets slam into booths and walls. Woodchips and plaster dust fill the air. Cartridge smoke wafts into my nose, acrid and sharp. I kill a soldier as he tries to block my way. He goes down in a spray of his own blood. The roar of gunfire and screaming men drowns out whatever I’m shouting at my people.
I drag Karine, protecting her with my body, as Anton and a group of my best men form a protective barrier, some kneeling to fire low, others going high, just like they were trained. One goes down in a spray of blood, followed by the gurgle of another choking on his own tongue. Something hot grazes across my calf, but I keep moving. All I can think about is getting Karine out of here and into safety.
There’s blood on the carpet. Blood on the walls. Outside is just as bad: my men are fighting off the Armenians, keeping them pinned to their own cars, as I sprint across the parking lot toward my SUV with my wife slung over my shoulder.
Karine doesn’t struggle. She’s in shock as I practically throw her into the back seat and whirl around. Armenians try to follow, but Anton and I pin them down with gunfire and force them back into cover before they can come outside. My soldiers use the cars and trucks as barriers while they try to kill any enemy they can find, but soon I send the signal to pull out. The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to lose more men, and this isn’t a stand worth taking.