Page 1 of The Butcher
Chapter One
Alexei
The man was still breathing when I walked in but barely, each breath rattling like it might be his last.
The room carried the thick scent of bleach and blood, the kind that clung to everything. It had already been used tonight, and the dark stain beneath the chair proved that. It spread slowly across the concrete and slipped toward the drain in the center of the floor.
The traitor sat tied to the chair, wrists secured behind his back, ankles fastened to the legs, and his head hanging forward like his body had already admitted defeat and was only waiting for death.
I closed the door behind me, the sound loud inthe silence, and the two men inside straightened as soon as they saw me.
“Leave,” I ordered, my tone even, my voice low.
They obeyed immediately, boots scraping against concrete as they cleared out, and when the door shut again, silence settled in.
It was thick and suffocating and exactly how I preferred it.
No noise. No interference. Just a place for me to work.
I crossed the room without rushing, each step steady enough that he heard me before he fully lifted his head. It took effort for him to move, but he managed it, one eye forcing itself open through the swelling and blood to find me as I stopped in front of him.
I let him look, let him take me in. Recognition came first, then the fear followed. Good. That made me fucking smile.
I crouched in front of him, bringing us eye to eye, and when his head started to dip again, I reached out and took hold of his jaw, forcing him to keep his gaze on mine.
My grip wasn’t bruising or crushing. It didn’t need to be. Control never was.“Still with me,” I said evenly, more a statement than a question.
His lips parted, something like a laugh trying to push through the blood coating his mouth and teeth.
“You… Drakovich?” My name sounded thin coming from him, like it didn’t belong there.
“Alexei,” I corrected, holding his gaze. “Use it while you can.”
A rough cough tore through him, blood spilling past his lips before he swallowed it down, his throat working against it.
His eye stayed locked on mine, searching, measuring, maybe looking for something he could use against me.
“Do you know what they call me?”
He coughed again, shook his head, but we both knew he did.
“Say it.”
“The… Butcher.”
His focus flickered over my face, desperate now, searching for hesitation, for something human enough to bargain with. There wasn’t anything for him to find.
“Look at me,” I said quietly when he closed his good eye. I tightened my grip just enough to keep him from disobeying me again.
When his eye opened, the fear had settled deeper, no longer something he could push aside orpretend wasn’t there. It hung between us steady and impossible to ignore.
That’s what I wanted to see.
“You’ve already been asked questions,” I continued, my voice calm, unhurried. “You’ve had opportunities to answer them.”
“I told them—” he started, but I cut him off without raising my voice, my fingers pressing just enough into his jaw to stop the words.
“No. You talked but didn’t answer.” I released him slowly and stood, turning to drag the metal table closer. The scrape echoed through the room as I adjusted it into place.
