Page 1 of Twisted Little Game
1
Roman
Something is wrong tonight.
Someone.
The worst part of my bloodline, creating more problems for me, when I asked for none.
My eyes scan the sloping hill, the scent of recently cut grass filling the night air. I look at every empty bench dotted along the cobbled walkway skirting the hill, checking to see if Yegor brought backup tonight.
No parked vehicles.
No one on foot.
It’s second nature for me to keep a close watch on my surroundings.
It’s not that I’m afraid of whatever pathetic attempt at negotiation my cousin is planning tonight. Fear isn’t an emotion I’m capable of anymore when it comes to my family.
It just makes me fucking sick.
My skin crawled when my cousin told me to meet him here.
I still feel unclean for agreeing to it, even now.
I hate negotiating.
It requires talking, which I hate even more.
Problems are better solved with strength, or strategy, or silence. People crack under the pressure of silence, when they realize you aren’t just going to fold and give them what they want.
It’s one of my deadliest weapons.
But it doesn’t fucking work with Yegor.
“Are you going to speak?”
My deep baritone cuts through the air. I pace past Yegor’s shadowy form, standing beside a solid tree trunk, and I nod toward his dark figure the moment I clock where he’s standing.
A dank mix of cologne and incense lingers in the air around him. Inheriting millions hasn’t improved his taste.
My boots crunch on the gravel path under the canopy of trees.
Yegor cocks his head to one side. “You wouldn’t be meeting with me if you weren’t at least a little interested in what I have to offer, Roman.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“I think I might.”
“Skazhi eto, blyat,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. Fucking say it.
He knows enough Russian to understand that, even if his mother never spoke it as much as mine did.
I glance down at my phone and tap out a quick text.
Roman
It’s just Yegor. No company.
