Page 17 of Bloody Savage God
Today, I think I’ll indulge in letting my aggression free rein.
We run a tight ship, and this kind of behavior is unacceptable. I clench my fists and take a deep breath to calm myself.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, my voice cold.
Anya hands me a stack of papers. “I’ve got all the evidence right here. You take care of it.”
I nod and turn to leave, but then pause and look back at her. Something about Anya looks more tense today, and I find it hard to believe that one stealing employee has her so unnerved. “You’re good at this, you know,” I say, my voice softening just a bit. “You should be running this place.” Anya just shrugs, but I can see a hint of regret on her face. If our father knew it was her, rather than me, who kept the books and monitored the club, he’d be more likely to lock her up at home than give her a pat on the back for her good work. He’s bound to hear about it sooner or later, but for now, we’ve managed to keep things between us.
I leave the club, checking my phone for the address, and head to Viktor’s apartment. It doesn’t take long to get there, and when I knock on the door, he answers almost immediately. He’s a big guy. With his shaved head and thick beard, he looks like he could hold his own in a fight. Not that I’m worried. There is no question which one of us has more practice fighting.
I don’t waste any time. I punch him in the face, hard enough to knock him to the ground. He tries to fight back, but I’m too quick for him. I hit him again and again, not stopping until he’s lying on the ground, bloodied and bruised. “You’re done stealing from us,” I say, my voice low and menacing. “If I catch you near one of our places, I’ll kill you.”
The guy spits at me, blood splattering on my shirt.
“Shouldn’t have done that asshole.”
I’m a killer. Not because I murder people for the family, but because I have that instinct. The instinct that takes over sometimes, and right now, the dumb fuck on the ground sprung a trip wire that’s going to cost him his life.
Ensuring the front door is closed, I take off my belt and tie the fucker’s arms, kicking his head a few times when he tries to get me off of him. He doesn’t pass out though, barely hanging on to consciousness, which is giving me an extra thrill.
I like it when they stay awake for this next part.
Leaving him lying on the floor, I head into his kitchen. In the knife block I see exactly what I’m after. Steak knives. Several of them are too dull to even cut through a piece of butter, but I finally pull one out of the back row that’s somewhat decent. I take my time, looking through the drawers, searching for a knife sharpener. I actually find one, tucked away in a corner drawer. I grab it and head back to the living room, where Viktor is still lying on the ground, groaning in pain.
In the corner of the room, he has a Bluetooth speaker. Placing the knife sharpener on the floor beside him, I push him over and pull the phone from his back pocket. Unlocking it with his fingerprint. I pick a rock song that makes me think the guy grew up in the nineties and up the volume enough that it’ll cover most noise but not so high that the neighbors will show up with pitchforks.
Then I grin and sit down on the carpet beside him. “You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you?” I say, running the tip of the knife along his cheekbone. He doesn’t respond, but I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows exactly what’s going to happen, which only makes my anticipation grow.
Reaching for the knife sharpener, I consider it for a moment before pulling the edge of the knife through slowly. Viktor has stopped groaning, his eyes gaining some focus.
That won’t last long.
I take my time sharpening the knife, forcing myself to linger in the moment, enjoying the metallic sound of the blade against the sharpening stone. It’s a soothing sound, almost like music to my ears. When I’m satisfied with the sharpness of the knife, which admittedly takes a while, I stand up and tower over Viktor.
“I hope you’re ready.”
I grip the knife tightly in my hand. He tries to squirm away, but there’s nowhere for him to go. I kneel down beside him, bringing the knife to his face. “Don’t worry,” I say, as I position the blade just above his eye. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
A few minutes later it’s clear he didn’t agree with my statement. The fucker screamed bloody murder. For the first thirty seconds or so before he passed out for good anyway.
I head into the bedroom and open the built-in wardrobe, pulling out a shirt that is definitely too big for me. Better than walking back to the club covered in the asshole’s blood though, and it’s not like he’s going to need it.
Anya could have easily dealt with this, if she didn’t need to be so careful about our father figuring out how involved with the business she’s become. And there is no way in hell she’d ask anyone other than me for help.
In anyone else’s club this may have been grounds for being fired, but no one steals from me and my family without more severe consequences. Although, had he not spat at me, I would have left it with a beating. As I leave Victor bleeding on the ground, I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. I might not have Anya’s business savvy, but I’m good at this at least. At the same time, another need starts to build again, one that, after last night’s release, should have stayed at bay for a while.
I’ll have to return later to deal with the body, but first, I want to have a chat with Anya.
Back in the club, I head for the back office.
Anya is sitting behind the desk, going through a pile of papers. When she sees me, she quickly puts them away and stands up. To anyone else it would have looked like her being polite, but I know her too well for that. She’s moving away from that desk because she wants my attention somewhere else.
“What are you doing back here?”
“I took care of Viktor,” I say, tossing my bloodstained shirt onto the desk. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Anya’s expression turns serious. “What’s wrong?”
