Page 22 of Bloody Savage God
Feeling this way is intolerable. The loss of control is overwhelming, and if I could, I would jump out of my skin.
Not something I’ve ever felt before. Usually, all I feel is the need to inflict damage. Pain. But this? It’s like my own body can’t fathom a way to make the grief go away.
I stand up abruptly, knocking over a lamp. The anger is almost like a physical force inside of me, pushing me to move, to do something. Unfortunately, there is nobody here now to beat on, so I pace, my fists clenched at my sides.
For just a second, the image of Mike tied to the floor taking my abuse flashes in my mind and I wonder if seeing him again would take some of these overwhelming feelings away. But I dismiss it quickly. This isn’t the same need I usually feel, and there is no time for anything like that now, anyway.
Right now I need to focus on protectingla familiafrom whatever this attack on us was all about. It’s about my father, whose death needs to be answered for. My own shortcomings in handling my emotions on my own will have to take a backseat.
Eric stands off to the side. He hasn’t left my side since picking me up, going so far as to claim one of the guest bedrooms last night, as if he’s responsible for my safety, now that my father obviously doesn’t need him anymore.
The thought pisses me off.
“Why?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Why him? Why now?”
Eric looks shocked, which is a rare feat to accomplish. Rationally, I know none of this is Eric’s fault. It’s the fucking Russians that deserve my wrath, but part of me wants to hold him responsible for failing to protect the man he swore to give his life for.
Even now, withdrawn to my father’s study to plan my next move, my need for blood is warring with utter disbelief. Even after staring at his lifeless body, I can’t accept that my father is gone, that I’ll never see him again, never hear his voice or feel his embrace. The injustice of it is overwhelming.
Life changing.
I pick up a paperweight from his desk and hurl it across the room. It misses Eric’s head and smashes against the wall, the sound of the shattering glass a satisfying release for my pent-up emotions.
But it’s not enough. I want more, want to lash out at something, someone. I want the person who did this to pay, to suffer the way I’m suffering.
I stalk across the room, the picture of the man responsible for this tragedy taking over my blurry vision. Mikhail Tsepov will pay for what he’s done. And once I have his lifeless body lying at my feet, I’ll wipe out his entire family.
I stop for a moment and turn my head to stare at Eric, considering him for a moment through the teary haze that only angers me further. I can’t rush this. Something went seriously wrong for my father to have been exposed enough to get killed. Weighing loyalties will have to be a priority going forward.
“Are you ready to help me get revenge?”
A smile spreads across Eric’s face and he wisely doesn’t comment on the tears I wasn’t able to hold back now that we’re behind closed doors. Eric I trust. He’s not only my closest friend and cousin, he is also the man people fear, the one who is eager for blood to spill.
In a way, he’s Mikhail’s counterpart in my own organization. The enforcer.
“I thought you’d never ask. What do you have planned?”
Unfortunately, that is the tricky part, and, in the end, we take a full day to figure out how to get anywhere close to Mikhail Tsepov without getting him suspicious.
I’m playing this close to my chest, not involving anyone other than Eric, but that means getting information is somewhat more challenging than it would have been if we used our usual network ofsoldatiand informants.
After killing my father, there is no way the Russians aren’t prepared for retaliation, but so far it looks like they’ve kept running shop as usual. Which is smarter than I would have given them credit for, and which means that chances are only some in the Bratva are aware of what went down.
Those in the know would be Adrik Tsepov, the Russian boss here in Toronto, maybe some of his closest brigadiers, and his personal enforcer and son Mikhail, who I have no doubt mutilated my father’s body after killing him, the way he is known for.
At least that’s what I’m banking on as I saunter into the dimly lit bar that Eric and I settled on as our best bet, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. This joint is one of the low-class establishments the Russians run and I’m fairly certain it has a number of rooms they use for their sex trafficking operations.
My eyes scan the room, and air rushes past my lips when I actually spot none other than Mikhail sitting at a corner table, nursing what I have to believe is a vodka. As I approach him, his eyes snap up and something that almost looks like shock flits across his face before he schools his expression into a cocky grin.
This is his turf, and he’s obviously feeling confident, but I’ll make sure he’ll regret that feeling soon. The thought is a soothing reminder to keep playing this game until my snare snaps shut.
I make my way over to his table, my hips swaying seductively.
His eyes have been on me since I entered the room, but I can’t read his expression beyond the arrogant grin he’s hiding behind.
So predictable.
I should be disgusted, but somehow, my anger is fueling my role, and I give him a sultry smile. Leaning down as I reach his table, I give him a clear view of my cleavage. “I need to talk to you, Tsepov. Alone.”
