Teaser from Shattered (The Russian Guns, 5) - #WIP #ComingSoon
Since I'm knee-deep in working on the very final Russian Guns novel, I thought ... why not share the first few hundred words or so of Chapter One?
It's certainly an eye-opener as to what he's been up to ...
Ready for this?
If there was one thing in particular that frightened the Bratva men who worked under Demyan more than anything else, it was his ability to kill and carry a normal conversation all the while. Sure, his coldness and the disinterested attitude he sported usually kept others at bay, but the cruel factor left them warier than ever.
“What are you doing tonight?”
Koldan shrugged from his spot on the makeshift, plywood counter. “After the party? Whatever Ana wants, you know. Probably chill at your parents’ place for a bit and try to stay the fuck out of Anton’s way.”
Demyan snorted under his breath. “He likes you.”
“For the last two years, he’s wanted to kill me.”
“Nah, for the last four years he’s wanted to kill you.”
“Thanks,” Koldan said. “I just have to make it to the wedding in a few months.”
“Honestly, my father likes you, man. Especially since …” Demyan trailed off, waving a hand at himself like that explained it all. He supposed it did because shit, Anton Avdonin had a son, but he wasn’t really there anymore. Not like he once was.
“Anyway,” Demyan drawled, bored with the entire conversation. “He likes you. If he didn’t, he’d have killed you by now.”
“Maybe,” Koldan agreed quietly.
“What did you two get her for tonight?”
“That dollhouse she’s been talk—”
The flat end of the hammer game down on the kneecap of a man Demyan had found poking around his territory. The guy’s scream was swallowed into his gag, the stench of urine and vomit emanating from his form. He wasn’t sure of the man’s name and he didn’t really give a fuck, but the single shamrock tattoo on the inside of his wrist said more than he ever could. That, and the fact he had been toting a gun and tried to go in on one of Demyan’s guys.
After what happened to the Avdonin family by the Irish four years ago, none of that scum needed to be in Little Odessa.
Numbness settled in Demyan like it always did whenever he was working. Well, hell, the numbness never really left.
The hammer came down again. Another muted scream sounded as the guy’s eyes flew wide and his kneecap blew out under the force of the hit. Bone, blood and matter spilled.
Demyan didn’t even flinch.
This was business. His life.
Welcome to the freak show.