Andrei must have recognized him too. “They lethimout of the East Side?”
“Let’s send him back,” I replied coldly.
Victoria looked incredibly uncomfortable, a tiny thing wedged next to a massive brute of a man. He had no regard for her space as he swung around wildly, playing stupid games with his goons.
Andrei was the first to act, pretending to trip. He tumbled a step forward, tilting the copper mugs far enough to splash fresh Moscow Mule all over Victoria’s dress and Stepan’s slacks.
“Oh, excuse me, how clumsy,” Andrei mumbled. He set the mugs down and helped Victoria to her feet. “We’ll get her some club soda and take care of this right away before it sets. I hear silk is hard to clean if you don’t get to it fast.” Without waiting for a response, he gathered Victoria to his side and moved off, gliding away to get her to safety.
Stepan bellowed and threw his arms wide as the ice-cold liquid soaked into his slacks. “What the fuck is this?!”
He attempted to stand up, but I moved quickly to meet him, kicking my foot out into his shin. It wasn’t enough to hurt a slab of meat like him, but it put him off balance immediately, and he crashed into the couch. There was a snap as something in the frame broke, and somehow the extra expense of replacing the furniture made me even more angry with this useless clown of a low-rank soldier.
“I was told you wanted to speak to the owner about the bill,” I said, ice running through my veins as I readied myself to spring into action the second I needed to. Thanks to Andrei, I could put on a calm front, too, and my body betrayed none of my plans. “Well, Stepan, here I am.”
He growled at me and leaned forward with his hands on his knees, hulking his shoulders up. “You would be wise to take your foot off of my pants.”
I bent forward slightly, showing him that I was unafraid to get in his face. “You’re dirtying up my club. I dirtied up your pants. I think the bill I send you for the couch is going to be more than square with whatever problems you had with our service.”
One of the fighters shouted behind me, but I had no idea which of those knuckleheads it was. “Hey! Down in front! Shut the fuck up so we can see the show!”
The immediate sound of my men drawing and cocking their guns overrode the din of the crowd, and everyone fell silent. Andrei’s voice rang out as he returned to my side, Victoria safely away. “This club is under the ownership and management of Mikhail Sokolov, on behalf of Vasili Sokolov. No one will disrespect his name here.”
The crowd was silent, the silence of fear. For a moment, I enjoyed that power. I enjoyed feeling them look upon me, knowing that my every movement, every signal, every fucking word mattered in this room. They were right to submit to me. They just needed to show the proper respect, and they could go back to their revelry. No one wanted the game to end, so why be stupid?
Stepan was determined to show me why. He forced his way to his feet and tried to intimidate me with his size. He glared at me. “The littlebitchcould not keep her orders straight. Simple drinks.” He tilted his head. “Is she as stupid as everyone else in this hole? I wonder where they get it from.”
“Maybe he can tell you!” one of his goons shouted, to scattered laughter. Drunk, stupid assholes. A quick death from me would be a lucky break for these idiots. If I didn’t take care of the problem, they were bound to talk their way into truly nasty fates.
I hardened my jaw and quietly sized myself against him. I raised my hand and brought it down slowly, signaling to my men to put their guns down. “You’ve never met me, so I can understand why you might believe I’d tolerate you coming in here without prior permission, and I can even understand why you might believe that it’s a good idea to disrespect me in front of all these people. But my understanding doesn’t mean believing that makes you any less of a fucking idiot.”
His breathing was getting heavier, and he was getting impatient. He’d attack soon; I could see his first move all over his face, all over his posture.
“Interesting,” I said. “You drop your shoulder.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
That’s when I acted. I lunged, both hands already up and ready for action. One wrapped around the back of Stepan’s neck, and my other fist slammed into the side of his throat. To his credit, he didn’t go down, but the blow sent him stumbling back into the ruined couch. He toppled backwards over it, his size now a liability that kept him from reacting in time to keep from crashing to the floor.
I turned my head to face the Baranov lackeys who were only just now moving into action. Slow, pathetic lumps of stone, barely men. Let them come. They might have been stones, but I was a desert flash flood, and these little rocks didn’t stand a chance against me.
Some of the Baranov crew formed a protective circle around Stepan; good soldiers, but a few especially stupid ones had fight in them. I smiled to myself. I’d have been disappointed if they’dallbeen smart. They might have wanted violence, but Ithrivedon it.
One of them leapt forward over the couch, a knife flashing open as he cleared the furniture like a racehorse at the track clearing a hurdle.
I thought of my training, the hundreds of hours of learning to fight from the best in my father’s forces, the hours I still spent every week with my trainer. I had studied my craft since I was a child, and while any good student of violence knew that they would never truly be done with that study, I was far enough along that I could spot an amateur a mile away. The Baranov thug moved with too much forward momentum, committing his whole body to the motion. If he’d been better, like me, he would’ve kept enough control over himself to direct his force with more finesse, but he was sloppy like all the rest of them.
I took advantage immediately. I sidestepped him easily, my leg extending to trip him. Before he could fall forward to the floor, I shot my arm out and caught him in a clothesline across the throat. He made a choked gurgling sound and I shoved him away, sending him crashing, unconscious, to the floor in front of me.
The next one came, and another close behind. One threw a hard haymaker of a hook punch at me. I easily ducked under it and pushed off hard with my legs as I threw the force of my fist as deep into his breadbasket as I could manage. I could feel him start to go limp on me, and I pushed with both hands to shove him backwards. He crashed into the man coming up behind him, and both tumbled over the couch. Too easy.
I threw my arms open wide, my eyes blazing as I stared down the remaining goons. This was what it was all for. The passion of the fight. Protecting our territory. And making sure that every single shithead on the Baranov payroll thought twice about whether or not the money was worth it. I roared into the crowd. “Anyone else?”
The next Baranov soldier to come at me clearly had skill; his moves were confident and sure. I smiled. Punishing arrogance in my inferiors was a bonus on top of getting the Baranovs out of my casino. It didn’t matter how good he thought he was; he wasn’t leaving this place unbloodied.
The thug threw a smooth combination of blows at me, but he was no match for my speed. I avoided one punch entirely, weaving out of the way with ease, and blocked the second with my crossed arms to harmlessly absorb the force. He tried to hook my leg with his, attempting to copy my move from earlier, but instead of falling I twisted my body to catch the back of his neck with one hand. In one smooth, lighting-fast motion, I bent and threw him over my shoulder. He hit the ground face-first with a sickening crunch, unconscious immediately, and I turned to meet my next challenger.
From behind me, I heard the unmistakable sound of a knife being drawn from a leg sheath. I spun to face the sound, just in time to see Stepan back on his feet, a wicked-looking knife in one meaty paw. He beckoned to me, bravado on display to try to save what little face he had left.