The loud beat makes it impossible to hear anything, forcing me to rely on my instincts alone.
Getting ready, I move to the side of the crate. I pull the gun's strap off my shoulder and hold the weapon like a bat. Taking a deep breath, I dart out from behind my cover and run to where I think Seijo is hiding.
Just as I thought, Seijo peeks out from behind another crate and takes a shot at me. My vest vibrates, but I don’t give a flying fuck.
I see the smirk forming on the fucker’s face, and when I keep coming at him, it falters. Quickly, he discards the laser gun and takes up a fighting stance just as I slam the weapon against his head. The flimsy gun cracks in half, and I drop it to the floor as I crouch down and sweep the fucker’s feet from under him.
Seijo drops but immediately flips back onto his feet in a smooth move.
Like I said, the fuckers aren’t here for training.
He takes a swing at me, his fist connecting with my jaw. After years of being in the bratva, I hardly feel the pain. But I do remember that first punch when I was six. It hurt like a bitch and knocked me out cold.
That’s what Aurora felt.
I tackle the fucker to the floor, and straddling him, I pound my fists into his face.
I see the blood trickling from her busted lip, the confusion and pain in her emerald eyes, the absolute helplessness, and it’s all too much. I keep fucking hitting, the rule of no killing nothing but a forgotten thought.
Suddenly, hands grab hold of my shoulders, and I’m yanked off an unconscious Seijo.
I didn’t even notice the lights coming on or that the music had stopped.
Instructor Nikolai shoves me at a guard, snapping, “That’s enough, Misha!” To the guard, he says, “Take him to Carson.”
I drink in the sight of a bloody Seijo, and with my mouth lifting at the corner, I follow the guard out of the building.
As I step into the sunlight, Armani and Alek come toward me. Alek has a busted lip and a cut above his eyebrow, but he’s grinning from ear to ear.
We follow the guard into the castle and down a hallway. Armani shakes his head at me. “Was she worth it?”
Yes.
Not answering, I look down at my bloody hands. My knuckles are fucked.
“It was worth seeing the look on Kazuo’s face when I handed his ass to him,” Alek says, still hyped from the fight.
“We’ll see if you still feel the same when Viktor hears about this,” Armani mutters.
He has always been the level-headed one between the three of us. Where Alek is most likely to become a serial killer, Armani is calculating as fuck.
Me? I’m somewhere between the two. Not quite as crazy as Alek and not as calculated as Armani.
We’re escorted into Director Koslov’s office and stand in a line in front of his desk. Director Koslov finishes writing something before he bothers looking up.
For an intense minute, he only stares at us before he stands up from his chair. “What part of no killing on St. Monarch’s grounds don’t you understand.”
“We just roughed them up a bit,” Alek mutters.
Director Koslov’s eyes snap to Alek. “Take a seat on the couch, Mr. Aslanhov.” Then he looks at Armani. “You can join your friend, Mr. De Santis.”
Once Alek and Armani have taken a seat, Director Koslov turns his attention back to me.
“I wasn’t going to kill him,” I answer.
“Right.” He chuckles while shaking his head. “Should we watch the footage?”
Grinding my teeth, I shake my head.