Heart of Stone - Stone and Fire #1 [17+] (REWRITING)

Chapter 5

Nikolas's POV

"I don't care what the fuck happens. Kill him and hide the damn body before I do the same to you."

Orlov's head stiffens, and he nods before striding out of my office without a single word. Head guard or not- his reasoning towards my opinions were getting suspiciously out of hand. He used to follow orders without a second glance, and now he had me second thinking his fucking loyalty. Every man in the Bratva knew that was a deal-breaker.

"You think she didn't know he was bad? I mean, greasy hair, stubby-ass legs, jaw so loose it couldn't even cut bread, how the hell did she even let him fuck her?"

"She didn't get the chance. He forced himself on her before she could say anything. Fucking suka." I conform, Mikhail's eyes tightening on the CCTV footage on his computer.

Simon had come to me, practically begging on his knees, to apply for one of the privatized sessions at the club I owned, Hellraiser. Being my bastard father's partner like he was, I don't know why the fuck I let guilt trip me up and allow his dull-witted feet within an inch of the building. I always scouted for men I trusted and knew, and those were the ones who used my advancements properly. Cameras were never consulted- not unless there was substantial proof of criminal offense or assault happening in any of the rooms. Never had this happened, once, but total relativity of the situation was written on Amira's face after she'd left the room, arm stuck trembling on Mikhail's collar.

Nothing but pure fire, the unrelented kind, billowed through my veins when my eyes landed on Simon forcing his giant body over her, while she screamed out for help and none of the fucking guards came in to help. Only when she'd reached for the gun under the secret compartment hidden in every room, under the pool table, is when she'd taken a shot, right in his knee, and my brother came in busting down the door.

One of the reasons my club was different, all things considered. Training for strippers didn't just consist of moves but also basic self-defense skills, how to land kicks in the areas that can hurt a man worse than death, and, for special cases, the proper conduction of a pistol. This was one of those cases.

Simon was an American restaurant-chain owner, and in no ways used to the proper, heedless torture methods the Bratva used to knock some fucking sense into irrational, injudicious minds like his. He was about to find out, and nothing but satisfaction filled my bones at the thought of the pain he'd feel the moment his dick was cut off and how his screams would get him nowhere but the tighter expanse of death.

"Go follow Orlov, make sure the job gets done right. I don't have the time to clean up after anyone else."

He rolls his eyes, slams the computer shut, and treads out the room with his hands in his pockets. I'm just about to get up myself, maybe hit about some of the guards and interrogate why the hell they weren't paying attention to the screams, when my phone buzzes a steady rhythm on my black-stained wooden desk.

Random number.

I can only think of one person who that could be.

I sit back down, answering it. Breaths ring through the other side, and then a sweet, sweet voice fills my ears.

"Hello?"

I can already tell by the way her voice shakes, that she's nervous. I lean back, waiting for her to continue.

"Hello? Is this even the right num-"

"It is."

She goes quiet, then clears her throat. "I agreed. To the deal."

Something dark buzzed in the back of my head. It's what I expected. It's not like André had a choice, other than to let me infiltrate his house and burn it down without an ounce of guilt. It was also something that was expected from me, by the Pakhan. Luckily I've never disappointed the man enough to get conformed by his wrath, which is why there was no sliver of chance  André could refuse.