Emperor of Annihilation

THIRTY ONE

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By the time I arrive in the basement, I'm greeted with the familiar scent of something illegal.

This better be good. The stairs creak under my foot with every step I took as I descended the basement stairs. I turn the corner, I'm face to face with Morozov. My jaw immediately clenches as I narrowed my eyes into a harsh glare. The fuck?

"Russian dog." I insult him as I take a step back, distancing my body from his. We were so close to each other, one push was all it would've took for our lips to meet. Bile rose in my throat at the thought. Fuck no. I'd rather kiss a frog.

Dim light illuminates the heart tattoo beneath his right eye, a symbol given to him by Aleksei, his father. He mentioned getting the tattoo post-initiation when he became a madman, joining the Bratva. At twelve years old, he was just as cunning, if not more so, then a grown man.

He returns my insult, except with a smile that lazily works its way on his lips and he cocks his head. "Stupid American."

My eyes move past his body onto cardboard boxes. There's at least six of them. I look at him. "This is what that ass called me here for?"

"It's shipment."

"From?"

A grin finds its way unto his lips. "Ukraine."

I sidestep him, walking until I'm directly in front of the cargo, then I bend at the knee, inspecting the box head to toe. "When did it come?? I ask.

Approaching footsteps. "When you were two minutes from being balls deep in Monroe."

"Fuck off, Westbrook."

Leaving fresh pussy was the biggest mistake I could've ever made. She was ready for me to take her again, her naked ass hiked up, ready to be filled with my cum. I'm not an anal guy but for her that could change. I plan on claiming all her holes, including the forbidden ones.

I stand and peer over my shoulders at the two, wondering where the hell Atticus was when my eyes found his across the room. His hood is draped over his disheveled hair as he sat on the floor in the corner of the room, his eyes flickering up to meet mine before lazily dropping back down to his gameboy. I return my gaze back to Morozov and Westbrook. "Is this all?"

Silas gives a lazy shrug, his eyes half-lidded, a hint of disinterest playing on his lips, and his jaw set in an almost bored expression as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. "Why don't you check for yourself?"

I turn back around, falling to my knees and growling under my breath, "Lazy bastard." Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a small pocket knife I carry around with me at all times, casually twirling it in between my fingers.

My face remains stoic as I cut a straight line through the first cargo shipment. Illegal weapons greet me with open hands. Grenades and IEDs, followed by silencers and machine guns. Fucking hell.