The Sinner's Club [18+] Complete

chapter six.

MY FIRST LANGUAGE is Russian. My second language is English—though it is not perfect.

But my mother tongue, I often think, is violence.

Blood drips from the blade held in my hand. It pools on the cement floor of the back room of this club. There is a small drain running along the far side of the room so that it can be hosed down easily.

It will need thorough hosing after I am done here tonight.

"Please," the man slurs, his head lolling to the side as he lies on the cold floor. "Please."

Is he begging for mercy or for death? I do not know, and I am not sure he does either.

He is a mess of blood and bruises, battered to the point that I think his own wife would not recognize him. I crouch down and cut his ring finger from his hand, slicing through bone and skin. He screams, clutching his wrist, as I pluck the golden wedding ring off the severed finger. After wiping away some blood, I see two sets of engraved initials inside the little band—his and his wife's presumably.

"Brak — eto svyashchennaya klyatva." Marriage is a sacred vow. I speak to him in only Russian so that he thinks his pleas fall on deaf ears. It makes his helplessness grow. "Vy yego pozorite." You dishonor it.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I shouldn't have hit her. Please don't kill me. I have children."

"Primite moi soboleznovaniya." They have my condolences.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘🥀🌹🥀⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

In the end, though I burn to, I decide not to kill the man who hit Gabi. A dead body is difficult to deal with, and I would rather he suffer the humiliation of explaining this to his wife. After what I did to him, the things I carved into his body...it will not be easy to come up with excuses. He knows what the consequences will be if he says anything to the police. Few in this city, if any, are bold enough to stand up to Nathaniel Sterling.

By the time I leave him in an alleyway and head back to the club, Gabi has gone home. I didn't even get to see her, so consumed in my rage and vengeance.

The club is closed. It's late. Nathaniel sits behind his desk, a bottle of whiskey and a glass in front of him. He stares emptily ahead, his tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

"Is it taken care of?" he asks without looking up at me.

"Yes."

He raises his glass and gulps down the rest of the alcohol, then slams the glass down on the desk. "She can't keep working here," he mutters, perhaps more to himself than me. But I agree wholeheartedly; Gabi's work at this club only puts her in danger.

"No," I concur.

His eyes ping up to me, narrowed in suspicion. "And what is it to you, exactly? Why the fuck do you care?"