CHAPTER ELEVEN

LORENZO GRAYSON\ KERZHAKOV ©

I lit another cigar and drew in a slow breath. Smoke filled my lungs and eased the sharp pain on my arm.

The room smelled of dust, iron, and old wood. Kyle’s men had done their work well. The man sat tied to a chair in the center of the storehouse, his wrists bound, his legs fixed in place.

“Everything is set,” Kyle said and I gave a short nod. My eyes stayed on the man as I took a slow drag from my smoke.

“That kid must have been scared,” I muttered.

Kyle let out a soft laugh. “You sound worried about him. You seem to have forgotten the bullet in your arm.”

I glanced at him and scoffed.

I put off my cigar and pulled off my shirt. It was soaked in blood and sweat. I sat on a crate and braced myself.

Kyle stepped behind me. “Hold still,” he said.

I bit down on a piece of wood as he worked. The pain hit at once. It spread through my arm like fire. I kept still, though my breath was rough.

“Almost done,” Kyle said.

I grunt as I focused on the dull taste of wood in my mouth.

Then it was over.

Kyle dropped the bullet on the tray. He cleaned the wound and wrapped it tight. I dropped the wood and let out a low breath.

I was passed a clean shirt to wear and stood up. My steps were steady as I walked back to the man.

He smiled.

I returned his smile.

“That must have hurt, Sir Vadim,” he said. “But you’ve been through worse, haven’t you?”

“Sir Vadim?” I asked, my voice calm.

He blinked at me with confusion. “What?”

“You called me Sir Vadim,” I said and brought a cigar to my lips to lit. “You worked with my father.”

His smile faded and I nodded in confirmation.

“You were not sent to warn or teach me a lesson,” I went on. “So tell me… what did you do?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, but his voice shook.

I stepped closer and studied his eyes.

“I can see fear,” I said softly.

I lifted the cigar and pressed it near his face. He tried to move, but the chains held him still.

“I can see what you hide...” I pressed the burn to his eye.

He screamed. The sound filled the room, sharp and loud. I pulled back and watched him shake.

“… but it's a pity you won't need both eyes. One eye is enough already.” I said. He cried out as he breathed unevenly, his body tense.

“Antonio sent you,” I said. “But I won’t be staining my hands for him. You tell him that, fucker.” I stepped away.

“Let him go and throw him out,” I added and Kyle gave a small nod to the men.

I turned and walked toward the door. Then I heard him laugh.

I paused for a moment and started to walk away, ignoring him.

Then,

“You are just as weak as your mother.” he said and I turned cold.

Kyle’s men hit him to keep him quiet. I moved toward him, but Kyle quickly stepped in front of me and blocked my way.

“Enzo! Pull yourself together,“ Kyle said, holding my shoulders.

“Don’t forget, we’re not killing anyone. You just have to take a breath. Go outside and have a smoke. We’ll handle this,” he said.

I stared past him for a moment, my jaw tightened before giving a slow nod.

“What do you want us to do?” Kyle asked.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, then walked up to the man and looked into his one good eye.

“I won’t kill you myself,” I said. “I’ll let the one you fear most do it.”

I turned to leave.

“Send him back to Russia. My father will deal with him,” I added as I walked away.

“Wait! Come back and kill me yourself, you bastard… Vadim!” he shouted after me.

I didn't look back. I walked out and drove home in silence. I sighed as I felt the cold air hit my face, still it did nothing to clear my mind.

When I got home, I took off my shirt and tossed it away. I stepped into the shower, but the pain in my arm made me groan.

Blood slowly ran down and stained the floor.

“It just keeps getting worse,” I muttered and walked out of the shower.

I cleaned the wound, wrapped a fresh bandage, then called Kyle.

“Run a full background check on him,” I said.

“Of course. Get some rest. I’ll send it tomorrow,” he replied.

“Thanks for today, Kyle,” I said, and ended the call.

∆∆

~ THE NEXT MORNING ~

My phone kept ringing, over and over, until I slowly opened my eyes and sat up to check the time.

“Blyat {Fuck}” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed my phone.

Professor Douglas.

Of course she would call. I never missed work.

I pulled on a shirt and called her back.

“You’re never late, Mr. Grayson,” she said, studying my face through the screen. “Are you sick? You look pale.”

“I’m injured,” I said. “I’m not feeling well. I’ll have to miss my classes today.”

Her face changed at once. “Are you okay? Do you need me to come over? Why aren’t you in a hospital? Is it serious?”

I gave a small chuckle. “I’m fine. I just need to rest.” She let out a breath and nodded.

I paused, contemplating whether to ask “But I need your help to check on a student.”

“Go on, who is it?” she asked.

“He’s a sophomore. He takes my course. His name is Nick Walker,” I said. “I just want to know if he’s okay.”

She looked at me for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, I’ll check on him. Take care of yourself. I’ll call you later, I have a class now.”

I nodded and the call ended.

A message came in right after. It was from Kyle, with a file attached. I opened it and read through the details.

I let out a low scoff as I scrolled. “So, he really works with him…” I muttered.

My phone rang again. Kyle.

“I’ve sent him off already. His people should have him by now,” he said.

“So Antonio knows where I am,” I replied. “That was fast.”

Another call came in. I glanced at the screen, my heart skipping a beat.

“Speak of the devil. I’ll call you back,” I told Kyle before answering the call.

I heard my father grunt before he spoke.

“On ne skazal tebe, chto predal menya. YA khotela yego golovu.” {He didn’t tell you he betrayed me. I wanted his head},” he said.

I let out a quiet chuckle.

“Ty poslal za mnoy slabaka. Boy byl skuchnym. My yedva uspeli normal'no pogovorit.”

{You sent a weakling after me. The fight was dull. We barely had time to speak properly}.

He grunted again. “Vadim… ”

I cut him off before he could go on.

“Ty poydesh' svoim putem, no ya pozabochus' o tom, chtoby ty vernulsya ko mne na kolenyakh, umolyaya o poshchade. Eto byli tvoi slova.”

{You'll go your way, but I’ll make sure you come back to me on your knees, begging on your own'. Those were your words}.

I stood up, my grip tightening on the phone.

“YA ne khochu uchastvovat' v vashikh glupykh igrakh. Bol'she mne ne zvoni.”

{I want no part in your stupid games. Don’t call me again}.

I ended the call.