Banter Knife Mga Nobela at Kwento

"You think you're fit to lead the Bratva? You're just as weak as your father." The venom in his voice pushed me over the edge. "You done?" Fuck talking. We were past that. Both of us drew knives – nasty pieces of work, serrated, designed to not just kill but mangle. My blade curved with the presence of a fucking machete. Pull this baby out, and it'd drag your guts with it. Our knives met with a grating clash of metal on metal. Sparks flew, mirroring the ferocious energy between us. He lunged, aiming straight for my heart. I sidestepped and swung, my blade singing as it sliced through the air and cleanly severed three of Viktor' fingers.