The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(86)

This would have to be enough—though he was very well going to enjoy every second of it.

Walking backwards, he picked up the container he’d left out in clear view, making sure Jetmir could see what it was before he unscrewed the nozzle and pulled out the hose. Taking his time, Klaus began pouring gasoline on Jetmir, starting at his head, making sure he was completely soaked before dropping the container some distance away.

“For years,” Klaus said casually, ignoring Jetmir’s earlier outburst, “I’ve studied you, learning everything I needed to know about you and your associates. There are a couple of things I know. One, you have a pension for setting your enemies on fire.”

“This is about that girl, no?” Jetmir asked, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes.

Klaus didn’t respond because Jetmir was right, and because he didn’t trust what he would say next. He was sure that if he had bothered to ask him for her name, Jetmir wouldn’t have known it.

“It wasn’t personal.”

Despite the fact that he was drenched in gasoline and knew that he was facing death, he still taunted him, just begging for Klaus to overreact and make a mistake. Pulling out a metallic black zippo lighter, he could just see his reflection in it, the dead look in his eyes.

Never in the last five years that he had imagined this day did he ever think that he wouldn’t be spouting nonsense as he listed every reason why he was killing Jetmir, stumbling over his words as grief took him over. Instead, the grueling torture he’d suffered as a part of his initiation had drained all of that emotion out of him. Now, he only felt bits and pieces, not truly caring that he was controlling a man’s life.

Maybe tomorrow that would worry him.

“Two,” Klaus went on as though Jetmir hadn’t spoken, “your organization consists of dozens of ruthless, arrogant men who are only loyal to the highest bidder. How do I know this?”

Klaus reached up, pulling his hair to the side to show Jetmir the tattooed lines starting just behind his ear. Each line represented a single person that had been there the night they snatched them from the street, the ones that had tortured him for days.

Currently, there were nine lines tattooed on his skin, and Jetmir would make number ten. While Klaus didn’t know Luka’s story—yet—he would soon before deciding whether he would be another notch there as well.

“It was just business,” Jetmir said again, though not apologizing for his actions. He was a proud man, and despite having wronged so many people in his short life, he wouldn’t apologize for anything.

Klaus smiled, slowly, then flipped the top open, flicking the lighter so the flame burst forth from the top.

In perfect Russian, he said, “Oko za oko—An eye for an eye.”

Klaus tossed the lighter, watching it’s quick descent back to the ground, never taking his eyes from it as it finally hit the ground and the flames raced towards Jetmir as it connected with the gasoline.

In seconds, he was engulfed, his screams echoing around the warehouse, but no one would be able to hear him. There was something mesmerizing about watching his skin charring, the acrid scent coating the air, the way his muscles seized in unimaginable pain.

And yet, despite the fact that Klaus watched this with unwavering dedication, he still didn’t realize he had lost a piece of his soul long before he had ever made it out of that building years ago.



As Klaus dumped the last of the bags, he wiped his hands on his jeans, watching the bags dip beneath the surface of the water, slowly sinking to the bottom. He had heard many stories about what it would be like once the person you were seeking revenge against was finally gone. Most said that the joy was short lived, if they even felt it at all, but Klaus couldn’t agree with that.

He felt lighter, like he had been given a second wind. Nothing could compare to how he felt right now.

Turning away, he lifted his hood, not in any particular hurry since he was alone…at least that’s what he thought.

As soon as he was facing the street again, twin headlights gleamed in the distance, nearly blinding him. Before he could even think to reach for his gun, he heard the unmistakeable click of multiple machine guns.

Sighing with a roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock-defeat, shuffling along as two came forward, urging him to the black Escalade that was idling. Once Klaus got a good look at them though, he dropped his hands.

Sometimes he forgot how uptight his Boss’ guards were.

When one of them gave him a push, he spun around, punching the man in the gut before anyone could restrain him. He really hated the f*cking help.

“Get in the damn car!”

It seemed Celt had been invited to this little party as he pulled open the back door of the SUV, a stupid grin on his face. He held up a black hood, his smile spreading wider as he saw Klaus’ expression.

“Just like old times?”

Snatching it from him, Klaus snarled, “Fuck you.”

But the hood did bring back memories of the day he was brought to the compound for training…

Pulling it over his head, he climbed into the back, reclining back once the door was closed behind him, two sharp hits against the door making the car start rolling.

His senses were on high alert as he waited for the other person in the truck to talk. His breathing was careful, and there was enough space between them that there was no way anyone else could know that he was there, but Klaus was trained for this kind of thing.