Valon: What Once Was (Volkov Bratva Novella)(29)

Now that he was known beyond their small circle for what he was capable of—notably for how he lacked emotion while doing it—apparently, he was being offered a job that only someone like him could pull off.

But Valon didn’t believe that for a second. There were plenty of f*cking idiots who wanted to do this, kill just because, especially if they were getting paid to do it. But since Bastian wanted him to do it, he had no choice.

“Stay here.”

Valon remained outside the door as Bastian and Fatos disappeared behind it, their voices muffled behind the heavy door. Unlike Bastian’s place of residence, the Besnik family had armed guards everywhere, and none of them looked like they had ever smiled a day in their life.

He couldn’t have been standing outside of the room for more than a couple of minutes before he heard, “Bring him in.”

Remaining silent, he trailed behind the two who were leading him in, digging his hands into his pockets to fight the urge to fidget. He wasn’t nervous, but something about this group of men made him wary.

Bastian’s men were like open books. Give them alcohol and semi-conscious women and they were satisfied. This lot seemed far less obvious.

All eyes were on him as he entered the room. Bastian and Fatos were seated at a table with two other men. It was clear which one was the boss, the other just seemed far too young.

“Valon, yes?” the boss asked with an easy smile, gesturing for him to take the lone seat available at the table. “I’ve heard great things about you. I am Jetmir Besnik.”

That he could kill with his bare hands…and when he was really inspired, he could drag out that death for hours. This trait wasn’t something he thought was great.

Not responding, Valon just waited for him to go on.

“I have a little problem, you see. I have been asked to do something for a couple of friends of mine, the Volkov brothers. Perhaps you have heard of them? And while I would not mind doing it, I need someone with your particular skills.”

Apparently, someone needed to die if he was coming to Valon about it. He had to admit, he was a little intrigued. And he had, actually, heard of the Volkovs, though he didn’t know much about them or their operation. Mikhail and Viktor, he thought their names were.

“Who?”

“A man by the name of Mishca Volkov. He has information that I need to expand my business over in the United States, but he has been unwilling to share this information with my associate, so my associate has come to me to fix it. You can see my problem, yes?”

Valon shrugged. No, he really didn’t.

Jetmir reached into his inside coat pocket, pulling free a photograph and sliding it across the table to Valon. When he picked it up, he studied the black and white image and the man featured in it.

There was not much he could tell from the photo, only that the boy had dark hair and dressed well, and he was a year or two younger than Valon.

Dropping the picture, Valon looked at Jetmir, meeting his gaze. “Why do you need me for this? You have capable men here?” This was an assumption on Valon’s part. Just because a man carried a gun didn’t mean he knew how to use it. Strom was the perfect example.

“This boy you see, he is a captain in the Volkov Bratva. You may or may not have heard of them but know that they are deadly, and if one were to go after them, they need to send the best. You are the best at what you do.” His smile was a contradiction to his words. “And you do not know fear.”

That wasn’t right, actually. Valon did know fear. He had felt it many times in his life. It was that he didn’t show weakness in the face of those fears. That was what made him different from each man seated at that table.

“How much?”

Bastian frowned at him, but Valon ignored him. Otherwise, the fat man would help himself to whatever it was Jetmir intended to give him in return for completing this job for him.

“Thirty-thousand U.S. dollars.”

Nodding once, Valon asked, “When do we start?”

____

Having never flown on a plane, or even left the countryside that he’d grown up in for the last twenty-three years, Valon felt out of sorts. Luckily, he had Loki with him, though he had been regulated to a crate during the ride. He had requested that stipulation for this assignment. Bastian had been annoyed by this fact, but Jetmir had readily agreed. With what Valon was doing for him, he hadn’t cared if he brought all the f*cking dogs in Albania.

Landing in a place that he had only ever read about, it seemed far busier than he expected. And louder. Everything just seemed almost too bright for someone who was used to the silence of everyday life. But he didn’t mind it. He actually liked it, and if he were here for any other reason than to kill someone, he might have enjoyed it more.

From the plane, they took multiple cars to a brownstone building in Brooklyn—or at least that was what Strom said—and climbed out. Valon opened the gate for Loki to jump out, laughing when he stretched in the way only dogs did, stopping abruptly when Fatos clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Either he didn’t notice the glare or he just ignored it as Fatos said, “We need to go over strategy.”

Shrugging off his touch, he headed into the building, Loki trotting at his heels.

“I’ll drive,” Strom offered as they began discussing what the night would entail. “You two wait in back and surprise.”