Valon: What Once Was (Volkov Bratva Novella)(34)

…Which only made Valon believe that he wasn’t who they thought he was.

When they’d put the blades through his shirt, into his chest where his stars were meant to be, they had yet to be removed, and now that Valon was thinking about it, no one had bothered to check to make sure they were there.

Now was the time to change that.

With a jerk of his hand, he dislodged one of the knives, wiping the blade off on his jeans. The boy tried to stay silent, gritting his teeth against the pain, but that added pain made him cry out, lurching back, trying to escape, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. Deciding it was best to get the other out as quickly as possible, Valon fisted the other free and repeated the process.

Blood, both old and new, coated the front of the boy’s shirt—very much like Valon’s—but not fazed by it, he pulled the fabric from his body, revealing the man’s chest for the first time, and promptly cursed.

Nothing.

He even swiped his hands over the areas, smearing the blood further so he could see more clearly, but he wasn’t mistaken. There was nothing there but sliced skin and no hint of a tattoo.

What the f*ck?

There had been no reason for them to verify that this person was actually Mishca Volkov. Mikhail nor Viktor had ever made any mention about a twin—unless that was his plan after all. Have them—or Valon in particular—do his dirty work and start a war that they weren’t prepared for.

And more importantly, there was no loyalty. They would more than happily hand Valon over as their pawn since he was the main one who had done most of the damage. From the very beginning, it seemed, this had been set up, and he would be damned if he stayed here to bear the wrath of the entire f*cking Vory v Zakone on his own.

It almost seemed curios that on this day, Fatos had gone with Jetmir for a conversation that Valon hadn’t been privy to…

Leaving him, Valon traveled down the stairs, carefully, not wanting to be heard. Strom was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase, his back to Valon. While he might have, technically, been one of them, Valon knew that he would never be able to leave, especially not with their prisoner still living, and the fact that he held knowledge about all of this.

Palming one of the knives he’d just pulled from the boy’s chest, he crept behind him, and as the man made to turn, Valon struck, using one hand to cover the man’s mouth as he brought the glinting blade around and slit his throat. As the blood sprayed along the walls and floor, Strom could only try to stop the flow to fight Valon off. Either way, he was a dead man.

There was only one other guard left, and with a knife through his throat, he died just as quickly. Valon patted the man down, relieving him of his gun and the set of keys in his pocket.

Outside, Valon checked his watch, knowing he only had a short time before Jetmir and the others would be back, but he needed to get the hell out of there before they did.

Climbing into one of the two cars still parked outside of the warehouse, Valon started it up, speeding out of the lot, heading back the way they had come to get there. In under thirty minutes, Valon was back in the city.

He thought of making a stop first, but with his limited time, he knew he needed to get Loki before anyone realized he was gone.

The safe house was not far from where he was currently, and when he got onto the street, he parked a few blocks down, abandoning the car where it was.

With the gun in hand, he headed into the brownstone, finding the door easy enough. Stepping out of view of the peephole, Valon banged his fist on the door, not stopping even as he heard a shout from the other side.

Marco had always been ill-tempered and prone to irrationality. Today, that was on Valon’s side as the door swung open. Marco, never the wiser, came out blindly, thinking to intimidate whatever unfortunate soul was on the other side.

Without even a single blink, Valon shot him in the face, his gun barely making a noise with the new silencer attached to the end of it.

Stepping over his body, he stuffed the gun in the waistband of his jeans, grabbing Marco by the arms and dragging him back into the apartment, then carefully the door shut. Drawn by the noise, two more appeared and Valon made quick work of them. Struck from behind—as he had left his back to another door as he made his way deeper into the apartment—Valon abandoned the gun and used brute strength, reminding those that had seemed to have forgotten how exactly he had made it here in the first place.

By the time there was no one left, Valon almost felt moved by the blood splattered on his chest.

He could hear whining over the loud television, and for the first time in at least three days, Valon felt a shred of calmness worm its way through him. But before he could let Loki out, he needed to get a few things first. Hunting through the apartment, he emptied the safe of its contents, not a lot by their standards, but enough to give him a head start.

Finished with his task, he went room by room, taking anything—what little there was—that he’d brought with him from Albania before opening the rather small cage they’d stuffed Loki in once Valon was gone.

Loki didn’t jump all over him as he was prone to do if Valon were gone for long periods of time, as if he could sense something was wrong. He just sat alert, waiting for a command.

Valon took one last look at the space, no flicker of emotion hitting him as he eyed the dead bodies that covered the floor.

Leaving them, he headed back to the truck, Loki trailing behind him, hopping into the cab when he got the door open. Starting it up, he pulled out onto the street, not looking back at the old brownstone even when he turned the corner and it finally disappeared out of view.