Chapter 43: Bratva Prince: Chapter 43

“Mikhail’s here.”

I sucked in a breath, spinning in my chair to face my brother. I had my iPad in one hand, a glass of vodka in the other as I studied the inventory list from a shipment we’d just received.

Nik’s words took me completely by surprise. What the fuck was Mikhail doing here? After the attack, we had called him to inform him of Dayton’s death. He didn’t take it well. He had hopped in his private jet and flown here in record time.

We explained what happened. Unfortunately, Dayton had become collateral damage in the war with Dominik. That despite my best efforts, I couldn’t keep him safe. I took complete ownership of it, because it was my job to protect him. And I’d failed.

Mikhail had sat there the entire time, listening. Once I was done, he’d gotten to his feet, straightened the lapels of his jacket and then punched me in the face. He didn’t say another word as he stormed out of the room. He collected Dayton’s body and left.

I didn’t think I’d see him again for a long time, and yet here he was barely a week later. Why?

I put my iPad down on my desk. “Show him in.”

Nik nodded, a troubled expression flashing across his face before he opened the door wider, revealing Mikhail.

Tall. Broad shouldered. Dark blonde hair. Mikhail was the textbook definition of the high school quarterback. He had sharp, symmetrical features, a strong jaw and light grey eyes. He wore a long, black trench coat, dark shirt and dark pants.

He strode into the room with two men at his back, stopping a foot away from my desk. Nik came to stand behind me, posture stiff. He kept one hand clasped over his wrist in front of him in a bodyguard-like pose, eyes never leaving Mikhail.

He knew Mikhail was still angry about Dayton’s death. And since he’d shown up unannounced, Nik was wary.

Mikhail was one of only a few people who could enter through our gates without prior permission. I didn’t think he was a danger to me. He was mad about what happened to his son, which he had every right to be, but I didn’t think he’d come here to hurt me.

Not in a life threatening way, anyway. Maybe he wanted to go a few rounds in the ring, who knows? If he did, I’d grant it to him. It was the least I could do.

“Mikhail,” I said, rising to my feet. I offered my hand and it surprised me when he took it, giving it a firm shake. “I’m surprised to see you.”

Mikhail nodded, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of my desk. “This isn’t a social visit.”

I suspected not.

“Have you heard of the Til Death Games?”

I frowned, easing my body into my chair. “No. Should I have?”

“It’s a fight-to-the-death, gladiator style tournament that’s held once a year on a remote island off the coast of Europe. World leaders and the insanely rich gather to watch and place bets on who will win.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Nik. He just shrugged. He’d never heard of it either.

“The man who oversees the Games is called Talon. A few weeks before the Games begin, he sends out a roster of who will be competing, along with their stats, so people can make informed decisions about their bets. He sends little previews of what the fighters are capable of. Videos of them fighting, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Like horse racing?” Nik asked.

“Yes, but with people instead.” Mikhail pulled out a tablet, starting it up. “These people in the Games aren’t always there voluntarily. Some are, but most of them aren’t. They’ve been trafficked specifically to enter into the Games to make them more entertaining. Boxers. UFC fighters. Marines. People who’d guarantee a good fight.”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“I’ve never attended the Games, but I get notifications for when a new one is about to begin. I received this encrypted email yesterday. It holds the roster for this year, who will be fighting, along with clips of the fighters showing off their skills in one-on-one battles to the death. It’s a small preview of what’s to come. This is a clip of one of the fighters being put into the Games.” He handed the tablet over to me.

I grabbed it, studying it closely. It was paused on a video. Nik leaned over my shoulder to watch as I pushed play.

It was a close up of a brutal fight. I couldn’t see anyone’s faces, just two muscular backs and toned arms swinging violently at each other. It reminded me of a promo video where they deliberately clipped videos together to make it more appealing to the audience. It showed different angles of the same fight. Bloody fists connecting hard with soft flesh. Savage blows and painful strikes, all while never showing the faces of those fighting.

A voiceover blared out of the speakers.

“Oh, and what a brutal uppercut!” the male voice said, crowd cheering in the background. “I don’t think he’s going to get back up from that one folks! Oh wait, he’s going to try again! What a fight!” A set of big hands grabbed a man’s face and twisted sharply, breaking his neck. “And, we have a winner!” The camera panned out, showing a man standing in the middle of the ring, sweat gleaming on his back, muscles bulging. He dropped the dead man in his arms and turned to face the camera.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Your winner, ladies and gentleman, The Bratva Butcher!”