“I don’t think so, buddy. Not ‘til you apologize to the girl.”

I wasn’t really looking for a fight when I walked in here. But now that it’s knocking on my doorstep, I realize it’s just the thing to take the edge off.

My fists are aching for contact.

My soul is crying out for blood.

I answer the wannabe white knight with a sharp jab to the nose. He goes down like a lead weight. I hear the crunch of cartilage and I feel satisfaction race through my body. It ticks all the same boxes as an orgasm.

A chorus of gasps rings through the bar, as if everyone here is taking their last desperate breath before the rest of the oxygen is stolen away. All I see around me are deer in the headlights. Feeble. Useless.

“Okay, man, you’re drunk,” the bartender says, coming around the countertop. “And I don’t need the hassle, alright? Just leave.”

But before I can, the bearded knight lunges up from the floor. He grabs me around the waist and tackles me against the bar. He’s just big enough and I’m just drunk enough that it takes me a minute to get my bearings.

But no more than that.

I grab his jaw and twist until he screams. Something in his neck snaps. Then I ram a knee into his ample gut, smash an elbow into the nose I already broke, and send him right back onto the floor where he belongs. He’s a whimpering, gibbering mess.

I sigh, stand, and straighten the cuffs of my shirt. Then, with a cheeky salute to the bartender who’s standing transfixed a few feet away, I saunter out of the bar.

But I don’t feel any better than I did when I walked in.

43

KOLYA

The drunkenness doubles down when I hit the outside world. Signs shimmer and multiply, lights refract a dozen times over, and the ground heaves like a concrete ocean.

I’ve just turned the corner when I hear the roar of sirens.

Someone must have called the cops on me. Tonight would have turned out a little different if they’d gotten here a few seconds earlier. As it is, they’re going to be sorely disappointed.

I pull out my phone and, after a few drunken misses, hit the first and only number on speed dial.

Milana shows up in what seems like mere minutes. But then again, I’m so fucking out of it that time is mostly just a suggestion.

I slump into the passenger’s seat, but she doesn’t drive off right away like I expect her to. Instead, she just stares at me. I’m coherent enough to see the judgment in her eyes.

I immediately regret calling her. Why hadn’t I called Knox, or Pavel, or fucking anyone else?

Maybe part of me wants her judgment.

“What?” I snap.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” I ask without concern. “Weird. Didn’t feel anything.” My estimation of the failed white knight rises marginally.

“Kolya.” Milana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “What the hell are you doing?”