“Sergei,” Pavel says in grave voice.
“What? It’s the truth.”
“We came to talk. Not to play,” he grumbles.
“Oh, the candy-ass doesn’t want to play,” Drake roars with laughter, then turns toward the room. “This fine gentleman here just announced that he can take any of you on,” he yells, pointing his thumb at Pavel, and the room erupts in laughter.
Pavel shakes his head, lifts his hand, and squeezes his temples. “You act like a nine-year-old, Sergei.”
“Will you tattle on me to Daddy Roman again?”
“You slaughtered our buyer in my club two hours before opening. He would have found out anyway.”
“Well, looks like it will be me calling the pakhan this time.” I smile and nod toward the center of the room where one of the bikers is standing with his hands on his hips.
“Hey, pretty boy!” the
