NIKOLAI
THE BASTARD WASN'T even shaking.
His hands were tied behind his back, knees pressed into the cold concrete, a gun to his skull—and he still had the audacity to look me in the eye.
I should've killed him already. The second they dropped him in front of me—blindfolded, gagged—I should've pulled the trigger. But I didn't. Not yet. Because I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know exactly who was taking his last breath.
"You're quiet," he rasped, his voice barely recognizable after the screaming. "Expected more from you."
I crouched in front of him, tilting my head. "Like what?"
"A speech." His mouth twisted into something that might've been a smirk if his face weren't so f****d up. "Something poetic. Revenge always brings out the theatrics in men like us."
I
