of that here,” the captain said. “There is a brothel close by. The madam is an old friend. She will not overcharge.”
“Then we will go there. But first we drink again.”
The barmaid brought another round and escaped a groping hand. The whore was not so lucky. The Cossack’s fondling had grown rougher and her threadbare gown showed it. The bodice was ripped and so was the waist.
“I should pull this off you and fuck you in front of everybody.”
She smiled desperately, not understanding.
“Then I will give my friends a turn, eh? One of us in every hole you have!”
The men roared with cruel laughter.
“But Grigor—she has only three!” one yelled.
He squeezed her waist so hard she gasped for breath.
“Then we will make her more,” he growled. “One in the bum!” He jabbed her there with two bent knuckles. “And one in the head!”
The blow split the skin just above her eye and his knuckles came away bloody.
The girl shrieked with pain, but he opened his hand and boxed her ear with all his strength. Dazed, she still showed spirit and struggled against him. The Cossack tightened his grip and slapped her across the mouth. Her lip split and more blood trickled down her chin.
Something snapped in Kyril. He rose and hit the man on the side of the head as hard as he could with the pewter mug. The Cossack fell backwards in his chair, not releasing the girl even though he was unconscious.
She sunk her teeth into his arm and he let go at last. She scrambled to her feet and ran out the door, wiping the blood from her lip on her sleeve and holding a hand over her injured ear.
A blow like that might leave her deaf. It was a wonder she had escaped with her life—
Volkodav stepped in front of Kyril and took the mug from his hand. Kyril stood his ground.
Icy eyes looked into his. Flat. Expressionless. There were flecks of steel-gray in the other man’s pale irises and his pupils were unusually small. Kyril saw no flicker of recognition.
“You are gallant,” Volkodav said in English. “But you are also a fool.” He looked down at the unconscious Cossack on the floor. “And so is he.” His next words were just as calm. “Go. I have no wish to fight you for his sake.”
Kyril dared not answer. Volkodav had not recognized his face but Kyril could take no more chances.
He had to warn Vivienne…Kyril realized that the other man was looking intently at him. He should not have even thought her name.
He nodded, ready to walk out the door. He would not run.
Volkodav raised the mug in his hand so swiftly that there was no chance to react. He smashed it into Kyril’s face with extraordinary force.
Kyril felt his cheekbone crack and swayed on his feet. Blood filled his mouth. He spat it into Volkodav’s face and punched him so hard he could feel the other man’s guts give way under his taut skin.
Volkodav’s eyes rolled to the whites. He swayed on his feet and bile spurted from his open mouth.
The others stared with shocked surprise as Kyril delivered two more punches and the Wolf Killer joined the Cossack on the floor.
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