Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) by J. Thorn, Cathy Perkins, Taylor Lee, Nolan Radke, Richter Watkins, Thomas Morrissey, David F. Weisman Read Free Book Online Page B

had poured for him. Quaffing his own, Boris waited for the burn to subside, to numb the wrenching agony in his gut. Christ, even the NaOH inhibiters he popped like Tums didn’t help. His medicine cabinet looked like a fucking pharmacy, but nothing worked any more. Dubie was right. He was going to have to give in. Have the fucking surgery. Hell, at this point they could take his whole damn stomach out. As long as he could still drink vodka, what the hell did he care if he had half a gut or a quarter. He could get better a whole lot faster if he didn’t have to deal with penny ante shysters like this piece of crap in front of him. He longed for the days in Russia when Leonid was running the gang. When just a pointed look from the towering man would have had bums like this cowering in their boots, begging for mercy. How had he fallen so far, so fast? He thought with a groan, he only wished it had been fast. But it hadn’t; it had taken almost a quarter of century to get to this point. One fucking year after another from Russia, to Chechnya, to London and now finally New York City.
    This was supposed to have been where he turned around his life. Made up for the past. Redeemed his family’s name and once again became a respected, and yes, Goddammit a feared member of the Vory . He longed for the old days when being a Vor meant something. When clan members valued their membership in the family above all else. When the Vor was honored and feared. Instead, he had to rely on punks like Aiden.
    Aidan for god’s sake, what kind of a name was that? Like some fucking rock star instead of a cold blooded killer. But then Boris reminded himself, Aiden was indeed a cold blooded killer and a scary one at that. He killed for pleasure like all punks did. But the unsettling, downright scary thing about Aiden and the assholes who hooked up with him was the way they killed. Slowly. Building up to the final moment with every imaginable torture woven into the fabric of the kill.
    Even though the little punk made him want to reach down his throat and rip his guts out, Boris admitted that Aiden was effective. Those All-American golden boy looks opened doors Boris could never open. Boris was suspect. Foreign. So much for the melting pot of America. He knew what those patrician assholes saw when they looked at him. A thick-jowled, fifty-year-old Russian immigrant. A guy with a heavy body and a heavier accent. No matter how expensive his clothes or how much he paid his barber, his harsh Slavic looks were getting harder and harder to tame. A telling contrast to the suave gym rat looks of an Aiden. Boris poured himself another shot of vodka and tossed it back glowering at the cocky kid in front of him.
    Aiden took a long drag on his cigarette and grinned. As much as Boris hated it, the kid scared him. Pure evil glowed in his obsidian eyes. Boris had watched him gut an adversary then sit down to his dinner without a backward glance at the screaming man writhing on the floor, his bloody entrails scattered across chipped linoleum. Christ, Aiden even used the same knife to cut his steak that he’d used to slice open the asshole’s gut. The men around him were just as perverse. Not a single one had stopped feeding his face as the unfortunate fucker had mercifully died just before they’d started on dessert. As it was, Boris hadn’t been able to eat meat since that fateful day. Christ, as if his stomach wasn’t bad enough, now he was a fucking vegetarian. Or hell, admit it, his diet was almost purely liquid.
    “You heard me. From now on we’re equal partners. Fifty-fifty, Boris, my man.” When Boris scowled and shook his head vehemently, the kid stopped grinning.
    “Look, you fat Slavic slob. It was one thing when we were picking up sluts in alleyways and raiding our buddies’ cribs. No one would pay to retrieve those skanky girls if we hung diamonds around their necks and sold them on Fifth Avenue as former Barney’s models. But thanks to me and