It's mid-week, so it's time for another snippet! I added 2k to The Last Sin on Monday as part of a 10k writing marathon I'd challenged myself to over the weekend. The story is coming along slowly, but I'm okay with that as it's currently third on my writing to-do list. Any progress is an achievement, really! (And you can see my progress on various works-in-progress here).
So, here's a taster of what I've got so far. Enjoy!
So, here's a taster of what I've got so far. Enjoy!
Luka dispassionately studied the two men he would soon kill. Pyotr, he had always disliked. The bullish man was one of Marya’s bodyguards, trusted by Ivan to protect his princess, and he had fucked up. He had fucked up so badly, it was almost comical. No doubt Ivan had his own punishment in mind for Pyotr, but Luka didn’t intend for him to live long enough to receive it.
The second man, Taras, had been a trusted Boevik in Luka’s brigade for years. But his loyalty was to Ivan first and foremost and so he, too, would have to die once Marya was safely in Luka’s hands.
The three of them sat in a small, warm pub, just two streets from the house where Marya was held. Pyotr and Taras drank local beer and talked about the grim weather. Luka drank water and said nothing. He’d never been one for alcohol, not since reading about the execution of the last Tsar of Russia and his family. The executioners had been so drunk beforehand, they’d botched the entire execution, leaving survivors to be bayonetted. The thought of it, the chaos and unnecessary suffering of that night, had stayed with Luka. He prided himself on always killing quickly and cleanly.
He knew it was a bad thing to be proud of. But he had so little else.
While his men talked, blithely unaware of their impending fate, Luka watched the snow fall outside and ran the plan through his head once again. Rolan’s intelligence said the girls would be moved at midnight, back into Russia. Europe’s boarders were in chaos with migrants surging across the continent, and slipping sex slaves from country to country was frighteningly easy in the midst of such disorder. If the traffickers made it out of Poland it would be near impossible to find them again.
So they had one shot to grab Marya.
The second man, Taras, had been a trusted Boevik in Luka’s brigade for years. But his loyalty was to Ivan first and foremost and so he, too, would have to die once Marya was safely in Luka’s hands.
The three of them sat in a small, warm pub, just two streets from the house where Marya was held. Pyotr and Taras drank local beer and talked about the grim weather. Luka drank water and said nothing. He’d never been one for alcohol, not since reading about the execution of the last Tsar of Russia and his family. The executioners had been so drunk beforehand, they’d botched the entire execution, leaving survivors to be bayonetted. The thought of it, the chaos and unnecessary suffering of that night, had stayed with Luka. He prided himself on always killing quickly and cleanly.
He knew it was a bad thing to be proud of. But he had so little else.
While his men talked, blithely unaware of their impending fate, Luka watched the snow fall outside and ran the plan through his head once again. Rolan’s intelligence said the girls would be moved at midnight, back into Russia. Europe’s boarders were in chaos with migrants surging across the continent, and slipping sex slaves from country to country was frighteningly easy in the midst of such disorder. If the traffickers made it out of Poland it would be near impossible to find them again.
So they had one shot to grab Marya.
