Page 18 of The Red Room
“Stay here,” he says. It wasn’t a request. His strong voice left little room to argue otherwise. But can I? Stay in the safety of his loft while something horrible might be happening twenty feet below me?
I try and reach for his arm. “Nik, what’s wrong?”
He’s gone before I can even get the words out, sliding between the door and taking the stairs two at a time. The disruption of the club grows louder now. Shouts. Glasses breaking. And finally, I hear Nik yell too.
Glancing down, Völk bouncers and bartenders fight off a group of men intent on destroying anything in their path. Thebiggest of them is familiar, and when he turns to face Nik, shock pierces through me.
It’s him.
The man Nik forced to apologize last night.
He’s back, and with the wild gleam in his eyes, it’s obvious he came to settle to the score.
Nik knocks the man out cold with one solid punch to his chin, the force catapulting him into the clubgoers circled around them. Another takes his place and swings violently. Once for his face, and two more times for his chest. Nik dodges the advance with ease, grabs his arm, and leans into his hefty body. Then, he hip tosses the giant man to the ground with a shuddering slam. Bottles behind the bar teeter, and some even fall over and shatter. Some people rush for the doors and make an easy exit while most do the same thing I am—watch the horrific scene unfold, unable to look anywhere else.
Three more men surround him but it isn’t fear in Nik’s eyes that I notice. No, he seems to be enjoying every second of this. A large grin spreads across his face into something so sinister I hardly recognize him. The hair he combed back tonight breaks free from the band keeping it tame, allowing the long tendrils of brown to once again dance along his broad shoulders. One, two, three are on the floor unconscious, and Nik? Well, Nik only snarls at their lifeless bodies.
Club Völk goes still. No one close to the group of poleaxed attackers moves. They only stare, an awestruck expression on their faces. Standing tall at the center of the room is Nikolai Vostik, his chest heaving with an anger I’ve never seen. He glares at them all individually, and his eyes finally land on the biggest of them.The man who made the mistake of coming back here.
Nik grabs him by his shirt and drags him up to his dangling feet. He says something I can’t make out. Screams it, actually. Then, he balls his fist and hurls it for the man’s cheek.
Crack.
A sickening, powerful blow forces blood from his gaping jaw.
Nik rears his hand again, thick knuckles taking another deadly shape.
Crack.
When he connects, chunks of white decorate the blood on the dance floor a disgusting mix of red and ivory.Teeth.The longer I look, the more unmistakeable they are. A molar. A few different incisors. Every time his mouth flails open to scream for help, there’s one less tooth in his gums.
I cup my mouth, and a gasp wisps through my fingertips. No.He’s going to kill him.The man topples over, body folding to the floor. His limbs are useless, splayed out to the sides like all his bones were never there to begin with. His eyes roll so far back that the whites are visible from the window of the loft. He can’t even stand, not that it matters. Nik keeps him upright and readies himself for another wicked blow.
Those left in the club huddle around them, but no one dares to try and stop Nik. No, they stand to the side, some laughing, and some recoiling every time another punch connects. More than a dozen phone lights flick on, shining to this monster of a man and his ruthless premiere. Pictures. Videos. It won’t be long before this brutal beating is all over social media. Nik will be a spectacle for the Club Völk hashtag and those scrolling the latest videos on theirfor you page.
Another crack.
I turn away from the window, not sure I can stomach what happens next.Stay here.His voice was so calm. Collected. Nothing like the man I see now. The resemblance to his brother,Viktor, is uncanny. The same soulless eyes. The same vicious demeanor.Stay here.Can I, though? Can I just wait here and watch him beat the life out of someone, pretending this is okay? Justified? He can’t even stand for Christ’s sake.
No.
If someone doesn’t do something soon, this blood will be on my hands.
I won’t watch it anymore.
I push aside all doubt, regaining control of my stiff limbs, and slip through the hatch to the staircase. The cold metal door grates against my back but it’s the least of my worries. Right now, I need to save him. I need to save Nik from making a horrible mistake he can’t come back from.
“Nik!” I scream over the sound of his knuckles cracking against the man’s skull. I rush down the steps, my hair flowing behind me as I descend.
“Stop! Stop it!”
Another crash, and the floors vibrate to a different beat that Völk is accustomed to. Nikolai Vostik’s strong fist.
“Stop!”
People jump out of my way, clearing a path to the two of them. Nik’s back is to me when I reach him, and he holds out his hand to the side. It’s not balled into another fist but forming something else entirely. Outstretched fingers. Nails as sharp as talons. He isn’t planning on punching him again. No. It looks like Nik is readying himself to claw out his fucking throat.
“Nik!” I scream one more time and grab him by the arm.