Free The Chronicles of Young Dmitry Medlov: Volume 7 (The Medlov Crime Family Short Stories Series) by Latrivia S. Nelson Page B

pummeled straight to the wall and got stuck.
                  Ivan used that one small opportunity to attack Dmitry and get several body punches into his exposed abdomen.
                  The bodyguards were about to intervene when Davyd spoke. “Stand down,” he ordered as Emma peered around the corner, still draped in Dmitry’s sheet. 
                  Pulling his bloody hand out of the wall, Dmitry swung at Ivan’s head.  When Ivan ducked, Dmitry grabbed him by the front of his shirt and wrapped his arm around his neck, bringing him down on his knee. 
                  Kicking and flailing, Ivan tried to get away, but the more he struggled, the tighter Dmitry’s trip became. 
                  Choking the air out of his body, Dmitry looked into his eyes, contemplating ending his brother’s life finally. 
                  When Arie rounded the corner to find out what all the ruckus was about, she saw her husband at the top of the stairs being choked out by the quiet and deadly Dmitry and Emma and Davyd at the base of the stairs watching.  The rest of the men stood frozen, unsure of what to do. 
                  “No!” she called out.  “Dmitry, no, please!”  Her voice shrieked in pure fear.
                  Looking up from his brother, Dmitry glanced down the stairs at Arie, trembling and finally let him go.  Throwing him off his leg, he stood up over Ivan’s body.  As he looked down at the man, purple and heaving, there was absolutely no pity.  Reaching back like a man kicking a dog, Dmitry struck Ivan in his ribs one last time.  “Fuck me? Fuck you!” Dmitry finally screamed. 
                  Coughing, Ivan got up off the floor, face bloody and spit.  He ran his tongue over his lip and looked at Dmitry with a hateful grimace.   
                  Arie bolted up the steps to Ivan to help him, but he snatched away.  “Get off me,” he said, pushing past her. “What the fuck are you bastards looking at,” he said, headed toward the garage.
                  Davyd walked up the stairs slowly and stuck his head into Dmitry’s room. “Want me to follow him?”
                  “Fuck him,” Dmitry answered, laying back on the bed.  “Let him go.”
                  Arie stood at the top of the stairs in complete awe. She rarely gave her husband much credit, but he had actually pulled it off. 
                  Now, the question was, could she?
     
     
     

 
    Chapter 9
    With a sore, swollen mouth, tattered clothes and no shoes on, Ivan sped down the long gravel drive leading off the property of Dmitry’s estate, in his brother’s red, custom-made Lamborghini Diablo. 
    He had picked this one, instead of one of the 20 other cars, for two reasons.  It was Dmitry’s favorite sports car, and he never drove it.  When the stuffed-shirt came out to the garage and realized it was gone, Ivan knew that he’d lose his shit all over again. 
    Serves him right , he thought to himself.
    Large rocks popped up and scratched the perfect paint job and dirtied up the chrome wheels, much to his delight.
    Looking cautiously behind him in his rearview mirror to see if anyone was following him as he hit the main road and headed for London, he shifted gears and push down on the accelerator.  The engine revved wildly and smoke blew out of the dual exhaust adding to his never-ending theatrics. 
    It would take nearly an hour to get to his destination, but he would need at least that long to get himself together.  Smiling hurt like a bitch, but he could not deny the sublime pleasure that overwhelmed him at the moment. 
    As usual, his dull and visionless brother had been unable to see through Ivan’s murky façade to his true motives. 
    Ivan knew without a doubt that Dmitry would be ready for a fight as soon as he threw the little guard through his