Dark Soul Vol. 2 Read Online Free PDF

Russian’s eyes levelly, hoping that the old rule of staring a predator in the face might mean they wouldn’t lash out. Or was it the other way round? Did they attack because it looked like a challenge?
    The man’s rough-hewn face twitched, and Stefano noticed scarring as if from heat and dust, leathered skin and thick tissue giving him an even fiercer appearance, making him look unfinished—a Russian version of Frankenstein’s monster.
    “See, little man. You better think fast.”
    “I’m quite quick on my feet,” Stefano asserted.
    The Russian exhaled between his teeth. “We just make sure you don’t forget, what do you call it? ‘The pros and cons.’” He nodded to the others and reached into his pocket. Knuckleduster. Okay, this would hurt a great deal. Terror settled in his bones, deep down, like hearing his father’s belt hiss through the loops.
    “You’re gonna beat up a tied-up man? Coward,” Stefano hissed, because it was the only thing that kept him from cringing away.
    The Russian looked him up and down, then grunted something.
    A name? One of his friends stepped close and patted Stefano roughly down, then cut the plastic restraints with a short, viciously curved knife made from blackened steel. Before Stefano could breathe a sigh of relief, an iron-clad fist hit him low in the gut, and he doubled over.
    A rough hand grabbed his hair, as if to mock him for the fact he, unlike the Frankenstein Four, didn’t have a buzz cut. “Ever watch news?” Squinting, Stefano met the man’s stare. “Do you know about Grozny?”
    Before he could answer, the bastard kneed him in the face.
    Through the shock and pain, Stefano felt his nose break with sickening clarity. Tears streamed from his eyes and he staggered back, only to be knocked flat on his ass by the guy’s flying kick to his chest. He didn’t get up—too hurt, winded, and blinded to protect his pride. Blood was running down the back of his throat, making him choke. He spit it out and tried to protect himself, cringing.
    “Nobody calls me a coward and walks away,” the Russian growled.
    Yeah, well, even the meanest schoolyard bully could probably delude himself that what he did was an expression of courage and bravery. He hated how the man’s hands grabbed him and pulled him up again, and how the bastard walked him up against the car. Stefano kicked and pushed and resisted any way he could, but the impact against the car winded him again.
    “Hold him for me,” the Russian ordered in English, no doubt for Stefano’s benefit. Two of those assholes grabbed his arms, spread him out against the car. Stefano cursed and fought and barely stilled when the Russian grabbed his face in one meaty hand. “Remember one thing, little man. If you don’t leave, this will be nothing. If we get you next time, we’ll turn you into a goat.”
    Stefano couldn’t help but laugh. “What the fuck does that mean?”
    “Ever gone to the prison? The guy they fuck up the ass all the time.
    He’s the goat.” Stefano swallowed hard against that grip. He didn’t doubt it, and part of him cringed inside, disgusted at how powerless he was. He hadn’t been this scared in fifteen, twenty years. There was no leer on the Russian’s face. That man would do that—had probably done it—without a moment’s thought or hesitation.
    “But first I teach you pain.” The Russian stepped back, much like a boxer finding the perfect distance, then punched Stefano in the gut again. Stretched out like this, there was nothing he could do to protect himself. Getting hit like that hurt like a motherfucker.
    The Russian punched him again—all heavy, solid body blows, every one powerful enough to have doubled him over or made him go down, but the men holding him up blocked even that escape. They didn’t have to pick him up; there was no rest.
    He had no idea where the next blow would fall or how bad it would be, and he cursed the bastard when the guy stepped back just to roll his