maybe it’s just because he doesn’t like being told what to do, but vasiliy goes right ahead and touches the car all the same. vasiliy leaves behind four big fingerprints, which leave him feeling very satisfied, thank you, before he steps back.
when he smiles, it’s that sort of fuck you smile he wears so well. and so often.
‘ needs a wash, man. ’
expression unchanging, john cants his head & directs his unyielding, steel gaze at the other. that glowering stare follows the other man as he walks, & the unleashed pit bull sitting next to john is keeping a low, steady growl. but it’ll take more than that to tap into the vast wells of rage & dismay that’s nestled in his darkened soul. he can’t fly off the handle every time an idiot does something an idiot would do. but he’s imagining it, examining the grimy smudge that’s been applied to his car.
wick pulls open the door of his otherwise pristine muscle car, letting the dog jump in before putting a foot in. but before he climbs in all the way, he addresses the other man once more, recognizing him now.
“ volkov, isn’t it?
Болтуна язык до добра не доведёт. “
