The snap of bone was muffled, like a tree limb cracking from far away. He offered a whimper of pain. He was already done, already beaten. But Kyle always pushed a little farther than was strictly necessary. He enjoyed his work in a way that I didn’t think I ever could. At least, I hoped I never did.

I had already forgotten the man’s name by the time we left him writhing in the alley. ‘Send a message’ was what the Boss said, and I think we achieved that. I don’t know to whom we were sending the message; the guy was low level, almost a freelancer. He made the mistake of thinking that trying to carve out a little slice for himself, outside the organization, would go unnoticed if he stayed small enough. Never underestimate the greed of people who don’t work for their money.

Kyle slid into the driver’s seat of the black Yukon and fired up the engine. I leaned back and stared absently out the window.

“Whoo! Man, did you hear his finger snap? Damn, dude, I thought he was going to pass out.”

I nod to Kyle and give him a slight smile, one that doesn’t touch my eyes. I do this job because it pays decent, I’m good at it, and I don’t have another choice. I don’t have to revel in it. I had my fill of violence in my old life; it didn’t feel good to be so deep in it now. But since when do feelings matter, anyway? I do what I have to do.

I started working for Kovalev’s crew a few years ago, a little while after I got dishonorably discharged from the Navy. I was a SEAL for six years, exemplary service record, commendations, the works. But I made a mistake. I figured out that my commanding officer had been pocketing funds that were supposed to be going to local counter-insurgency fighters. A big part of fighting terrorism is getting local communities on your side and giving them a stake in the fight. The cash is part of that. But Lt. Reeve didn’t see it that way; he saw a way to stash some retirement savings overseas. I went straight to the Lieutenant Commander. Problem was, he was in on it, too. In no time, they had the whole thing flipped on me, complete with bank accounts in my name and my signature on the paperwork. The Navy JAG ordered all my assets seized. I was ruined.

You wouldn’t think someone who fought and killed for a living would be so shook by such a betrayal, but those men were my brothers. I was bounced out of the unit and out of the Navy in a few weeks. I ended up back home, in Vegas, with no money and no prospects. I reached out to some old friends, guys who grew up tough, like me, but had gone a different direction. That’s how I got connected to Kovalev.

He recognized my value right away. I admit, I look intimidating. I’m six-foot-three, but have been told I look taller. The spare bit of flesh that I used to keep as an active SEAL, precaution against long days in the open without food, was gone. All of the corded muscle stood out underneath my fitted black t-shirt. I had learned to carry myself with an air of sudden but controlled violence, like a jaguar, casual but alert. Kovalev looked at me once, nodded, and whispered to his assistant. Just like that, I was in.

I started with simple stuff, basic security. A lot of the time I was just an imposing figure standing behind the guy doing the talking, using my mere presence to forestall any trouble. After a while, I started getting jobs that were more…active. The first time I had to rough someone up was hard. I’m accustomed to violence, but I had always felt justified in what I was doing. I believed I was doing the right thing, fighting on the right side. But look where doing the right thing had gotten me. Maybe doing the wrong thing wasn’t such a bad idea. Eventually, I embraced it. I became one of the premiere enforcers in town. Kovalev even hired me out to other organizations in LA, Phoenix, and Reno. I kept my eyes on the ground in front of me. It made it easier, just focusing on what was immediately ahead instead of stopping to think too hard.

I did my job. I was good at it. I worked hard and never complained. But I never loved it. I didn’t think I could love anything. Not anymore.

“Fucking A, man! That was a good night’s work, eh? Come on, buy me a drink.”

Kyle turned onto Bonanza Boulevard and headed toward downtown. Like a lot of locals, I almost never go to the Strip. The mass of tourists, the crazy traffic, it’s not for me. Kyle wasn’t from Vegas. He was ex-special operations, too. Army Ranger. If he had a sob story like mine, he never shared it. It seemed like Kyle just liked to fuck people up and didn’t care who paid him to do it. Kovalev paid better than the Army and the job was a lot less risky. The low-level thugs and degenerate gamblers we dealt with weren’t exactly the Taliban. Kyle grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, so the clubs, casinos, and strip clubs here were like a magnet for him. We bounced over the curb and into the parking lot of one of his favorites, The Palomino.

The bouncer recognized Kyle as a regular and as a member of Kovalev’s crew. He waved us past without a cover charge. Inside, the music thumped so loud it felt like a physical presence. Even though it was nighttime outside, my eyes still had trouble adjusting to the dark in the club. Soft lights lit up the stage where a gorgeous young woman had climbed the pole nearly to the ceiling and was sliding down slowly, holding on with only her thighs. Kyle slapped me in the chest with an eager grin and went to grab a seat on the rail. I made my way toward the bar, ordered a beer, and looked up at the television. SportsCenter was showing replays of the night’s action. Despite the rise of online fantasy leagues, betting on sports was still big business in Vegas. It made watching highlights feel like more of a job than entertainment. Even though I never bet on anything, the whole environment around sports in this town annoyed me, it was hard to just be a fan.

“Hey, baby,” a sweet, sultry voice whispered into my ear. A hand lightly touched my shoulder. I suppressed a reflex to spin around. I used to be twitchy, hyper-responsive to any threat, but I’ve mellowed out in the past few years.

I slowly turned around to face the young woman who had taken the stool next to me. She was clad in the barest excuse for an outfit, it almost defeated the purpose of the striptease. I had to admit, she looked amazing. She immediately moved her hand to my leg, halfway up my thigh.

“Thanks,” I said, forestalling the pitch. “I’m just going to have a drink.”

She got the point, moving on quickly to the next mark. I turned back to the television. I hoped Kyle wrapped things up quickly. I was ready to go home and get some sleep. But when I turned around to look toward the main stage, I saw someone new walk into the club and I realized I wasn’t going to get to go home anytime soon.