He was halfway to a waiting car when I shouted, “Stop right there, you piece of shit!”
He whirled around with his gun raised, but I was faster. I fired once, hitting his hand. The gun clattered to the ground as he howled in pain.
I closed the distance between us in seconds, tackling him to the grimy asphalt. We rolled, his elbow catching me in the ribs, but I had rage on my side. I pinned him down and pressed my gun to his temple.
“The Volkov crew,” I snarled, yanking down his mask to see his face clearly. “Who do you answer to?”
His eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the buyer,” he gasped. “From the auction.”
“And you’re the scum who helped kidnap an innocent woman,” I pressed the gun harder against his skin. “Talk. Who ordered the hit on us today? Who’s behind your operation?”
He laughed. “You think I’d tell you? I’m already dead if I—”
“You’re dead if you don’t,” I cut him off, pulling back the hammer of my gun for emphasis.
For a moment, I thought he looked afraid. Then his good hand shot up, faster than I expected, connecting with my eye in a punch that sent stars exploding across my vision.
I fell back, momentarily stunned. He scrambled to his feet, already running.
“Stop!” I shouted, raising my gun despite my blurred vision.
A shot rang out, but it wasn’t from my weapon. The snake-tattoo guy jerked and stumbled forward before collapsing face-first onto the asphalt.
“Fuck!” I spun around to see who had fired that kill shot.
A figure disappeared around the corner of the building. By the time I got there, they were gone.
Someone didn’t want him to talk. I kicked a nearby trash can in anger, and the pain from my eye now travelled to my head. The one guy who could give me answers about how Alisa had been caught up in that auction mess was now fucking dead, and I found myself back at square one, unable to know just who to protect her from.
“Dante!” I heard Federico and turned around to see him approaching with his gun still stretched outright, scanning for trouble. “Jesus, what happened to your face?”
I touched my eye. It was already swelling shut. “Got sucker punched by a guy I thought could give us some answers. Someone shot him before I could get anything useful.”
Federico glanced at the body, then back at me. “You recognize him?”
I hesitated. Telling the truth meant explaining Alisa, explaining the auction, explaining everything I’d been hiding.
“No,” I lied. “Just thought he might know something about who’s behind this.”
Federico didn’t look convinced, but the sound of sirens in the distance cut our conversation short.
“We need to move,” he said. “Caspian’s handled the ones inside. Cops will be here soon.”
I nodded, taking one last look at the dead man. Another dead end in my search for answers about the Volkov crew. Another failure to protect Alisa from whatever was coming.
***
By the time I got home, my eye had swollen completely shut, and the throbbing pain matched my mood perfectly.
I headed straight for the gym, needing even more pain to dull the feeling of failure that felt somehow worse.
I needed to hit something. Needed to feel the burn in my muscles, the sting in my knuckles. Anything to distract from the frustration and anger inside me.
I didn’t bother changing, just stripped off my jacket and shirt, kicked off my shoes, and wrapped my hands. Then I attacked the heavy bag like it was that now dead tattoo-man.
Pain was simple. Pain, I understood. Not like the complicated mess of emotions Alisa stirred in me.
I don’t know how long I was at it before I heard her.
