“Good. Now you know how it feels.”
“I’ll kill her. Right now. Put a bullet in her head and send you the video.”
“No, you won’t. Because the moment she’s dead, you lose your leverage. And the moment you lose your leverage, I’m coming for you with everything I have.” I lean back in the seat. “Right now, Savannah is the only thing keeping you alive. So keep her breathing. Keep her safe. Because the second I know she’s dead, you become my only focus.”
“You can’t win this.”
“Watch me.”
I hang up and look at Silas. “Next target. The cash house on Paradise Road. And this time, leave one alive. Someone who can run back to Dmitri and tell him exactly what I’m doing to his empire.”
The convoy moves through the night, hitting target after target. By dawn, twelve Kozlov operations are destroyed. Fifty-three associates are dead. And the city is burning.
Somewhere in all that smoke and fire and blood, Dmitri Kozlov is watching his empire crumble.
And somewhere in a warehouse, Savannah is waiting for me to find her.
I will find her.
Even if I have to burn Las Vegas to ash to do it.
37
SAVANNAH
Pain ripsacross my stomach like a band of fire tightening around my middle.
I gasp, curling forward as much as the zip ties allow. My bound wrists strain against the plastic, cutting deeper into the raw flesh. The baby shifts inside me, pressing down hard, lower than he’s ever been before.
The pain eases after thirty seconds. I breathe through my mouth, trying to stay calm. Trying not to panic.
That’s the third one in the last hour. Maybe the fourth. I’ve lost count of time in this warehouse, don’t know if it’s day or night anymore, but I know those weren’t Braxton Hicks.
Those were real.
My water hasn’t broken yet. That’s good. That means I have time. That means?—
Another wave hits. Harder this time. Longer. My stomach goes rock-hard under my hands, the muscles contracting with a force that makes me cry out.
“No.” I’m talking to the baby, to my body, to whatever force is trying to make this happen now. “Not yet. Please not yet.”
But my body doesn’t listen. The contraction peaks, holding me in its grip for forty-five seconds before finally releasing.
I’m shaking when it passes. Sweating despite the cold warehouse air.
That one was stronger. Closer to the last one. This is happening. Whether I’m ready or not.
My baby is coming.
I try to shift position, but my ankles are still bound. The zip ties have cut off circulation—my feet are numb, swollen, useless. My wrists are worse, the plastic soaked with blood from days of struggling.
The warehouse is quiet except for distant voices. Dmitri’s men, somewhere on the other side of the building. They brought me water an hour ago—or maybe it was longer, I can’t tell—but didn’t stay. Didn’t notice me gasping through a contraction while they checked the bindings.
If they realize I’m in labor, what will they do? Let me die here? Cut the baby out themselves?
I push the thought away.
Another contraction. The tightening builds fast, peaking within seconds. I bite my lip to keep from screaming, tasting blood as my teeth break through skin.
