Johnny
I watch him walk out, back straight, purpose in every step.
The asshole means it, which makes me respect him. Just a little.
I pick up my coffee, take a slow sip to cover the burn in mythroat. My pulse is thudding harder than I’d like. She told him. Of course she did. And now the soldier thinks he owns the high ground. Thinks he can lay claim to her. But the thing about men like Sean? They play a clean game. They draw lines and follow rules. Me? I destroyed my rulebook a long time ago.
I set the cup down with deliberate calm.
But inside? I’m already writing his eulogy.
Chapter 22
Nik
I’m carving a custom knife handle. Walnut burl, dark and knotted… a bastard to shape, but worth the fight. The blade scrapes in steady strokes.
Shick. Shick. Shick.
Usually, this work clears my head, but not tonight. My mind keeps circling back to the burner phone in my desk. Volk hasn’t called since the first time. No surprise. The fucker enjoys reminding you who holds the strings.
I’ve caught myself hovering over the call button more times than I’ll admit, but I never press it. A Bratva favor isn’t free. It’s blood, and I don’t know how much I’m willing to bleed. At least, not yet. So, it stays in the drawer. Silent. Mocking me.
I’ve been at this for over an hour when a sharp buzz rattles through the quiet. I freeze, knife mid-stroke.
The phone.
I’m across the room in two steps. I yank the drawer open and see the screen is lit. Only one man has this number.
I answer. “Yeah?”
Volk’s voice is flat and unimpressed. “You’ve been busy,Nikolai.”
I frown. “So have you.”
He lets the silence stretch, just long enough to remind me who’s in charge.
“I thought you’d want to know… your inquiry? Marcus? His name came up in a wiretap.” He pauses.
My pulse spikes. “And?”
I hear a rustle of paper on his end.
“He’s been making calls to Rutledge. Setting up payment arrangements. The timeline suggests soon.”
I grip the phone tighter. “He’s moving product?”
“He will be. People, not just drugs,” Volk clarifies. “Your instincts were right. Walter’s not doing this solo. He’s expanding.”
My gut twists. I pace to the window and stare out at the Nashville skyline like it might answer the hundred questions racing through my head.
“Marcus is getting sloppy,” Volk adds. “Your window’s closing.”
“How long?”
Another pause. “You have a month. Maybe less.”
I rake a hand through my hair. The connections are snapping into place too fast now. I need more time.
