We’re headed toward the gas station when suddenly a car flies past us and cuts us off. Rocco slams the brakes, but it’s too late. I brace for impact instinctively, and in the next second, we crash into the back of the car. The seat belt jerks me, digging in painfully. My head flies forward then back.
“What the fuck was that?” Rocco is asking Santino.
A second car pulls up alongside us, and the doors fly open, a flurry of armed men getting out. I recognize one of them, and my blood goes cold.
“It’s the Russians,” I say, just before the panic sets in, like a vise squeezing the air from my lungs.
Saint
My phone is burninga hole in my pocket while we’re in the back of my G, headed to the meeting with Sidorov. I drum my fingers on my knee, telling myself I don’t need to check it again. Rocco texted about an hour ago that he picked up the package.
The package was Isla.
And I’m crawling out of my skin, trying to keep myself from jumping out of this SUV, hailing a cab, and demanding that the driver speed all the way to the airport. That would be stupid, if not impossible. She’s probably already through security by now.
She’s better off flying out of this city and out of my fucked-up life. I know that. Objectively. But I still feel like I’ve lost the best damn thing I never had.
“You hear anything from Scorpion yet?” Priest asks me, clearly misinterpreting my lack of chill.
He’s not out of the ballpark with that guess. Because our brother has gone dark on us. We know he’s off-grid in a cabin upstate. We know he doesn’t have cell service in the mountains. But he’s supposed to check in three times a day, and so far today, he’s missed his morning check-in. It’s a bad fucking day for him to decide to sleep in, to put it mildly.
“Not yet,” I tell Priest, giving in to temptation and extracting my phone to have a look at it.
No further updates. No unread texts. No missed calls.
Nothing from Rocco or Scorpion.
Fuck me. I’d give everything I own just to hold Isla in my arms one more time. I’d kill a man to breathe in her scent. I’d take a bullet just to kiss her.
I slide the phone back inside my suit.
“What the fuck was he thinking, taking Sidorov’s sister hostage?” Priest grumbles, sounding annoyed.
“He was retaliating for the bombing.” I sigh, then crack my knuckles.
“Good thing I only need one honeymoon. I’m never leaving again. I’m gone for not even two weeks, and shit starts blowing up.”
“We know who to thank for that.”
Traffic is sluggish. Horns honk around us, and a taxi cuts someone off two cars ahead.
“I’m not happy that Sidorov is in power,” Priest says. “None of this shit would have gone down with Aleksandrov as Pakhan.”
“Right. The old Pakhan was also a psycho, but at least he was a predictable psycho.”
We’re at another standstill. I pluck out my phone and check it again. Still nothing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I want to smash my fist into something. To break something. But I’m stuck in the back of the G, and the only shit to destroy is mine.
“What’s got you so rattled?” Priest asks me quietly.
“Scorpion should have checked in by now.”
That’s the truth. He should have. But it’s not what has me on edge.
“He’ll check in. Give him time.”
“Yeah.” I work my jaw, staring into the sea of cars on the streets.
