It is ever present and lingers at the forefront of my mind. I thirst for it every waking hour. Dream of it when the call of unconsciousness pulls me under. It is a parasite digging its way beneath my skin, creating a well of darkness that stretches across my soul.
Revenge.
That should have been a stage every psychologist adds to their ridiculous therapy.
I’ve never thirsted for it before. Not even when Libby was murdered. Then again, I never needed to worry about revengewith Matthias. He was the sword of justice I needed. Now I need to become my own weapon.
My rage courses hot enough that it could burn the whole city to the fucking ground. And that is exactly what I am going to do.
Just as soon as this fucking funeral is over.
“Tomas wants to meet you,” Vas whispers. He stands at my right hand dutifully holding a large black umbrella over the two of us. “Pay his respects.”
Pay his respects.
I can’t help the derisive snort that rattles through my mind. Those are the same soft platitudes I received all day from his people. Mumbled condolences and quiet murmurs ofwe stand behind youandwe’ll go wherever you leadfilter through nearly the entire crowd as they pass us on their way to my late husband’s grave.
Vas bows his head respectively as each person strolls up to pledge their allegiance to him, the newPakhan, but their eyes are fixed on me. Judging me. Pitying me. I am done with it. There is no doubt in my mind that my ties with Vas and his brethren will soon be severed. The string of fate cut short. I am not part of the Ivankov Bratva, I am simply one wife among many.
Another piece of collateral damage.
But that doesn’t matter.
My thirst for vengeance won’t stop even if they no longer give me their backing. Not when my father and brothers gladly step up to the plate. They have already promised the manpower in helping to dispatch Christian—just as soon as their own mess is cleaned up.
Leave it to my brothers to find trouble.
Our family is good at that, apparently.
In the week leading up to the gala the twins manage to secure themselves a captive after she witnessed them take out JimmyBurlosconi, the man who tried to knife me on the dance floor of their club, Clover. The man is a two-bit thug who thought he’d kill me and walk away with a couple million in his pocket.
His mistake.
Now he is lying with the fishes—or something like that. I am not exactly sure where the bodies go, and I don’t care to.
The problem that hangs over their heads is that the witness is a reporter and the daughter of a very powerful senator. Bailey Crowe is a force to be reckoned with but is probably a bit dick drunk. For someone who has been kidnapped, she does not seem to be in a hurry to leave, and from the sounds coming from their room at the end of the hall—she is sure as hell enjoying herself.
That is a mental image I could have lived without.
Whatever the three of them get up to in their spare time must have hypnotized her because less than twenty-four hours after she is kidnapped by them, she avidly agreed to be Kiernan’s personal ‘pet’ in order to gain unfettered access to the flesh auction taking place beneath the gala we attend.
Technically, she agreed because it gave her the opportunity to find her missing friend and mentor, who we think might have been sold at auction herself. It was also a chance for me to find out what happened to Maleah. So maybe dick drunk is pushing it.
The newest setback? Bailey is now missing.
Okay, so missing is a bit of a stretch. Bailey was sold. An unfortunate byproduct of Kiernan and Seamus fucking up the operation by not identifying all the key players first. If they would have looked deeper into who runs the auction Bailey wouldn’t have been sold to the very person she spent countless hours searching for.
Her friend.
A betrayal of the cruelest kind and a plan that we believe was put into action long before Bailey ran into my brothers.
Nearly a week has passed since Bailey was taken and the twins come up short. Guilt gnaws at my bones as I think about the poor girl in some brothel somewhere and I’ve done nothing to help them find her. Instead, I’ve secluded myself in my room, letting the guilt and depression weigh me down. It feels like a betrayal now that the cobwebs of grief thin. Time and time again my family has proved to me that they are sticking by my side and here I am hellbent on avenging a dead man when there is every possibility Bailey is alive.
That is going to change.
As the funeral closes and the attendees file out of the quiet graveyard, Vas and I remain behind. For someone who wants to speak with me, Tomas sure is taking his sweet ass time. Then again, he doesn’t get out to the west coast all that often, and it is clear as day from the way they bow their heads and shake his hand that Matthias’s people respect him.
Fuck, this guy is the Russian version of Barack Obama with his smooth swagger and amiable smile.
