Gunfire splits the air. Bishop’s team hits them from the east while I advance through the smoke and muzzle flashes from the west. A bullet whips past my ear, close enough to feel the heat. I don’t flinch. Sokolov’s men scatter like roaches, but Stepan freezes when he locks eyes with me. Recognition, then raw panic. The little bitch actually tries to run. I lunge, tackling him into a stack of crates that shatter on impact. Bones crunch beneath my fists before I realize I’m swinging. Fury envelopes me in a dark haze I’ve never felt before. I hit him again and again. The only thing I see is Seriph huddled in a corner, bruised and bloody, scalding water battering her skin after trying to scrub herself free of what he did to her. Stepan’s face is pulp and my knuckles are split open. Only Bishop dragging me off by the vest stops me from reducing him to paste.
“Griffin! We need him breathing!”
Somewhere behind us, Viktor groans as he’s cornered near the truck. I wipe blood on my pants as glass shatters. Sokolov flees out a window, alone.
“Heads up, thermal signature bolting northeast toward the docks,” Jax urges.
I’m already moving. I dart across the warehouse, dodging debris. The storm outside is in full force. Lightning cracks across the clouds in jagged streaks. I duck under a row of support beams, following Sokolov’s figure. On comms, Bishop is barking orders to secure the scene. I don’t stop.
My boots pound along the docks as I round a corner to see Sokolov sprinting down to the water’s edge toward the boats.I drive myself faster, a predator in pursuit of its prey. I won’t get another chance like this. The rain pours down in sheets, plastering my shirt to my body. I barely notice the chill as I chase him past warehouses and shipping containers. My lungs burn and energy surges through me like electricity. I’m closing the distance. A few more yards, a few more feet.
Yuri erupts from the darkness and tackles me sideways. The impact knocks the breath out of my lungs as we crash into the wet pavement. His meaty hands reach for my throat but I twist, driving a knee into his ribs with a sickening crack. He roars in pain and lurches back enough for me to get my pistol shoved under the bastard’s chin.
“You held her down,” I snarl, blood streaking my face. My voice is deadly, laced with the white hot wrath.
I hear Jax yell through the earpiece. “Grim! Sokolov’s reaching a speedboat!”
Yuri smirks. “She fought harder than you.”
The gunshot echoes across the docks. I push Yuri’s dead weight off of me and vault to my feet. I take off at a run, boots slapping against the wet ground. My breath comes fast and ragged. Sokolov is getting away.
“Where are you? The warehouse is clear.” Bishop’s voice breaks through the static.
“Docks! Sokolov’s in a speedboat.” I barrel down the pier.
Sokolov cuts across the water, his dark figure at the wheel. The engine roars as the boat disappears, a ghost among the waves. I skid to a halt, cursing in three languages. Fuck! I can’t jump for the boat. It’s gone. All I have left is a blinding rage. I stand there for a long moment, staring at where he disappeared into the horizon. My chest is heaving, rain streaming down my face like the sky itself is punishing me for this.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder, Bishop breathing heavy. “We got Stepan and Viktor,” he says gruffly. “They’ll talk.And wherever Sokolov runs?” He squeezes my shoulder once like a promise. “We’ll find him.”
I don’t answer him, watching black water swallow what’s left of my revenge.
The drive to the cabin is torture. I stare straight ahead at the road as lightning illuminates the rolling mountains. Every mile I put between me and Sokolov is another jagged mark against my soul. The promise I made slips further and further away. I’m wired, unspent energy leaving me restless and on edge. I’m too agitated, too angry. Not at Sokolov, but at myself for letting the son of a bitch get away. How do I look into her ocean eyes and tell her that I fucking lost?
~ Seriphina Colson ~
I’M BUNDLED UP IN GRIFFIN’Soversized recliner reading, wrapped in his throw blanket—not because it smells like him or anything. There’s music playing in the background and Jax hasn’t emerged from the weapons room. I’ve been in the process of pouting since he locked me out hours ago.
Griffin barges in, rain-drenched and exuding a murderous aura, slamming the door hard enough to make me jump. He looks like he’s trying to keep from punching something. He’s pacing and practically vibrating with pent-up energy. His boots leave wet prints across the polished hardwood floor. He freezes when he notices me.
I stand up and walk over to him, moving slowly like I’m approaching an injured beast. I raise my hand, reaching for his forearm. “Gods, Griffin. What happened?”
He looks like he fought a war. His clothes aren’t the same ones he left in. His knuckles are busted and he has a scrape on his chin. His gray eyes burn like wildfire. He shakes his head, breathing hard, body wound tight, like a spring waiting to snap. “Don’t.” The word is edged with warning. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come any closer.”
I take another step but drop my hand. After everything he’s done for me, I want to help him. He talked me out of a scalding shower when I thought my world had ended. Now he is standing before me battling demons I can’t see and I’ll be damned if I leave him to suffer alone. He looks like he might push me away. Then for a brief second he relaxes, like he could let himself lean into my warmth instead of being swallowed by whatever storm is swirling inside him. His fingers twitch at his sides before he forces them to still again.
“Seriph, go. I’m not safe for you right now.” His voice is laced with restraint.
Shaking my head, I take another step. I walk forward like a force is pulling me to him. Every nerve ending screaming that he needs me. I don’t know what happened tonight, but I know it affected him and I damn well won’t stand here and do nothing. “I don’t believe you.”
He flinches and looks ready to bolt, like he might crumble completely. My fingers brush against his arm. Something inside him snaps and he grabs my wrist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough I can’t pull away. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that’s raw and unguarded.
“You don’t get it,” he rasps. “I had him. I fuckin’ had him. And I fucked it up.” A bitter laugh escapes him and his grip tightens slightly. “And now Sokolov’s out there thinkin’ he can take what’s mine.”
My brow furrows. What does Sokolov want that belongs to Griffin? Does he have more invested in this than protecting me from a shallow grave?
“You’ll get him next time,” I say quietly.
He lets out a slow shuddering breath, his hold loosens but he doesn’t let go. I don’t pull away. He’s convinced he could hurt me. But I remain steady in the face of it.
