"He can also fuck things up for you. Actually, he already has."
"Da."
Gina leaned against the table, her golden eyes hard. "We had been even, you and I. I can take care of your problem for you, Konstantin. But then you will owe me again after this."
"Understood." Pause. "Is different world now. Perhaps one day we will work together instead of against each other."
"I doubt it."
Konstantin's laugh was low, without humor. "Dasvidaniya, Gina Smith."
The line went dead.
Gina bent down to scratch Fleur behind the ears, using the dog to ground herself. When she straightened and looked at Shane, her expression was all business.
“Can I assume April never mentioned anything about a crypto fortune?”
“Yes, you can.” He set the purse on the table. “He played her.”
“Sure sounds like it to me,” she agreed.
“Whelp,” Elissa said, “his request not to go rummaging through her purse makes a whole hell of a lot more sense now.”
Gina pushed off from the conference table. “We need to prepare for the exchange.”
Kyle's jaw was set. "I don't care if this was an accident. He fucked with me and mine before. I don't trust him."
Gina glanced at Kyle. "Nor should you, Pup. Nor should any of us.”
TWENTY-NINE
April gradually woketo the sound of falling rain.
She was sitting in a soft chair. A recliner? Her head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to her skull. Her mouth was full of something thick. Cloth. Was she chewing on a blanket? She tasted copper and chemicals. Something was wrong with her hands—they were behind her back, circulation cut off enough to make her fingers tingle.
How did I fall asleep in a chair with a blanket in my mouth? What?—
She tried to turn over to take the pressure off her arms and couldn't. Her torso was pressed against the chair, held in place. So were her legs.
Memory crashed back in fragments. The courthouse. Judge's chambers. Fire alarm. Smoke in the corridor. Tripping, her ankle twisting. A firefighter helping her up, his hands steady on her arms.
Thank you so much, I?—
The sting in her neck.
Oh God.
April's eyes snapped fully open, adrenaline burning through the fog in her brain.
She was sitting in an oversized recliner, the kind that belonged in someone's man cave. She didn't have a blanket in her mouth—what was she thinking? It was a gag, the cloth cutting painfully into the corners of her mouth. She wasn't just lying on her hands—they were zip-tied behind her back. Her legs were bound to the chair with rope. Her torso was secured with more rope across her chest and belly.
She'd been kidnapped.
A wave of nausea passed over her. April forced herself to breathe slowly through her nose, fighting the panic that clawed up her throat—the fear of getting sick and choking on her own vomit. Panicking wouldn't help. Panicking would only make it worse.
She looked around, taking inventory.
Unfinished basement. She was in a corner where two concrete walls met—both outer walls, probably. One wall had a small window with a window well. The well was covered with a clear plastic cover, yellowed with age and streaked with mud, but she could see through it enough to make out gray daylight. Rain fell steadily, drumming against the plastic cover. Through the murky plastic, she could see the shapes of leaves and branches moving in the wind.
