Saveliy’s dark eyes narrow. “That’s the thing. They didn’t touch the cash. Just grabbed a bunch of uncut diamonds and split.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Erik muses, leaning against his desk. “Unless…”
“Unless they’re looking for something specific,” I finish, the pieces clicking into place. “Or someone.”
The room goes quiet, tension thick enough to choke on. My mind races, piecing together this fucked-up puzzle.
Oleg clears his throat, his icy gaze fixed on me. “There’s more, Dimitri. We’ve confirmed they have Wren’s father, John Davis.”
My head snaps up, jaw clenching so hard I hear my teeth grind. “Blyat. How long?”
“At least 24 hours,” Saveliy chimes in, his dark eyes scanning a tablet. “Grabbed him outside a liquor store.”
Erik curses under his breath. “And Wren?”
Oleg’s face hardens. “That’s the problem. Our scouts spotted her heading toward their warehouse about an hour ago.”
“Yob tvoyu mat!” I roar, slamming my fist into the wall. Pain shoots through my knuckles, but I barely feel it. “Why the fuck didn’t you lead with that?”
Saveliy raises an eyebrow. “Because you look ready to rip someone’s throat out,brat. We need you thinking clearly.”
I take a deep breath, forcing the rage down. He’s right, much as I hate to admit it. “Fine. What’s their play?”
Erik steps forward, his face grim. “It’s not about our supply chain. They’re using Wren to get to you, D.”
The realization hits me like a fucking truck. “Zimniy,” I growl, the name tasting like poison on my tongue.
Oleg nods, his expression cold. “Skull Collectors making their move. They’re using John Davis as bait for Wren and Wren as bait for you.”
I pace the room, my boots echoing on the hard floor. My mind races through scenarios, each one worse than the last.
Wren, walking into that nest ofzmei. Alone. Unprepared.
“Suka blyad’,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “She’s always pulling this crazy shit.”
“Never pegged you for the lovesick puppy type, D. It’s not a good look on you.”
I’m about to tear into him when I remember the phone in my pocket. I yank it out, my stomach lurching as I see five missed calls from Wren.
“Fuck,” I growl under my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. This can’t be good.
“Chert,” I hiss, my stomach dropping.
Saveliy raises an eyebrow. “Problem?”
I ignore him, jabbing at the screen to check my messages. There it is, time-stamped an hour ago:
D. Shit’s gone sideways. John’s in trouble. Might need backup. Call me ASAP.
I jab at Wren’s number, the dial tone mocking me. One ring. Two. Three. Four, five, six. Then her voicemail kicks in.
“Blyat!” I snarl, resisting the urge to smash the phone. “We move. Now. Get your asses in gear and head for that warehouse.”
Oleg and Saveliy exchange glances, already moving toward the door. Erik, though, he just stands there, one eyebrow raised, that knowing smile still playing on his lips.
I can see the gears turning in that clever little brain of his. The same question I’m asking myself:Why the fuck am I so worked up over Wren Davis?
“Don’t start,” I growl at him, grabbing my jacket. “We don’t have time for your bullshit psychoanalysis.”
