The line goes quiet for a moment. I can almost hear the bubbles popping in Erik’s overpriced champagne. When hespeaks again, the background noise has faded, like he’s stepped away from whatever posh bullshit he’s attending.
“Ah, yes. Our little bird.” His voice drops, all traces of humor gone. “Tell me, brother, have you gone soft for this cunt?”
I squeeze the phone so hard I hear the screen crack. “Fuck you. I’m calling to let you know we’re moving on Zimniy. If my brains end up splattered across Chicago, you know who to skin alive.”
Erik snorts. “Always so dramatic. You’ve bathed in worse bloodbaths, D. Just do what you do best: make those fuckers scream, yeah?”
My jaw clenches so tight I can hear my teeth grinding. He’s right, and that just pisses me off more. I’ve waded through rivers of blood, painted walls with brains, and never batted an eye. But now? My chest feels like it’s being crushed, all because of one fucking woman.
I take a deep breath, feeling my nostrils flare. This is nothing. It should be nothing. If Wren wasn’t involved, I’d be knee-deep in corpses by now, laughing as I went. But she is involved, and that makes everything so much fucking harder.
These emotions, they’re like poison in my veins. Making me weak. Making me hesitate. Fuck that noise.
“I’m hanging up now. Try not to choke on all that champagne and cum.”
“Wait, D,” Erik’s voice turns cold. “Don’t leave any loose ends this time, you hear me? I don’t want to be cleaning up your shit from across the pond.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll mail you their eyes in a fucking matchbox. How’s that sound?”
Erik laughs. “Perfect.Bonne chance, mon frère.”
Shoving the phone back in my pocket. My chest feels tight, like someone’s got their fist around my heart and is squeezing.
“We’re losing visual,” Oleg reports.
I nod, forcing myself to think. To plan. To be the fucking Bratva leader I’m supposed to be. “Saveliy, you’re on point. Track that SUV, but keep your distance. Oleg, I want eyes on every traffic cam, every CCTV in a ten-mile radius. We find out where they’re taking her, then we strike.”
They nod, moving with the efficiency of well-oiled machines. Good soldiers. Good killers.
As the SUV disappears around a corner, I feel something snap inside me. The rage I’ve been holding back floods through me, hot and familiar. I’ll kill them all. Zimniy, Elena, every lastyeblanwho dared to touch what’s mine.
69
Wren
Islam my fist against the cold metal bars, the clang echoing through the empty corridor.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!
“Alex!” I scream, my voice raw and desperate. “Lenny!”
Silence. Just the drip-drip-drip of some leaky pipe mocking me. I grip the bars so tight that my knuckles turn white, pressing my forehead against the rust-flecked metal.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, tasting blood where I’ve bitten my lip. The image of Alex’s terrified face burns behind my eyelids. His little arms reaching out, tears streaming down his cheeks. Fuck, I shoulda been faster, smarter. Some mother I turned out to be.
I kick the bars, pain shooting up my leg. Good. Physical pain’s better than this hollowness eating me from the inside out.
“Hey!” I yell, my voice bouncing off concrete walls. “You pussy-ass bitches too scared to face me? Come on!”
Nothing. Not even an echoing footstep. Just me and my fucked-up thoughts.
I slump down against the wall, the chill seeping through my clothes. My hand brushes against my boot, and—wait. The knife. Those dumb fucks didn’t find it.
My jaw tightens, and I click my tongue.Idiots.Iwork the blade free and twirl the knife between my fingers, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over. The metallic glint catches the dim light as I imagine burying it in the throat of every last Skull Collector piece of shit.
“Hang on, baby,” I whisper, picturing Alex’s face. “Momma’s coming. And she’s bringing hell with her.”
The sound of heels clicking against concrete snaps me to attention. I palm the knife, tucking it up my sleeve. Showtime.
