I exhale, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to shake the strange feeling creeping up my spine. This guy’s no ordinary captive. The way he keeps getting up, the way he keeps asking about Clara—it’s bizarre. And it’s starting to piss me off.
Maksim stretches, cracking his neck like he’s just woken up from a nap. “So, what now, boss? Want me to drag him out back, or you wanna keep him around for another round of Q&A?”
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair. “Check his prints. All databases. I want to know who the hell survived the purge.”
“On it.” Maksim’s already typing. “Hey, boss?”
“What?”
“Think the cleaning crew accepts senior citizen discount?”
I grab his gum pack, throw it across the room.
“Hey…” Maksim stares at his gum pack in the corner. “I just got those.”
“Get him to medical.” I nod at Dmitry. The old man’s chest rises and falls, shallow but steady.
“Boss?” Dmitry’s knuckles crack as he flexes his hands.
“Clean him up. Fix what’s broken.” I step to the edge of the ring. “I want him coherent.”
“Since when do we run a fucking retirement home?” Maksim’s already on his phone, thumbs flying. “Der’mo. Boss, you need to see this.”
I grab his phone. The screen shows an old file—IRA connections, marked classified. A younger version of our guest stares back. Same dead eyes.
Mitchell Colgrave. Age: 61Former IRA connections. Explosives expert. Rumored enforcer for the Caldwell family, personal bodyguard to Jake Caldwell.
Jake Caldwell?
I pause, the name tugging at a memory.
A rumor that had floated around after Jake’s death—people whispered that I, The Raven, had killed the heir of the Caldwell family.
I remember laughing at the time, thinking how convenient it was to let that rumor run wild. I never touched Jake Caldwell, but I never denied it. Why should I?Let them think the boogeyman did their dirty work. Good for business, good for fear.
Now, staring at Mitch’s file, it makes sense. This old bastard spent decades guarding Jake Caldwell. And now, after Jake’s gone, he’s what?
Trying to protect Clara?
“Well?” Maksim leans over my shoulder. “Interesting reading material, no?”
“Get Yuri.” I shove the phone back at him. “Tell him to bring his kit.”
“The doctor?” Maksim’s eyebrows shoot up. “Thought we only called him for—”
“Just do it.”
Dmitry hauls the old man up, slinging him over one shoulder. Blood drips onto his shirt.
“And Maksim?”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Buy better gum. That cheap shit’s giving me a headache.”
He grins, already dialing. “Only the best for you,Pakhan.”
I watch Dmitry carry our guest out. Too many questions. No fucking answers.
