Twenty minutes later,still wearing my jeans and t-shirt, but barefoot, I step into the boxing ring. Dax, dressed in basketball shorts, his chest bare, ducks under the ropes. Without his glasses, his eyes reflect the overhead lights, milky pupils and pale irises trying to track my movements as I circle him. But he’s slow, a step behind me as I keep my footfalls quick and soft.
“I had coffee with Wren Kane today.”
Dax sends a jab in my direction, coming within an inch of my chin. Weaving to the side, I catch him in the gut with a quick right cross. “Want to tell me why you refused to help her?”
“None of your business,” he says as he throws a hook that sends me spinning into the ropes. “You trying to spy on me now?”
“No.” My jaw throbs, but I use the momentum from the ropes to right myself and reset. “I don’t give a fuck who she works for. But she’s scared. And desperate enough to confess some of her troubles to a stranger. So…want to tell me why the most decent guy I’ve ever met—who happens to own a security firm—would refuse to help one of his own?”
“Because she’s grasping at straws to make sense of her brother’s death. When the truth is,” grabbing hold of my shoulders, Dax pulls me closer and knees me in the gut, “the guy was a drug addict.”
My uppercut sends him sprawling back onto his ass. “Shit.” Extending a gloved hand, I tap his arm, but he bats me away and rolls to his feet.
“I can handle my own,” Dax mutters. “Now fight, dammit.”
Half an hour later, I’m wheezing. Flat on my back. Staring up into Dax’s triumphant face.
“You done proving you can still get it up?” I ask as I push to my feet. “Or do you need to take a few more shots at me before we can have a goddamned conversation?”
“You lost. To a blind man. Of the two of us, I’d wager you’re the one who needs the little blue pills.”
“Never have, never will.” I hold out my hands to the attendant so he can remove my gloves. Ducking out of the ring, I grab a bottle of water from a cooler and drop onto a bench. “But I know when I’ve been beat.”
“Care to repeat that?” He joins me, feeling his way carefully along the wall until he finds the seat next to me.
I punch him in the arm. “You heard me the first time.”
We sit, the bruises aching, until Dax sighs. “Wren is the most logical woman I know. If she’s determined to go after thebratva, no one’s going to stop her.”
“Then why won’t you help?”
Dropping his head back against the wall, Dax swears under his breath. “I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes. We’ll go see her together.”
7
Wren
My cold pizza sits untouched as I watch the second video—the one I didn’t get a chance to show Dax—for the fifth time. On the screen, a pretty young woman with sad blue eyes sniffles and holds an ice pack to her cheek.
“I am scared, Zion. Kolya is not himself. He is convinced everyone is spying on him. And…the money…most of it is gone.” She dabs her eyes with a tissue, then pauses with a whispered curse and sets the phone down.
Clipped footsteps race across the floor, a door opens, closes, and then she lowers her voice. “I must be quick. He will be back soon, and he will want to fuck.” The girl—Elena—chokes back a sob. “Ana is gone. Kolya…soldher. He made so much money. Now…he talks about selling more. I do not want him to sell me. If he finds out what I did…he threatened me many times after you escaped. Me and Semyon. And the way he looks at Semyon now—I am afraid Kolya will sell him too. The man who took Ana…he hurt her badly before he paid. There was so much blood.”
Elena presses her lips together and glances over her shoulder. “Can you help me, Zion? Please? I am foolish, I think. Asking a boy to rescue me. You are safe in America. But you are my only hope. You once said you could get me and Semyon out. Your sister would help. Is that still true? I hope it is.” A loud crash sounds from the next room, and Elena gasps. “Please hurry.”
The video ends, and I close my eyes. What am I missing? Rewinding, I mute the sound, focusing on Elena and the room around her. There has to be some sort of clue who she is beyond her first name.
Two piercings in each ear. Dirty blond hair. Wait. As she moves the ice pack around on her cheek, a tattoo peeks out from her sleeve. Except…it’s a freakin’ butterfly. Only the most common tattoo ever.
Unable to stifle my frustrated moan, I run my fingers over Zion’s bracelet over and over again, needing the repetition and the comfort of the warm beads to distract from the utter defeat enveloping me.
Two quick raps on my front door make me squeak, and I leap off the couch. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my racing heart.
“Wren? Open up.”
Dax?I’m so confused—and angry he won’t help me—I forget my momentary panic and throw the door open. Only to stare directly into a black t-shirt stretched over the broadest chest I’ve ever seen.
My gaze trails up, and shock strangles the words in my throat. “Wh-what areyoudoing here?”
