The man’s nose broke under my fist with a satisfying crunch.
Blood splattered across my knuckles, warm and wet, and I watched it drip onto the concrete floor of the warehouse with the same detached interest I might give to rain streaking a window.The traitor slumped in his chair, zip ties cutting into his wrists, his face a mess of purple bruises and split skin.His fear-sweat stank of ammonia and desperation, sharp enough to make my wolf curl its lip in disgust.
“I’ll ask you again.”My voice was calm.“Who’s paying you to move product through our territory without permission?”
He spat blood onto my shoes.Expensive Italian leather, now ruined.I didn’t blink.
Behind me, Viktor shifted his weight, the creak of his leather jacket the only sound in the stillness.Dmitri cracked his knuckles.And in the corner of the warehouse, watching from the shadows with those ancient amber eyes that saw everything, the Pakhan waited.
Max Ivankov didn’t need to participate in interrogations anymore.He had men like me for that.But sometimes he liked to watch.To remind us that he was still the apex predator in any room he entered, regardless of how old his human body had grown.His wolf was ancient, patient, and absolutely ruthless.Mine recognized that dominance even when my human mind wanted to forget.
Her.
The thought sliced through my focus like a blade.Apples and cream.The ghost of her scent still clinging to my shirt from this morning, when I’d held her in my office and promised her tonight.The softness of her skin under my palm.The way she’d looked at me when I left, like she was already counting the hours until I returned.
I hit the man again, harder than necessary.The crack of bone against bone echoed through the warehouse, and I welcomed the pain that lanced up my arm.It was real.Something that wasn’t her.
“Diamantis,” he gasped through broken teeth, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth.“The Diamantis clan.They wanted a foothold, said they’d pay double what you’re charging for passage rights.”
Vampires.Of course it was vampires.The cold-blooded bastards had been testing our boundaries for months, sending their lackeys to probe for weakness.This was the third runner we’d caught in as many weeks, and each time the offers had gotten more generous.More desperate.
“And you thought you’d help them.”I grabbed his jaw, forcing his head up so he had no choice but to meet my eyes.Let him see what lived behind them.Let him understand exactly what kind of creature he’d betrayed.“You thought the Bratva wouldn’t notice one of our own selling us out.”
“I needed the money.”His voice cracked, snot and tears mixing with the blood streaming down his face.“My daughter, she’s sick, the treatments cost?—”
I released him, stepping back, flexing my aching fingers.“Everyone has a story.None of them change the rules.”
Viktor moved forward with the plastic sheeting, his movements efficient and practiced.I didn’t need to watch.I’d seen it a hundred times.Would see it a hundred more.This was the life I’d chosen.The life that had chosen me when I was eighteen and starving on the streets, before the Pakhan had found me and recognized what I was.What I could become.
A weapon.A killer.A wolf without a pack until he gave me one.
I turned away, rolling my shoulders to release the tension coiled there, and found Max’s eyes already on me.
The weight of his attention was a physical thing.Like standing too close to a bonfire, feeling the heat press against your skin until it hurt to breathe.Every instinct I had screamed to submit, to bare my throat, to prove I was still loyal.Still useful.Still worthy of my place in his pack.
But somewhere deeper, in that feral part of me I usually kept locked down tight, something else stirred.Something that wanted to snarl at my Alpha for the first time in seventeen years.
She’s mine.Not his to threaten.Not his to take.
I crushed the thought before it could fully form.Dangerous.Stupid.The kind of thinking that got men killed, and worse, got the people they cared about killed too.
“Diamantis is getting bolder.We should send a message.”I kept my voice neutral.Professional.A soldier reporting to his commander, nothing more.
Max said nothing.Just watched me with those eyes that had seen three generations of wolves rise and fall under his command, eyes that had witnessed betrayals and executions and the slow rot that attachment brought to men who should have known better.The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.Behind me, the wet sounds of Viktor’s work continued, rhythmic and final.
“Your mind is elsewhere tonight, Raphael Antonovich.”
The formal address hit me like ice water.He only used my full name when he was reminding me of my place.Of who owned my loyalty.Of what the rules demanded from men like us.
“No, Pakhan.”
“Don’t insult me by lying.”He pushed off from the wall, moving with a predator’s grace despite the gray threading through his dark hair.His wolf moved beneath his skin, visible in the too-fluid motion of his limbs, the way his head tilted as if scenting the air between us.“I’ve watched you for fifteen years.I know when your thoughts are divided.”
I had nothing to say that wouldn’t make it worse.So I said nothing, holding his gaze even though every instinct screamed to look away, to submit, to grovel.
Max stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the wolf beneath his expensive cologne.Old power.Ancient authority.Pine and cold stone and the blood of a thousand kills.The scent of the man who’d pulled me out of the gutter and made me what I was.
“We’ll talk soon,” he said.
