That caught his attention. His eyes sharpened, narrowing.
My jaw tightened, but my voice stayed level. “I found him. He begged like all of you do. I killed him anyway, thinking about how you would be next.”
A thin smile crept across Andrey’s face, ugly and knowing. “And did that bring her back?” he asked. “Did it fix you?”
“No,” I said. “But it taught me something.”
“And what’s that?” he pressed.
“That men like you don’t stop,” I said. “You just change hands.” I had my focus on him, but I was very aware of every move his men made.
Something flickered behind his eyes then. Not bravado or arrogance. But uncertainty. He took a step back without realizing it, boots scraping against concrete. “You think this ends with me?” he said. “You think I was ever the only one?”
“I know you weren’t,” I said.
His jaw clenched. His men shifted nervously, their trigger fingers no doubt twitchy. One of them glanced at Andrey as if he were waiting for a signal that never came.
“You took her to use against me,” Andrey said, irritation threading through his voice. Not outrage, or even grief. Just sinister offense. “You thought she would make me fold.”
“You did,” I said evenly. “You gave me everything because you were too busy worrying I’d spoil your merchandise.”
His face didn’t change, but something in his eyes went flat and murderous.
“You touched her,” he seethed quietly.
“I didn’t ruin her,” I replied, voice calm as ice. “I claimed her.”
His jaw flexed hard.
“You made her useless,” he snapped. “You think anyone will pay top-tier for something that’s already been handled?”
There it was. Loss of market value. I took a slow step closer, and his men braced.
“She was never an asset,” I said. “You just dressed her up that way.”
His nostrils flared. “You destroyed her.”
“No,” I corrected softly. “I freed her and destroyed your illusion of control.”
That was when one of his men moved. He was too eager for action. He was the kind of idiot who thought pulling first made him alpha. His shoulders tensed before his brain caught up. I saw it in the way his jaw set, the way his grip shifted on the gun, as if he were about to do something reckless. His arm came up, weapon jerking toward me, muzzle wavering because he wasn’t steady.
He was trying to show off, but there was no point in proving anything here. They were all dead men.
I drew as his finger tightened. Using steady and calm composure and muscle memory. I fired once, center mass at the base of his throat before his first shot even broke clean.
The round hit high and hard. His head snapped back, and a wet, choking sound tore out of him as blood sprayed in a violent arc across the concrete and Andrey’s coat. He dropped straight down, hands clawing at his neck, trying to hold in something that wouldn’t stay.
Gunfire cracked through the yard. It wasn’t cinematic or even controlled. It was loud, violent, and disorienting. Muzzle flashes strobed against rusted steel, and the smell of burned powder hit the air instantly, thick and metallic. Rounds sparked off containers and bit into concrete near my feet.
I was moving, dodging, shifting, my composure ice-cold and hard as steel. Two steps left, low and steady. I fired again, deliberate and controlled, not wasting rounds. The man closest to the rail line jerked when the bullet punched through his chest.He staggered back, hit the metal siding behind him, and slid down, leaving a thick smear of blood as he collapsed.
The whole place had erupted into chaos, but I knew Andrey wasn’t firing. He was watching.
Even from thirty yards out, I saw it: the calculation in his eyes. His focus wasn’t locked on me. It shifted past me, scanning beyond the fight, beyond the bodies of his hired help dropping in front of him.
A cold spike slid down my spine.
One of his men fired wildly from behind a forklift. I dropped him with a clean shot through the sternum and pivoted immediately, scanning for Andrey. He was already moving. Not toward cover, and not toward his SUV idling near the gate. He was cutting wide along the far fence line, running and using the dark and chaos as cover as he headed for the narrow service drive that curved toward the access road.
