She’s got a solid point. Even Mass is broken in his own way. I rub my face, trying to think. “My options are limited then.”
“Damn right they are.”
“I have to kill him.”
She grunts her approval and types something on her phone. “Damn right you do.”
“Where is he right now?”
“That’s the real problem. He’s back in Moscow licking his wounds.”
I let out a frustrated snarl. “Why the fuck ishe hiding?”
“He probably knows he’s got more support than you. If I were him, I’d be doing the same thing.”
“I thought the Dragons couldn’t get involved?”
She gives me a flat stare like I’m an idiot and gestures at herself. “If nobody gets caught, nobody gets in trouble.”
“Then it happens in Paris.” I drink down the coffee and let it burn my tongue. The pain feels good right now. It helps cut into my anger. “I’ll find Artyom before the vote and kill him. Then the other Dragons will have no other choice. I’ll be the last man standing.”
“Solid plan. Good luck with that.” Lucy pushes herself from the booth. “Want my advice? In the meantime, find a way to prove yourself.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
She spreads her hands. “I don’t know. I’m not a damn Dragon.”
“You’re close enough.”
“They want stability. They want to know their next Dragon partner is strong enough to carry his weight. You’ve been through a lot, but it hasn’t been enough. You need to sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice? I’ve bled for this. I’ve killed and fought and nearly died a dozen times.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “So has everyone. Big fucking deal. You want to be a Dragon? You got to reallybleedfor it. Anyway, that’s all I have for you. Good luck out there.”
I want to ask her more. I’m sure Lucy’s holding something back. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve always been on my own, and I don’t need her help to win this prize. She wanders off, whistling toherself, tapping away at her phone screen like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
While I feel like I’m sinking.
Artyom’s winning. After all this, that fucker’s got more backing than me. Killing the Turk didn’t help—it only consolidated everyone behind the wrong man.
Paris. Fucking Paris. That’s my only chance.
End Artyom there and they’ll have no other choice.
I pausein the back door of the beach house and listen to the waves lap against the sand. It’s strange—I’ve had this place for a while now, but I never bothered using it until I needed a comfortable place to stash Nika.
I should’ve come here more often.
But if I’m honest with myself, it’s not the sand or the water, not the sunlight glinting off waves or the sound of the gulls or the smell of the salty air.
No, what I love about this place is my wife.
She’s lounging in the shade on our back patio looking down the dunes toward the water. Her lean legs stretch into the sun, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s got a book lying face-down on her belly, the edges of her bikini bottom pulled up to show off her faint tan lines, one arm draped lazily over her head. She’s got thick black sunglasses on but I can tell she’s half asleep.
I watch her for a while. The idea of disturbing her right now feels like sacrilege. After what she’s been through, Nika deserves an afternoon to sit in the sun watching the water and reading a book.
I know that can’t last forever. I’m leaving for Paris and as much as I don’t want to move her from this place, I can’t stand the thought of going alone.
