Page 100 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

Back in the office, Ben works faster and harder than he ever has in his life. The frantic clacking of his keyboard echoes through the tense silence of the room. He can easily tell what this means to me; he can see the absolute desperation rolling offme in waves, the terrifying need to bring Sofia back completely unharmed.

It takes him thirty agonizing minutes to fully pull up everything we need on that plate number. The second a name and address flash onto the monitor, I lean over his shoulder, my eyes boring into the screen. We find the registered owner of the car.

I turn to Ben, my voice a deadly, low hiss.

“Find him. If he’s involved in this, I need to know exactly where they’re taking her, and then I want him dead. You have under one hour to get me those coordinates, Ben, or you’ll be dead meat yourself!”

He nods sharply, recognizing that I am past the point of reason, and hurries out of the office to mobilize our heavy hit squads.

The second the door slams shut, I start to pace the length of the room like a wounded tiger. My muscles are wound so tight they ache, my body physically incapable of resting or staying still for even a single second. Every tick of the clock on the wall feels like a bullet to my chest.

I storm over to the private bar in the corner and grab a bottle of high-proof Russian vodka. I don’t even bother pouring it into a glass. I rip the cap off and drink straight from the bottle, gulping down the burning liquid. It sets my throat and stomach on fire, and I welcome the pain. I need it to drown out the terrifying image of Sofia bleeding in the back of some stranger’s car.

I slam the bottle down onto the counter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

When I find out who took Sofia, death will be a mercy. They’re going to regret ever being born.

Almost an hour of pure, agonizing torture passes before the phone on my desk finally rings. I snatch it up before the first ring can even finish.

“Speak,” I bark into the receiver.

“We got him, Boss,” Ben’s voice comes through, out of breath but triumphant. “The car owner talked. We have a new address. It’s an abandoned warehouse right outside town.”

“Is she there?” My grip tightens on the phone so hard the plastic cracks.

“He claims that’s where the drop-off point is,” Ben says. “The main strike team and I are already headed there now. We’ll set up a perimeter and wait for your command.”

“Do not move until I get there,” I command, slamming the phone down.

I fly down the grand stairs, my coat billowing behind me, and I’m in the driver’s seat of my sports car in minutes. The engine roars to life like a beast waking up, and I tear down the estate driveway, scattering gravel in my wake.

I drive like an absolute madman, weaving violently through lanes and forcing other cars off the road. Since it’s still the middle of the fucking afternoon, I’m honestly surprised I don’t get stopped by the cops or slammed with dozens of speeding tickets. But right now, a police chase would just be a minor inconvenience. Nothing is stopping me from getting to my wife.

Within twenty minutes, I see the rusted, corrugated metal roof of the warehouse looming in the distance. I pull my car into the tree line where Ben and a dozen of my heavily armed men are waiting in black SUVs.

I kill the engine, step out, and rack the slide of my tactical rifle. Ben jogs up to me, quickly handing me a vest and pointing out the building’s entry points.

“There are guards at the front and side doors,” Ben whispers, his eyes scanning the perimeter. “We don’t know exactly how many are inside.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice devoid of any humanity. I look at my men, their faces grim under their tactical masks. “We go in fast; we go in loud. Anyone holding a weapon dies instantly. Secure Sofia first; kill the rest later.”

They all nod sharply. After I give the final hand signal, we break cover and storm the warehouse, breaching the side doors with a deafening crash as we bring absolute hell to whoever dared to touch what is mine.

We have the ultimate advantage of absolute surprise on our side, and we take ruthless advantage of it. These bastards had no idea we were coming. The air instantly explodes with the deafening roar of gunfire as my men open fire violently, dropping the warehouse guards before they can even raise their weapons.

While my strike team holds down the main floor and pins the remaining syndicate scum in place, I push my way directly through the bloody fray, my eyes scanning the shadows in search of Sofia.

I tear toward the back of the massive room, my rifle raised. Suddenly, a sharp, blinding pain explodes against the side of my head.

I freeze for a fraction of a second, white-hot agony blossoming in my skull as my vision blurs. I force my eyes to focus and spin around just in time to see one of the kidnappers swinging a heavy wooden baseball bat down toward my face a second time.

I throw my arm up, blocking the blow with my elbow. I completely ignore the agonizing ache as the wood cracks violently against my forearm bones, and I charge into him like a freight train.

Before he can recover, I slam him against a concrete pillar, grabbing him by the throat with my good hand. In one swift, fluid motion, I snatch his other arm and twist it so far up his back that a loud, sickening snap echoes through the air.

The bastard howls in pure pain, his knees buckling under my grip.

“I will break every single bone in your other hand if you don’t tell me where Sofia is right fucking now,” I growl into his ear, my voice vibrating with lethal intent.