Page 17 of Prey of the Bratva

“He knew more than he was supposed to.”

“He is dead now.”

“Yes.”

Her jaw tightened slightly at that, not out of regret but out of frustration. The signal was subtle, but it was enough for me to notice. It only meant that whatever it was she had come to get, she hadn’t gotten it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

“You didn’t answer mine,” she replied.

Fair. I leaned back slightly, trying to study her again.

“I know your patterns enough to know that you are not careless,” I said. “So whatever you’re involved in, I am sure it matters.”

“It does.”

“And clearly it’s not something your brothers know about because they would have died themselves before letting you walk into a situation like that all alone with no security to help or protect you.”

Her eyes flickered, and that was all the confirmation I needed.

“Don’t tell them anything,” she said.

The words came quietly, but they were firm. It was not a request but a condition instead. I watched her for a long moment.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because they’ll either force me to shut it down,” she said. “Or take it over and bury it.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“No.”

“You trust me more than you trust them?” I asked.

“No,” she said immediately. “I don’t trust you at all.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because you benefit from not telling them,” she replied. “Just like I do. So why not keep it that way?”

Interesting.

I knew she wasn’t wrong in her assessment. I didn’t want them to find out just as much as she didn’t want them to find out, even though our motives were starkly different from one another. The SUV slowed as we turned onto a narrow, unmarked street. The Romanov safe house came into view seconds later. It was nondescript and quiet, invisible to anyone not really looking for it. I had built it that way. We stopped right outside the main gates.

I stepped out first, then reached back in to lift her again before she could attempt to stand, and to my surprise, she didn’t protest this time. Taking her in my arms, I walked through the open doors, already familiar with the place. Inside, the house was exactly as I had left it. Clean and functional, with minimal decorations and furnishings. Without wasting any time, I carriedher straight to the main room and set her down carefully on the couch.

“Don’t move,” I said.

“I wasn’t planning on running anywhere, I promise,” she said, her tone humorous.

For someone who was injured, she sure still had a sense of humor. I moved to the cabinet and retrieved the medical kit, bringing it back with me. She watched me the entire time as her gaze tracked every movement. I could sense she was still assessing and measuring. I knelt in front of her, reaching for the hem of her jacket.

“This is going to hurt,” I said.

“I assumed.”

I peeled the fabric back carefully, exposing the wound. Blood had already soaked through, but the bleeding had slowed significantly. That was a good sign.