Page 109 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

Marco has my girl. He fucking has Laurel.

The steering wheel creaks under my grip as I weave through the snow-slicked streets, tires skidding on ice. My foot is jammed on the accelerator, desperate to get to her in time before that bastard does something to her and my unborn child.

Igor’s voice cuts through from the passenger seat. “Leonid, careful. The roads are shit with all this snow.”

I shoot him a death glare. “My girlfriend’s been taken by that bastard, and you think I give a fuck about the snow?”

He lets out a harsh breath. “I’m sorry. We’ll get her back. Just… stay in one piece so we can actually reach her.”

I slam my palm against the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn blare. “It’s my fault. All of it. I should’ve known Marco wouldn’t take what I did lying down. Should’ve had more men on her. Should’ve—” My voice cracks, raw. “I should’ve never let her out of my sight.”

Igor shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. We’ll find her. We’re close.”

My phone buzzes on the dash, Marco’s name flashing on the screen.

I snatch it up, thumb jabbing speaker as I answer.

Marco’s voice slithers through the line, smug. “How does it feel, Volkov? Having something of yours taken from you?”

Rage boils over. “If you harm one hair on her head, Marco, I will fucking end you. Slowly. Painfully. You will beg for death.”

He laughs, low, and mocking. “Oh, now it hurts, doesn’t it? When you were busy using my own niece against me. My niece, really? Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences?”

My knuckles whiten on the wheel. “Bring her back. Now.”

“Simple trade,” he says, casual as if we’re discussing shipping rates. “You return Lisa to me, and we can talk about getting your little schoolteacher back. Tick-tock, Pakhan.”

The line goes dead.

I roar, pure animal fury, and slam my fist into the steering wheel again, horn blaring into the night.

I glance at the tracking app still open on the screen. The dot blinks, her location hasn’t moved in twenty minutes. A warehouse district on the edge of the city. Marco’s territory.

Igor’s voice is quiet beside me. “We’ll be there soon. Sergei’s already mobilizing the crew. We’re getting her back, Leonid.”

I don’t answer. My jaw is locked so tight my teeth ache. Marco touched what’s mine. I’m going to butcher him. Piece by fucking piece. And when I’m done, there won’t be enough left to bury.

After driving for what feels like an eternity, though the dashboard clock says only an hour, the warehouse comes into view.

I kill the engine. Behind me, three more SUVs pull up, my men spilling out, weapons already drawn. Igor gives me a nod as we both step out.

We move in fast, quiet. The perimeter is secured in under two minutes, two guards outside dropped silently, throats slit before they can even reach for their guns.

I lead the way through the rusted side door, boots crunching on broken glass. The interior is cavernous, high ceilings, rusted beams, the stink of oil and old concrete. My men fan out, clearing rooms. Gunfire erupts in short bursts, Marco’s men dropping one by one.

I grab the last surviving guard by the throat, slam him against a metal support beam hard enough to make his teeth clack. Blood is already running from a split lip.

“Where is she?” My voice is low, lethal.

He chokes, eyes wide. I tighten my grip until his face turns purple.

“Last room—back left—please—”

I drag him forward like a rag doll, forcing him to lead the way. We reach the last room. The door is half-ajar. I kick it wide.

There she is.

Laurel is sitting in the center of the empty concrete space, wrists and ankles bound to a metal chair with zip ties. Her head is bowed, hair falling over her face.