Page 145 of Captive Ruin

“So what,” I mutter, and cut his throat. One less problem. “Koval will be back in New York—or fuck, anywhere. Let’s get out of here.”

The girl looks at me, tears in her eyes, tone begging. “Please… please… don’t die…” Her accent is so thick I can barely make out the words.

I sigh, taking my karambit to the silk sheets. “Tell her to turn over.”

Voss conveys the message, and she starts thrashing her head back and forth. “Net,” she screams. “Net.”

“Shut her up,” Haynes mutters.

Nair leans forward, putting his weight on the girl’s throat, choking off her cries. I finish cutting strips of silk, and the first thing I do is gag her. That’s surely international language for you’ll survive if you want to.

Nair rolls her over, and I ignore her naked ass as I tie her hands tightly behind her back, then use two more strips to pull her ankles into it. She’s hogtied, helpless, and I can’t help but wonder what Amelia would look like in this position. How much would she fight? What sounds would she make?

It’s a distraction I don’t need right now, a reminder that I’m back to square one. Koval was supposed to be here. This was supposed to be the end of it.

Now what?

I want to maraud through this house and check every room, but it won’t make a difference. I’ve failed, and Koval’s still out there. This goddamn war will continue. Bastien will be pissed.

But worse still, Amelia’s still in danger. It’s tough to care about anything but that.

“Let’s go,” I bite out.

In minutes, we’re back on our skis, heading down the mountain, leaving the chalet behind us.

I call Amelia on New Year’s Day, but she doesn’t answer. A minute later, I get a text back: In person, or fuck off.

I can’t even blame her for that.

“Why don’t you go home?” Haynes asks.

“I want this finished.”

He nods, conceding the point. “So what do you want to do?”

“Keep the pressure on,” I growl. “Keep them too busy to worry about anything but themselves.” I pull up our list. “Next target… Colorado.”

The Volkovs are too spread out across the States, and the locations blur. California. Seattle. Wisconsin. Houses, estates, nightclubs. Days turn into weeks, January becomes February.

Each night, I check my cameras. Amelia doesn’t sleep in our room again, and that’s where I have most of the coverage. The views in the rest of the house are limited. She doesn’t answer her phone when I call.

I speak to Tony instead. “How is she?”

“Withdrawn. She’s a free spirit, Lukas. Captivity doesn’t suit her.”

Fuck. “Take her out. Go shopping.”

“We do. She doesn’t engage.” He pauses. “She wants to see her sister, and her gallery friend.”

“No,” I say curtly. “The Volkovs will know about them. It’s too risky.”

“I agree. Was just telling you.”

“It won’t be much longer.” I hope.

“It better not be,” Tony mutters. “She’s… becoming a shadow of what she was.”

I hate hearing that, and it’s my fault. Or the Volkovs’ fault. Fucking Dmitri Koval.