Page 85 of Sexting my Bratva Daddies

I never should have agreed to let Peyton stay home. Once again, my intuition pecked at me through the whole day of meetings. We should be there with her. She needed us.

But she’d asked for space, and we’d promised to give her what she needed.

Allowing her freedom, despite the risks, was essential, especially when I felt her slipping away inch by inch. Peyton changed after the kidnapping.

She looked at us differently. We’d all expected it, and we agreed that if we pushed her too hard, we’d lose her for good.

So we went to work. We didn’t call her every hour like Misha wanted.

But when we arrived at the penthouse and she wasn’t there…

“I knew something was wrong.” I threw my jacket across the back of the couch. “She said she’d meet us at work.”

“Got a ping on her car.” Viktor didn’t even flinch when I spun his direction. His eyebrows went up, and he glared right back. “Don’t even think about giving me that fucking look. I put a tracker on her car months ago.” He showed me the phone screen. “It says she’s at the mall, like she said.”

“Let’s go meet her.” Misha strode toward the door. “She can yell at us if she wants. Fuck. I wish she’d yell at us. Anything is better than the hurt way she looks at me.” He left the penthouse without waiting on any of us.

Viktor and I shared a look and followed.

Minutes later, we followed Viktor’s tracking device to a side parking lot.

My stomach dropped at the sight spread out in front of me. “Fuck.”

Misha’s wounded sound of pain ricocheted off the asphalt. “No.” He grabbed the open car door, his leather loafers sticking to the blood beneath him. “No.”

Viktor swayed on his feet, his face ashen. “Misha. Could she have survived?”

Misha’s head swayed from side to side. “Too much blood.” His knuckles whitened on the door. “This is a fatal amount of blood loss.”

I wanted to argue, but we all knew Misha was right. No one could survive losing this much blood. “Where is she?” I turned a slow circle.

“He would have taken her.” Misha’s head bowed, his breaths sawing in and out with enough force to make his whole body slump forward.

Fuck. I ran a hand through my hair and around to the back of my neck. Anton had come for her again, and this time, he hadn’t left us anything. Hadn’t given us a chance to save her.

He’d decided to punish our weakness by killing her.

Fine. He thought he could tear us down. We’d show him what happened when he fucked with the Petrov empire.

“Misha.” I called his name with a crack in my voice. When he lifted his head, his eyes red and the darkness swallowing them whole, I gave him the only comfort I could. “Kill them all.”

He slammed the door so hard, the car rocked to the side. “Yes, sir.”

It took us less than an hour to storm Anton’s empire. He never saw us coming, and by the time he did, it was too late.

Two hours of bloodshed later, we found ourselves in Anton’s office. Blood soaked through my clothes, making my skin itch. The smells of gunpowder and blood flooded my nostrils.

Misha rushed the room, catching up to Anton and smashing a fist into his jaw.

Anton toppled, only for Misha to catch him with an arm around his neck. He kicked Anton’s legs out from under him, putting him on his knees in front of me.

“You made a serious mistake.” I shoved the barrel of my Sig into his mouth. “You had everything. You could have let it go, but you decided you could not let us have this one thing.”

“What?” The word came out garbled around the gun, and I shoved it harder, cracking one of his teeth in the process.

“Don’t play dumb with me. It does not suit you.” My hand shook, my grip on the gun so tight I almost couldn’t stop myself from pulling the trigger and ending it all here and now. “You’re not worth the bullet.”

“I’d rather watch him burn alive.” Misha tightened his hold on Anton’s neck. “He deserves to suffer for taking Peyton from us.”