Page 12
I dusted off my hands and stood up, taking two steps back. And once again, I should’ve just left him here. Someone would eventually find him. But where were his guards? A Pakhan was always supposed to have guards.
There had to be someone to save him, but doubt gnawed at me.
When no one came after a couple of minutes, I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
Severin was in bad shape. He was bleeding from the legs where the debris had pinned him, and he was bruised and cut from having fallen nearly two floors. Not to mention the burns running along his torso and arms.
He needed medical attention ASAP, and no one was coming for him. It was time to call my inside man to deal with it. I opened my phone app, went to my favorites tab, and pressed my mole’s nickname: Mr. Peacock.
I held my phone to my ear, and after three rings, he picked up. “What’s wrong?”
“I may have lit the warehouse on fire and left Severin to die,” I said.
“But you changed your mind?” He laughed.
I inhaled sharply. “Something like that. Could you send a team to get him? He’s hurt badly.”
“Do I have to?”
“Kaz,” I said darkly.
His sigh was audible and overly dramatic. “Fine. Fine, but if you want me to let him die, just say the word.”
“I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing.” His voice was teasing. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Good.” I hung up.
Then, I strolled—as if nothing were wrong with me—into a dark alley, completely hidden from sight. As the shadows rolled over my skin, I turned back to face Severin. Utterly drained, I collapsed against the shipping container wall. My legs gave out, and I slid down, my ass hitting the concrete hard.
Everything caught up with me, and I prayed the Bratva would be too busy saving Severin to notice an unconscious woman in the dark alley between shipping containers.
I winced, my eyes drooping.
I’d made the mistake of switching between forms too many times tonight, and my body was paying for it.
The cold wind caressed my face, and the smell of fish and sea salt permeated my senses. I did love the smell of the ocean. It was soothing, like a sweet children’s song. It would be so, so easy to drift off into sleep—into the great darkness.
But I clung to consciousness.
I, at least, wanted to see someone rescue Severin—to know that my revenge was not yet finished.
My head lolled to the side, and staying awake became an almost impossible battle. Voices trickled in, and I tried to remain conscious long enough to recognize them.
Darkness swallowed my vision, and somewhere in the distance, I heard Kazimir Kaloshin’s charming, honey-sweet voice. He finally arrived with the cavalry.
Good.
Chapter Four
Xeniya Morozova
Age 35
