Page 53 of Claim Me (Dmitriyev Bratva #2)

K azimir

The darkness was oppressive, suffocating.

It had been a long time since I’d felt this level of rage. Anger boiled within me, making breathing all but impossible.

Sixty minutes had passed. Sixty minutes of learning nothing.

Sixty fucking minutes in which I’d been unable to do a goddamn thing.

I’d tasked Alexsey to go through the list of resort employees.

I’d directed Ryker and Simon to find out anything they could on the streets.

Mikhail had instructed two more of the remaining soldiers to track down both Vladimir’s and Rurik’s locations.

“Calm down,” Mikhail said as we pushed our way through the waning crowds still loitering around the concert hall. Police were everywhere, but they wouldn’t be able to help us. There was no way of knowing who was on the take.

“Who the goddam fuck is Joseph?” I barked out as I approached the group of musicians.

A few shied away, others peering at me like the madman I’d become.

“Joseph is a musician. Who is he?” I turned in a full circle, hopeful one of the fellow musicians cared enough to come to her aid. “Marissa Valentine was kidnapped.”

“What is going on?” A woman approached, her face pinched with anxiety.

“Who are you?” I stormed toward her.

“Sherry Mullins. I’m the music director. What did you say about Marissa?”

“She was kidnapped from right under your nose. Who the fuck is Joseph?”

She was befuddled, her entire face twisting. “Joseph Svetlova.”

“Where can I find him?” When she didn’t answer right away, I got in her face. “Where?”

“I’ll have to check. We can’t go back into the building right now. And I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to provide personal information.”

I could tell the woman was hiding something. At this point, I couldn’t take the time to interrogate her to find out why.

Fuck it. I moved away.

Mikhail shook his head and I sensed he’d provide the number. I had someone else to talk to.

I shoved my way through the crowd, heading to my vehicle. The longer Marissa was gone, the less likely it would be that I’d get her back.

That wasn’t going to happen.

“Slow down. Wherever the fuck you’re going, I’m going with you. Stefano and Alessandro are on their way back to Seattle.”

While I was appreciative of all the help I could get, even from the Costa family, time was still the devil to beat.

“By then it’ll be too late. We’re going to pay a visit to Detective Torres. Maybe he knows something.”

There was nothing that would stop me from finding her. Not one goddamn thing.

“Fine, but you can’t kill him. You know that,” my brother warned.

“Bet me.”

With Mikhail in the passenger seat, I flew through the streets of Seattle. “I need to speak with Detective Ryan Torres.”

“May I ask who’s calling?” the operator on the other end asked. There was angst in her voice. My hackles immediately raised.

“A friend.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t provide you with a connection unless you tell me who you are.”

Something was wrong. All the operators did was to connect a caller through, usually to the detective’s voicemail. “I’ll call back another time.”

“What the hell was that?” Mikhail asked.

“My gut tells me our detective has been considered collateral damage.” I took the exit leading me to the man’s house.

I knew exactly what Popov was capable of.

By the time I made the final turn, I was going in excess of ninety miles per hour.

Just let a cop try to stop me. At this point nothing else mattered but getting her back.

The tires squealed as I pulled to a stop. On the outside of the detective’s house, nothing appeared wrong, although there were no visible cars. Given it was late at night, it was likely no one was awake. We moved silently toward the garage. Finding the side door open, I threw a look toward Mikhail.

We both had our weapons in our hands, listening for any sounds. Only the sound of crickets broke the silence.

Very slowly I opened the door, easing inside. There was a single car in the garage. With careful steps, I headed toward the door leading into the house. Finding it unlocked, I moved into the kitchen.

A light was on over the stove.

Without making a sound, we moved through the house. Another warm glow could be seen coming from down the hall. Mikhail moved to another section of the house while I headed in the direction of the light.

As soon as I moved into the living room, I noticed a lamp had been overturned, smashed on the floor. Moving closer, I scanned the room. There were obvious signs of a struggle, a dark substance on the floor. Crouching down, I brushed my fingers across the spot, pulling them to my face.

The stench of blood was still strong. As I rubbed my fingertips together, I calculated the blood was at least three hours old, already coagulated. A I stood, I looked around the room. There was a computer on the floor, crushed as if stomped by a heavy boot.

Mikhail walked in seconds later. “A struggle.”

I nodded toward the stairs. While I’d wanted to kill Torres myself, my beef had nothing to do with his family.

We’d both seen this before more than once, families caught in the crossfire of a dispute or act of retaliation.

A solid reason to keep my distance from Marissa.

Another horrible reminder of what had happened to Jasmine.

The anger remained just under the surface, the need for revenge even stronger than I’d experienced with Jasmine. In both cases, what happened to them was my fault.

I took the stairs two at a time, carefully opening the closed doors to two children’s rooms, breathing a sigh of relief in finding no one.

“It appears someone took a trip,” Mikhail said from behind me seconds later. “Clothes are missing, drawers in the master bedroom still open and half empty.”

Exhaling, I nodded. Perhaps Torres had been smart and had taken his family away, yet the bloodstain nagged at me. There was one other place to look.

When I was downstairs, I moved to the back door, throwing it open, but unable to see anything. Seconds later, I noticed a light switch and flicked it on. Lights reflected exactly what had happened to Detective Torres.

The water in the pool was tainted red. I walked closer, peering into the deep end.

He’d been shackled with cement blocks, but not before he’d been brutalized.

Sighing, I shoved my weapon into my jacket pocket.

“Popov is eliminating loose ends as expected,” Mikhail said from beside me. “He’s not going to stop here. You know that.”

“I don’t give a shit who he eliminates in his stable of traitors, Mikhail. All I care about is finding Marissa. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

Before he could say anything, my phone rang.

“Ryker. What do you have?”

“We heard a few guys bragging her kidnapping was easy,” Ryker answered, half laughing. “We followed them. They’re in a warehouse near the port.”

“Tell me where they are. I’m on my way.”

It had been a long time since I’d felt numb inside.

Ten plus years. When I’d gone after the people responsible for Jasmine’s death, I’d done so methodically with the help of my family.

We’d planned the act of retaliation for an entire week before making our move, destroying three facilities full of drugs and killing all those involved.

We’d had the time to keep emotions from becoming a reckless hindrance because Jasmine was already dead. At this point, I didn’t have the luxury of time. Whether Rurik’s plans were to marry or kill Marissa, he’d do so quickly and I knew exactly the kind of abuse she’d suffer.

Mikhail didn’t fight me as we rolled toward the warehouse. While we had the firepower, we could easily be outnumbered. Only the element of surprise would work to our benefit. The warehouse wasn’t on any list that we’d obtained of locations owned by Popov.

Perhaps the men bragging were contractual workers and nothing else, but I didn’t give a shit. They’d learn that making bad choices was a life-altering decision.

We remained silent as we approached the building. The area of the port was unusually quiet, somewhat run down. With little traffic and almost no vehicles, we could handle the operation quickly and without interference.

However, I wasn’t in the mood to allow patience to interfere.

Ryker, Simon, and another soldier appeared from the darkness, assault rifles in their hands.

One of Mikhail’s men had joined them in their act of surveillance.

“They offloaded a shipment of about a dozen crates,” he said quietly.

“A small boat that came in a couple hours ago under the radar from Alaska.”

“How many men?” Mikhail asked.

“Ten.”

Ryker looked at me. We had five including us. Good enough odds. “I want information. Whatever happens, I need at least one alive. The rest I couldn’t give a shit about.”

“Got it. There’s a door on the side where they went in,” he advised.

Nodding, I headed around to the side toward the door he’d mentioned. When I was close, I was able to hear voices. There was no time like the present. With my Glock firmly planted in my hand, I pulled open the door slowly, creeping inside.

The element of surprise was exactly what I’d hoped for. The fuckers were laughing, shooting the shit, the conversation half Russian, half English.

But I caught enough as I stormed in to know they were laughing about Marissa.

There was no hesitation.

Pop! Pop!

“Fuck!” one of them finally yelled.

I started firing before most realized we were inside. We formed an arc around them, firing off round after round. When one of the enemy soldiers dropped and rolled, pointing the weapon at Mikhail, I threw myself in front, firing off a shot and catching him in his shooting arm.

The gun flew from his hand and he tried to crawl toward it. Within three long strides, I was over him, smashing my weapon against his head. Maybe he would be the lucky candidate to provide me with information.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Bullets continued to fly, Ryker and Simon keeping a protective stance with Mikhail.