Page 70 of Claimed By the Boss

We keep going, combing every street, every alley. I call back to headquarters, my voice clipped and cold as I order the rest of my men to sweep the city.

“I want eyes everywhere. Cameras, traffic feeds, street contacts, everything. If a rat crawls out of a hole tonight, I want to know which direction it’s running.”

The replies come in rapid Russian, and I end the call without waiting for more than confirmation. My mind is already racing ahead, running through every possible angle. Where would theytake her? What would they do first? My hands clench into fists again, nails biting into my palms.

We go straight back to headquarters and start laying out strategy. All our plans for Rurik are secondary now. He has her, so our timeline moves up. The task is finding him, rescuing Lyra, and putting an end to this once and for all.

I send one group of men to start checking license plates at abandoned warehouses across the city. Another group is tasked with calling hospitals and making sure no one matching Lyra’s description is brought in. It’s a slim chance that Rurik will go that route, but I won’t risk leaving any stone unturned.

Worst-case scenario, they’re holding her hostage and they’re going to torture her. I’ve been in this business long enough to know what men like the Vasilievs do to women they take. That thought alone is enough to make my vision blur at the edges. But this isn’t just any woman. She’s the love of my life and the mother of my child.

That makes this fucking personal.

I don’t just want her back. I want to make them wish they’d never been born. I want to burn down every building they’ve ever set foot in and salt the ashes.

Once everyone has an assignment, Radimir, Alek, and I get back into one of the SUVs and start combing the streets again. Everyone has orders to inform me the second they have even the slightest whiff of a lead. I don’t care how small or unimportant it might seem. Anything that could bring me closer to Lyra is worth investigating.

A few calls come in throughout the night, and we check every single tip we receive, but nothing pans out. With every failed tip,I feel my dread start to grow. I have to get her back. I promised to protect her and our child. Now I’ve probably gotten her killed, or worse.

Radimir glances at me as we speed toward the next possible location. “Boss, we’ll find her,” he says in a voice I’m sure is meant to be reassuring.

“We’d better,” I mutter. My voice is steady, but there’s a storm of anguish and fury building underneath.

The phone rings again. Alek answers, speaking rapidly before hanging up.

“We’ve got chatter,” he says. “One of our guys picked up something on the Vasiliev frequency. They’re talking about moving someone tonight. No name, but…”

“It’s her,” I finish for him. It has to be.

Radimir pushes the SUV harder, weaving through late-night traffic. The tires scream around corners, and I keep my eyes on the road, scanning for any sign of that car. Every second counts, and every second she’s out there feels like a failure that digs deeper into my gut.

“Get more men to that location,” I order. “And tell them to keep eyes on it until we get there. No one goes in without me.”

Alek relays the message, and I sit back for half a second, forcing myself to breathe. I can’t go in there wild. Not if she’s inside. I need to be smart, precise. The rage will have to wait until she’s safe before I can unleash it.

Still, the image of her, blindfolded, gagged, and scared, burns behind my eyes. I don’t know if it’s the truth or my own mind torturing me, but it doesn’t matter. Either way, it fuels me.

They don’t know what they’ve done.

25

LYRA

They shove me from one surface to another until I lose the map of my own body. Rough hands clamp my elbows and grip my hair when I stumble. Boot soles scrape, drag across concrete, then metal. A hollow thud announces the van’s step under my feet again, the engine vibrating through the floor. Russian wraps around me the entire time, a river of hard syllables and clipped orders that runs together until it stops being words.

I keep my breathing measured under the gag, four counts in and four counts out, because anything faster brings black spots to the edges of my vision. The blindfold sticks to my skin where sweat gathers. I try to keep track of the details. We turned right, then left, and the tires hummed like they were on a highway for a while. After that, the pitch changed, and the van floated over or under a bridge before the turns got tighter again.

I keep my hands low, curving them over my stomach even with my wrists bound. The small space of my palms becomes a barrier between us and the rest of the world.

When they finally stop, everything goes quiet for a beat. A door slides open. Heat rolls in as hands seize my arms again and pull. My knees scrape against the metal lip as they haul me out. Gravel grinds under my shoes.

A key box clatters and a chain clinks through its track. A heavy door groans under its own weight, and they push me forward into a space that swallows the outside in one gulp.

The blindfold comes off so fast the light pricks my eyes like needles. I blink hard and my vision snaps open. I’m in a warehouse that looks long abandoned. Stacks of pallets lean against one wall in teetering towers. A forklift sits with its forks lowered in a corner. Far above, a catwalk crosses under a row of rattling fans, their belts whining as they drag hot air in useless circles. Sodium lights hang from chains and bathe everything in a dirty orange that makes even the shadows look sickly.

I register people next. Men spread through the room in loose arcs, some with tools looped from belts, some with guns held low, all of them wearing sickening grins. Two men keep their eyes on the catwalk rather than on me. Their heads turn at the same time at the sound of footsteps above. Apparently, the guest of honor isn’t here yet.

I count the men in the room because I need something useful to do. Nine on the floor, two above, probably more outside. I can’t see the woman yet, though I heard her voice by the door.