Page 72 of Claimed By the Boss

Even if Damien is gone, and I pray he isn’t, I have to make sure that our child gets the chance to live. And to do that, I have to figure out how to get out of here.

“Hey,” I call to the men guarding me.

They look over, bored, then say something in Russian and start laughing.

“Hey,” I yell again. “I see they left the kids to watch the hostage while the men go do real work.”

One of them gets up and starts to storm toward me, but the other puts his hand on the man’s chest and says something else in Russian. The first man glares at me, then goes back to the door and sits on a crate, pointedly avoiding me.

“Don’t tease, little girl,” the second man taunts. “Rurik told us to keep you from running away. He didn’t say what state you have to be kept in.”

“I doubt that,” I goad. “Otherwise, you’d be taking full advantage.”

He rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth, but we both know I’m right. He makes no move to come near me.

“So, where exactly are we?”

“Like we would tell you that,” the first man scoffs.

“Why not?” I ask earnestly. “I don’t have a wire on me. That scary lady already searched me. So what’s the harm in telling me?”

The two men share a look, and they seem to decide there’s no harm in it.

“After all,” the second man says. “It’s not like Damien can rescue her anyway.”

26

DAMIEN

I’ve been everywhere the Vasiliev dogs prowl, and into the places they might favor, following patterns I’ve studied for years. But everywhere I go gives me nothing. Every step feels wasted. Every corner dead-ends. Rurik is using a new playbook. Whatever I thought I knew about him goes out the window.

We’re back at headquarters now, the air sharp with tension. My men are restless, snapping at each other, pacing, pouring coffee none of them will drink, and I can’t help but think their postures mirror my own. No one will say it, especially to me, but we all feel the truth deeply. She’s been gone too long.

The monitors flip through channels of intercepted chatter, each a possible lead, each another dead end. I’ve played their voices back so many times I could identify every one of Rurik’s men by tone alone.

I hear them talk about the “girl” in a way that infuriates me. Everyone knows Rurik has taken someone special to me, and they’re laughing about it. They talk about how stupid we are and how they have us chasing our tails. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’re aware we’re listening. But I know they aren’t.They’re just arrogant sons of bitches. I’ve killed men for less egregious offenses.

My chest tightens with worry for Lyra. Not just for her well-being, but for our baby’s too. She’s far enough along that I don’t think the stress will take the baby from us but worry has a way of creeping past logic. She is incredibly strong, but I don’t know how strong she’ll have to be now. It could wreak havoc on her body.

I brace my hands on the back of a chair, knuckles pale against the dark wood. My men keep stealing glances at me, trying to read the temperature in the room, but the storm is written across my face. I stare at the screens and speak aloud, more to myself than to anyone else.

“I will find you, Lyra.”

The silence breaks when Alek, who’s hunched over one of the terminals, flicks a switch and mutters to me, “I’ve got a new channel coming through, boss.”

Everyone leans forward as static fills the space between us. He adjusts the frequency, and a faint hum clears into something sharper. It’s a feed patched through one of the bugs we’d slipped in and forgotten about.

At first, we only hear a few men talking low about how they didn’t sign up to be babysitters. I know right then they’re talking about Lyra. Then my hope is confirmed when I hear shuffling, and then Lyra’s voice.

“She’s alive!” I gasp, relief slicing through my dread like a knife, but the wound it leaves behind is deep.

A second later, I hear another familiar voice that sends a chill down my spine. It’s Rurik. The thought of him within twenty feet of her makes my skin crawl. It infuriates me in a way I can’t even explain. Terror climbs my spine. My fists curl tight enough to grind bone against bone. My men don’t move, waiting for the order they know is coming.

On the feed, her words break through more clearly. She sounds tired but I can tell she’s still fighting. I cling to the fact that she has enough left to speak at all. Rurik answers her, his voice low and deliberate, laced with the arrogance of a man who thinks himself untouchable. He’s trying to get under my skin even without knowing I’m listening. And it works.

I pace once across the room, then back. The men closest to me keep their heads down, pretending to be lost in their screens, though I know they’re listening as carefully as I am. Rurik laughs, a sound that burns worse than any insult. I imagine his hand too close to her, his breath too near her ear, and my vision goes red.

“Rurik’s already dead,” I say quietly, though everyone hears me. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”