Page 21 of Devil’s Night (The Shadows of Darkness Universe #3)

Chapter seventeen

Your Time Is Up

Roman

S miling at the photo on my desk, my thumb drags slowly across the glass, tracing the faces I’d do anything to protect.

Eden, smirking with her signature defiance, and our girls, caught mid-laugh, arms tangled, wild curls flying in every direction.

For a second, the weight of the world dulls beneath the image of them.

But peace doesn’t last long in this job. It never does.

The silence of my phone draws my attention next.

Still blank.

Still no word.

Not a single message from Echo. Not even the usual, vague-ass check-in.

He’s been off for the past week. Off in ways that don’t sit right. Leaving work early. Calling out last-minute. Ignoring protocol. Echo doesn’t do things wrong. He bends rules when it suits him, but outright disorder? That isn’t his language.

The air in the room is tight, like it knows something I don’t.

The creak of the office door pulling open draws my gaze toward the hallway. Noah steps inside without knocking, something in his face drawn tight. Dark rings under his eyes, posture coiled like he hasn’t truly slept in days.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse, trying to play it casual. “Are Ana and I still good to come to your place this weekend?”

Dropping into the chair across from me, he exhales sharply, fatigue radiating off him like heat. He’s trying to keep it together. The effort shows.

“Yeah, of course,” I nod, leaning back in my chair. “The girls have been hounding me all week, wondering when they’ll see Ana again.”

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, but his eyes stay locked on his phone.

And then, like clockwork, the frown returns.

“Still no word from Echo,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

My stomach sinks.

“No,” I answer, jaw tightening. “You neither?”

A slow shake of the head. “Nothing.”

A beat of silence settles between us.

“Something’s been off with him lately…” I finally say it aloud.

The words hang in the air, tension lingering just beneath the surface.

Noah shifts, visibly uncomfortable the moment they leave my mouth. His leg bounces once, twice, then stops. He doesn’t meet my eyes.

“What?” The question is sharper than intended.

“It’s probably nothing,” he says too quickly, gaze flicking to the wall, to the window, anywhere but me.

“Noah.” My tone drops.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

“You’ve got about three seconds to start talking,” I tell him evenly, “or I remind you that you still owe me for getting that mess in Germany off your record. And, unless you forgot, I am your superior, so if something’s going on with Echo, you will tell me.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. Whatever it is, it’s not just speculation. It’s something he’s been sitting on. Something big enough to make even him second-guess speaking it aloud.

And now, I can’t breathe right.

Because whatever’s about to come out of Noah’s mouth, it’s not nothing.

It’s something I won’t be able to ignore.

“A week and some days ago,” Noah starts, his voice measured, but it’s clear he’s been sitting on this information too long, “Echo came in on his day off. Claimed he was just tying up loose ends.”

I tense.

Noah glances up at me, something darker moving behind his eyes. “He went to check out Pavlov’s establishment. Alone.”

The air stills.

“Not even twenty-four hours later,” he continues, “Katya Romanov and the Sokolov boy both go missing.”

The implication cuts through the silence like a blade.

My brow furrows. “We don’t have anyone in our confinement. We would’ve flagged it.”

“I know,” Noah replies quickly...too quickly.

“So what are you insinuating?” My voice sharpens, narrowing in like a spotlight. “That Echo had something to do with their disappearance?”

Noah doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to. The hesitation in his expression already tells me what he’s afraid to say out loud.

I lean forward. “Do you think he’s capable of something like that? Kidnapping two people in broad daylight?”

The question feels wrong coming out of my own mouth. I want to shut it down, dismiss it outright, tear Noah apart for even suggesting it, but the silence that follows says everything.

Because deep down, I do know what Echo is capable of.

He trained me.

I covered his first body.

And there’s a reason we keep him off the books when things need to disappear.

Before either of us can speak, the office intercom buzzes to life, our receptionist’s voice shaky through the static. “Mr. Briar… there’s someone in the lobby waiting to see you and Mr. Ackerman.”

My gaze darts to the intercom speaker. Noah straightens beside me, instinct kicking in.

“Send them in,” I say, already on edge.

Noah exhales through his nose. “Regardless of what we think… something’s going on with him. Calling off in the middle of a week like this? That’s unheard of for Echo. Something’s wrong.”

The words barely leave his mouth before the office door swings open.

Both of our hands move in tandem, guns drawn, fingers tensed, aimed without hesitation.

The man standing in the doorway doesn’t flinch. He stands tall, flanked by two others in tailored black, his eyes sweeping the room with a familiarity that makes my skin crawl.

Dimitri Romanov.

Smirking and alive, standing in our headquarters like he owns the goddamn place.

I rise from my chair, gun locked in on his skull. Noah does the same, stepping around the desk, stance wide and steady.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” The question tears out of me before logic can catch up.

Dimitri’s expression doesn’t falter. “I walked through the front door.”

My grip tightens.

“Your men knew better than to start showering bullets without a reason,” he adds casually, stepping farther into the room as if we hadn’t both already made the decision to put him in the ground.

Noah and I lock eyes, just long enough to confirm neither of us is breathing easy.

“Roman Briar. Noah Ackerman,” Dimitri says, each name like a toast as he slowly eases into Noah’s chair, the gall of it borderline suicidal. His men remain standing, silent, posted directly behind him like they were carved from the floor itself.

“In the flesh,” he muses, smoothing his jacket. “It really is an honor. Though, I admit… I was hoping to feast my eyes on another.”

My stomach knots.

“Echo, is it?” Dimitri tilts his head. “Echo Kane.”

He smiles, cold and sharp, like the steel of a blade just before it’s buried between your ribs.

No one moves.

And for the first time in years, I wonder who’s actually in control of this room.

Boots slam against the tile as I reach the door, the sound of drawn weapons echoing through the hallway.

Our men are locked and ready, but they’re late.

The moment’s already passed. Dimitri Romanov stands inside Catalyst headquarters like he’s been here a thousand times before, like this place belongs to him.

My hand shoots up. “Stand down.”

The command leaves no room for hesitation. They obey, reluctantly, weapons lowering by inches.

Mine doesn’t.

Dimitri doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. His lips tug into a slow smirk, eyes watching every move like he already knows how the rest of this is going to play out.

“What can we do for you?” The question leaves my mouth sharp-edged, my Glock steady at my side.

He doesn’t answer, just snaps his fingers.

The man beside him moves instantly, pulling a photo from inside his jacket and tossing it onto my desk like it’s just another fucking formality. It lands face up—blurry, grainy, low-resolution. A man in a baseball cap, head tilted just enough to obscure his features. Could be anyone.

But it’s not.

Even through the distortion, I know that frame. That posture. That deliberate way of holding back weight like he’s always ready to strike.

It’s Echo.

Noah’s breath hitches beside me. He doesn’t say a word, but I feel it. He knows too.

Dimitri watches us both with the satisfaction of someone who’s just won a game we didn’t realize we were playing.

“This,” he says, motioning lazily toward the photo, “is the last known person to see Nikolai and my daughter before they disappeared. The image is… inconveniently unclear. But I can see it on your faces.”

His voice lowers.

“You know who it is.”

The tension in the room tightens like wire.

“All I need is a name.”

“That’s not how this works.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Oh, but it is now. See, unlike Echo, you two leave footprints. You have jobs. Reputations. Families.”

A cold weight settles in my chest.

“Let’s talk specifics,” he continues, gaze flicking toward Noah. “Noah Ackerman. Fiancée. Anastasia Burns. Works in this very building, doesn’t she?”

Noah’s grip on his weapon tightens.

“And Roman Briar. The infamous vet turned priest. A wife and two daughters, both in Spokehaven. Quaint little house with a white fence and a swing in the yard.”

My hand curls tighter around the Glock. One wrong word and I’ll end him.

“All very much alive… for now.”

The breath in my lungs freezes. “Are you threatening our families?”

His voice drops even lower. “No. I’m warning you what happens if I don’t get my daughter back. I want Katya alive. I want Echo Kane gone. If those things don’t happen-” he shrugs, “-then you’ll understand pain on a very personal level.”

Before I can speak, there’s motion from the hall.

Ana.

She steps into the room with her gun drawn, jaw set, posture locked. She’s ready to shoot.

Dimitri turns toward her like he’s already planned this too. “Anastasia Burns,” he says, smiling like the devil. “Even more stunning in person.”

Noah shifts fast.

Dimitri’s fingers snap again.

His man moves quicker than I can raise my gun.

Ana slams into the wall with a sickening thud, her weapon hitting the floor. A thick arm wraps around her throat, lifting her off the ground. Her boots kick wildly, lips parting in a strangled gasp, nails clawing at the forearm crushing her windpipe.

Noah lunges. So do I.

Dimitri lifts a single finger.

“One move,” he says softly, “and she dies.”

Ana’s eyes lock with mine, desperate and burning. She can’t breathe.

Her body jerks, boots scraping against the wall, lungs fighting for air she won’t get unless we play by his rules.

This isn’t just a threat.

It’s a demonstration.

And if Dimitri Romanov doesn’t get what he wants, this is only the beginning.

Ana flails, her boots skidding along the wall, hands clawing at the forearm locked around her throat. Her eyes are wide, wild, desperate for air. Every second ticks louder, Noah on the edge of pulling the trigger, rage blazing beneath his skin.

One shot. That’s all it would take to start a war we’re not ready to end.

And Dimitri knows it.

“My daughter,” he says smoothly, voice silked with venom. “Consider this a gentle warning.”

He snaps his fingers again.

The man obeys, releasing Ana without hesitation. She hits the floor hard, body crumpling in a heap. The air wheezes back into her lungs as Noah drops to his knees beside her, hands on her shoulders, murmuring too low for me to hear.

Dimitri doesn’t wait for a thank-you or a reaction.

He just leaves, vanishing with his men like they were never fucking here.

Fury ignites in my gut like a lit match dropped into gasoline.

“Get them out of the building!” I bark, my voice shattering the stunned silence. “Double security. Now. I want eyes on every hallway, every blind spot. If one Romanov so much as breathes wrong on Catalyst property, I want them dropped.”

The room scrambles into motion. Fear and urgency thick in the air. No one dares ask questions.

“I want eyes on my house. On Noah’s. Twenty-four seven. Round the clock until I say otherwise.”

My blood pounds in my ears.

“Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Slamming the door behind me, I barely register the sound of files shifting on my desk or the slight rattle of the blinds. Everything feels tight—my fists, my chest, my fucking skull.

Ana’s still on the floor, cradled in Noah’s arms, her face pale and damp with sweat. Her glossy eyes lift to mine, throat already bruising, skin blotched with trauma. She looks like she wants answers.

So does Noah.

He glares up at me, fury laced with something worse...fear.

“What the fuck, Roman?” Ana rasps, her hand shaking as it clutches her throat.

Noah doesn’t wait.

“Where the hell is Echo?” His voice is ice.

I say nothing.

Not at first.

Because I know what I saw. That photo, blurry or not, was Echo. The posture, the way he carries weight, the stillness behind it. There’s no fucking doubt in my mind.

He was there.

He’s done something.

And now we’re all caught in the blowback.

“I don’t know where he is,” I growl, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “But I do know this…”

My hand slams against the edge of the desk, the sound splitting the room.

“His day off is fucking over.”