Page 50 of Hunt Me

As soon as I ended the call, I took a deep breath, holding it while the information settled. Whoever had killed my friend would die a torturous death.

“What the hell is going on?” my brother asked.

I threw a look at the group, my skin tingling as anger slowly made its way to the surface. “Sergio was murdered.”

“What?” He placed a hand over his heart. “You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

“Any idea by whom?”

“They have no fucking clue.” I turned toward him, keeping my voice low. “But whoever did this will die.”

“You’re thinking the Irish fucks?”

“I will find out.” Images of the past slammed into my mind. The fuckers knew Sergio had been a significant part of the extermination two decades before. Even though the arrows were pointing in the direction of the Irish, I’d need to keep my head on straight. One misstep could spell bloodshed in a peaceful city.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

I closed and rubbed my eyes. “There’s a video that surfaced.” Sergio was very security conscious, more so than anyone else within the organization. I had a feeling he’d gotten a video of his killer. However, there should be more than one.

“Shit. I’ll come with you.”

“No. I need you to do me a favor.” He was closest to our baby sister.

“You want me to tell Katya.”

“Yes.” My baby sister would be devastated. She’d considered Sergio a father figure as well.

Alexsey hissed. “We need to hunt the bastard down.”

“Don’t worry. That’s exactly what I intend on doing.”

CHAPTER 13

Mikhail

Why the fuck hadn’t the required guards been at this position in front of the gated community? I planned on making a call. The men would be fired by in the morning.

If they weren’t dead by my hands.

Police had blocked off the street, yet neighbors were out gawking like vultures. A forensics van remained parked in the driveway, other unmarked vehicles taking up the entire cul-de-sac.

Reporters had already taken a stance, three different news trucks waiting for their shining moment and fifteen minutes of fame. Whoever had called in the report had likely tipped off the press.

Rumors had been a part of my family’s life since I could remember. Even when I was a boy, parents of children whispered in the hallways, instructing their kids to stay away from the son of a horrible criminal. Our legitimacy and success hadn’t dampened the fervor around our notoriety. I’d learnedto shove the dirty looks and disparaging comments aside, not bothering with the annoyance.

But tonight, the heavy presence of those hungry to witness a tragedy enraged me even more than it should.

One reporter had the audacity to rush toward me with a microphone outstretched, her cameraman following closely behind. The anger continued to rise, but it was possible to use the interview to my benefit.

“Mr. Dmitriyev. I understand the victim worked for you. Is that correct?”

There were two ways of handling a situation when confronted. One was to shove the person aside and the second was to play into the moment. I would do myself no favors by acting annoyed. What I would do was to send out a warning to all those involved that they’d fucked with the wrong man.

“Yes, he did and it’s a tragedy,” I answered.

“Yes, of course. Do the police have any idea who’s responsible?”