Page 65

Dimitry

I t’s all moving too fast.

I watch Rodrigo’s sedan move back down the driveway, my entire body still wired from the encounter.

Which is more than I can say for the patio, which was never wired at all.

I throw the gaming control onto the couch and grin at Abby. “Well, that worked.”

She exhales sharply. “For a moment there I genuinely thought you’d actually wired the place and lied to keep me calm.”

She’s still pale under her scattering of bruises, and she clenches her fists in an effort to conceal her shaking hands.

I take them into my own. “You don’t have to do this, Abby. In fact, I really fucking wish you’d agree not to.”

“No.” She shakes her head determinedly. “I’m the only one who can identify him, Dimitry.

You did a good job of avoiding that subject with Rodrigo, by the way.

” She gives me a mischievous look that lightens my heart.

“I never thought he’d leave without demanding to see the photograph.

I’m starting to think I should worry about just how well you’re able to lie and deflect. ”

“Never to you, Skip.” I gather her close, kissing the top of her head. “Never, ever to you.”

We stand like that for a long time, her arms wrapped around me, her head nestled against my chest, and I wonder why the fuck I’m even thinking about agreeing to this.

“It’s going to be okay, Dimitry,” she says eventually, her voice slightly muffled by my body. “It’s a week, no more. And I’ve shown you how to take the scam bait. Lucky will look out for your message, make sure it’s assigned to me, so we’ll be able to communicate.”

“ If you’re put back in touch with Lucky. And if she sees the message before anyone else.” I shake my head against her hair. More ifs and probablys .

God, what I’d give for Mickey, Roman’s tech genius son. Or Pavel, his head of cyber security. Or Mak.

Going into this without the kind of backup Roman and I spent years assembling is infuriating. I was the one who recruited most of Roman’s tech crew. I screened them, trained them in security, and virtually raised the little tech geek fuckers by hand.

And now, the one time I actually need the keyboard warriors, they’re completely unavailable to me.

Just like Roman.

Don’t think about it.

I push away the unwelcome reminders of all that’s been lost and broken and hold the only thing that actually matters.

Abby feels so tiny against me, so fucking fragile.

Even the thought of sending her back into that place turns my guts to water.

She’s made light of the miles the triad fuckers made her run around their damned Loop when she didn’t make target.

But nothing can disguise how lean her body has become, how much weight she’s lost. All I want to do is lock her inside a villa like this, surrounded by luxury and security, and care for her properly until she’s soft and glowing again and the last of the fucking bruises have faded altogether.

The bruises.

Fuck.

I think of what Rodrigo said, about how his story would never hold up if the triads saw how much Abby’s bruises have faded.

I don’t realize how tightly I’m holding her until Abby speaks again. “Hey, muscle boy. I love you too, but right now I’m about to suffocate.”

I force myself to relinquish my grip, and she steps back, frowning up at me. “What?” she says, studying my face. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow, hard.

Fuck, I don’t want to raise this.

But that’s the shitty thing about an analytical mind. You can’t switch the fucker off.

“Your bruises,” I say reluctantly. “They’re . . . faded.”

Her eyes flare briefly, then flit away from mine.

“Oh, Christ.” I tilt her face back toward me, the sick feeling suddenly getting a whole lot worse. “You’ve already thought about it.”

Abby gives the faintest nod. Her guilty expression only makes me feel more hollow.

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” I stare down at her, anger, guilt, and pain twisting inside me. “What exactly were you planning to do, Abby?”

She swallows. “Don’t,” she whispers, dropping her eyes. “Please don’t ask me that.”

She steps away from me, and it takes a physical effort to restrain myself from pulling her back in, by force if necessary .

“No.” The word is rough and rips through my chest more painfully than any bullet could. “There’s no fucking chance I’m letting that Cardenas fuck put hands on you again. It’s not happening.”

Abby shakes her head slowly. “Then what?” she says dully. “Are you going to beat me up, Dimitry?”

Christ.

We stare at each other for a long, tension-filled moment.

I can’t.

I know it in the pit of my stomach.

I can’t put my fist into Abby’s face. Not for any plot and no matter how necessary. I just can’t fucking do it.

I won’t.

“Makeup,” I say roughly. “You can make it look like you’ve been hit—”

“Absolutely.” She cuts me off, her face pale, nodding determinedly. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

And if I was a fucking idiot, I’d believe her.

Problem is, I’m not. Or at least, not that kind of idiot.

I pull her in and cradle her close, more so she can’t see my face than anything else.

Dusk is falling as the private chopper Leon chartered heads toward the helipad on his friend’s yacht. The damned thing is the size of two football fields, moored a few kilometers off the Myanmar coast.

I shoot Leon a glance. “Nice friends you’ve got.”

He tilts his head in unsmiling acknowledgment. He’s been noticeably tense ever since we took off from a local airport an hour ago. Rodrigo, sitting opposite us, flanked by the same two goons as earlier, is equally grim.

Fuck, I miss Roman’s banter .

That’s how we’ve always done these things, Roman and I. Laughed like hyenas in the face of death. It’s how we survive, the armor we both use.

Going into danger surrounded by pale faces and fear feels like losing before I’ve even started.

“At least there should be a decent gin on board.” Of all people, I should have known it would be Abby who’d find the light moment in all of this.

I roll my eyes at her. “We’re going to need to ship you off to rehab after this is over, Skip. Quite the habit you’ve got going on there.”

She pokes her tongue out at me. “You’re just jealous. But I’m sure they can rustle up a beer for the peasant, if you want to stick around.”

I snort. “Oh, so it’s a peasant, now, is it? I seem to recall you drinking the odd cardboard box of wine on occasion, Miss Fancy Pants.”

“ Joder ,” Rodrigo swears, glaring at us both. “Do you two ever shut up?”

Abby’s hand steals into mine as she bites down on a hugely inappropriate giggle. I squeeze it hard, grinning despite it all as the helicopter lowers down.

Fuck, I love her.

“Right.” Abby turns to me as the chopper settles on the top deck, waving her makeup bag at me. “All set.” Her smile is annoyingly convincing. “See you on the other side, muscle boy.”

“Sure.” I match her tone. “Just going to have a word with Rodrigo here, first.”

I watch her scramble out, wearing the sequined evening gown Dao bought for her this afternoon.

We’ve already had our big goodbye, back at the villa.

One last session in that enormous four-poster bed, when I tried to press my mouth to every part of her I could find, and some I never knew existed.

Neither of us wanted an emotional goodbye in public, especially not here, when she’s about to walk back into hell and I’m about to fucking let her.

I slip out behind Rodrigo and grab his arm, hard enough to make his goons reach for their guns.

“Fuck off,” I snarl as Abby disappears down the stairs. “Listen, Cardenas.” I pull Rodrigo close. “Abby needs bruises.”

“Oh, I know.” His mouth spreads in a grin that I fucking ache to smash off his smug face.

Instead, I hold up a black hood, another gift from Dao. “Your men are going to go downstairs and tell Abby to put this over her head.” I yank him in close enough that I can smell the fucker’s designer aftershave. “Then I’m going to go down there and make those bruises myself.”

Rodrigo stares at me in surprise.

“You are going to warn her,” I growl. “You will tell her it’s you doing it.

But I am the only person who lays hands on her, do you fucking understand me?

Now, and until this is over. If I even hear a fucking whisper that you’ve hurt her, I will come for you, Cardenas, and no matter how long it takes or how many have to die, I will kill you.

With my bare fucking hands. Do you copy, asshole? ”

I’m looming over him, smiling down into his face, but even seeing the way he swallows and nods at his men to obey doesn’t give me any satisfaction.

None of this fucking does.

But after hours of being able to think of nothing but this moment, the one thing I’ve come to is that even if I know what I’m about to do will haunt me for the rest of my days, it’s better than living with the thought of Abby at the mercy of a bastard like Cardenas.

I’ve known men like this sadistic prick before, men who derive a sick pleasure from inflicting pain.

I, on the other hand, know exactly how to inflict the greatest visual damage with the least pain. It’s not a skill I’m proud of, and right now, it’s small fucking comfort.

But it’s still better than the alternative.

“I’ll be back in five,” I mutter to Leon.

The chopper will take us back to the mainland, then Rodrigo will contact the triads at SK to send their transport to bring him back to the compound. It’s a risky move; it also screams transparency, which will help sell our story.

Rodrigo and I move down the stairs. Abby is standing in the middle of a luxurious salon, her back bared to me by the cut of her dress, which falls to the base of her spine. The fading bruises from Rodrigo’s last beating are still visible on her skin.

I grind my teeth and force myself to remain silent.

“Seriously, Rodrigo?” she says bitingly as the men fasten the hood over her face. “When did you get so fucking squeamish?”

Rodrigo scowls. “ Que te calles, joder .”

Under normal circumstances, I’d lay him out for telling Abby to shut the fuck up. Unfortunately I have to settle for the small satisfaction of watching him grind his own teeth and clench his fists in frustration.

“Get on with it then,” Abby sneers from beneath the hood. “And make it good. We need to sell this.”

God, she has some guts.

I hate everything about this. And I’ve never loved Abby more.

Who the hell tells the head of a cartel to get on with administering a beating, while blinded beneath a hood?

I know men who’ve pissed themselves at much less.

Rodrigo puts his face close to her hood. “I’m going to enjoy this, puta .”

Except by the wary look he gives me, I know he really fucking isn’t, and somehow, that makes what I have to do slightly easier.

I step silently into the place he leaves and gauge where Abby’s features are.

Forgive me, God, for what I am about to do.

Then, bracing myself, I take the first shot.