Page 84 of Lethal Torture

I kick the bike down the gears as we approach a roundabout, then give it so much gas it leaps beneath me on the exit. Zin clings to me, her tiny form like part of my own body.

I don’t ever want to let her off this bike.

I want to pull her off it and fuck her until the euphoria finally subsides.

And somehow I know that I could fuck Zinaida Melikov until the end of the world, and it would still never take away that fierce edge.

That still doesn’t excuse taking her like a savage.

Only I can’t quite find it in myself to regret it.

Just like I know that if any other client had put me through the insanity of tonight’s little escapade, I’d have quit on the spot. Walked straight in to Pigalle Mayfair, told Zinaida to politely go fuck herself, and walked straight back out again.

Do not pass go, do not collect a small fortune in Mercura.

But I didn’t.

Not even after I sat through that farce of a briefing, then listened in while her team tried to make plans between themselves to cover all the fucking gaps.

After all that, I still didn’t walk. Nor did I call Mak.

Instead I called Paddy and three women from my army days, all of whom are top operators and now work private security contracts.

I offered them a shit ton of money up front and explicit instructions:don’t interfere,go nowhere near the action, but make fucking sure you cover the retreat.

Then I armed myself to the teeth and rode like hell to get to Avonmouth in time to do recon.

It almost killed me to watch the NCA taking fire, let alone see the guns pointed at Zin. But emerging before the transport vans left would have shown the traffickers the only card Zin currently holds: me.

And doing that would have blown the entire reason she hired me in the first place.

I did consider asking Sally and Ana about the operation directly, before any of this shit went down. But their loyalties are clear, even if they had their doubts going in.

Despite their clear commitment to their shared cause, it’s obvious that Sally and Ana are more than aware of their limitations—and are uneasy at how increasingly risky these operations are becoming.

“We’re not prepared for the kind of danger we’re walking into,” Sally told Zin yesterday. “We can take down a few men here or there, but that’s all we’re set up for. And if we keep going to busts like this, we’re going to find ourselves in a war none of us are ready for.”

Wise words, considering the events of the past few hours.

Like all of Zin’s staff, the team at Sophie’s House are working beyond capacity. And given the security risks that brought me into her organization in the first place, it should have been blatantly fucking obvious to Zinaida that she’s putting them in the path of unacceptable risk. The fact that she’s willfully ignoring that risk is unlike her normal calculated approach. It’s a clear weak spot, personally and professionally.

It’s also the missing piece of the puzzle. The piece that tells me who she really is.

I’m trained to identify what people crave, above all else. It’s one of the first rules of running intelligence: identify the needs of the target, and you find their weakness.

Ambition might be the spark that dragged Zin out of her father’s cesspit. But it’s her desire for justice that is the all-consuming fire driving her.

And it’s there that she’s the most vulnerable.

Sophie’s House matters more to Zin than money or power ever will. I already knew that, but tonight has brought home to me that her entire empire exists for one reason only: to rescuethe victims of exploitation and wreak deadly revenge on those who subjugate them.

That pain I understand, better than most ever will.

The furious edge of rage starts to slowly trickle away.

I come through another roundabout, relishing the surge of the bike and the ice-cold wind against my face, the soft touch of Zin’s arms clasped about my waist.

I know what it is to feel helpless at the hands of a violent man. To be driven entirely by the singular goal of escape.