Page 66 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

The Bigger Threat

The radio was the only thing cutting through the silence between them. Makros had been sitting silently, lost in thought. Leila had been staring straight ahead, her eyes taking in the blur of city lights as the car drove past other cars with relentless speed.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, swallowing the throbbing ache that coursed through her shoulder.

It had dulled, but it was still there serving as proof of another close call with death in this godforsaken underground lifestyle.

Her mind replayed the moment over and over.

The bullet could've lodged in her throat.

Her heart. Her head. One inch the other way, and she would've been dead.

The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit but she refused to let it show and kept a facade of being alright.

She exhaled sharply, breaking the silence. "Guess I wasn't meant to die tonight. But maybe I should've. At least then, whatever game you're playing with me... it'll finally be over."

Makros didn't look at her. His gaze stayed on the road, city lights flashing across his face in quick succession.

"If you had died," he said in a flat voice, "I wouldn't be here taking a drive home."

He paused, just long enough to make her feel the impact of his words.

"I'd be in Russia. Burning the whole fucking country to the ground."

Leila's gaze narrowed. "Right. You'd be making a statement. Starting a war. Always so dramatic when it's about power."

He finally looked at her.

"No," he said, his voice chillingly husky. "Power means nothing. But I'd tear the world apart if the wind ever dared turned its tide against you."

She didn't say anything because he hadn't understood.

She didn't want him to reduce Russia to ash or tear the world apart for her even though that'd be pretty damn impressive.

She just thought... maybe he'd care enough to mourn for her first.

Makros glanced at her, then back to the road. He'd caught the subtle drop in her shoulders which something told him was not from pain, but something heavier.

"What do you want to say?" he asked quietly.

Leila's fingers curled slightly in her lap. Her mouth parted, but no sound came. She shook her head.

"Don't worry. It's nothing."

He gave a low scoff. "It's not nothing. Talk."

She hesitated. Then, almost in spite of herself, the words came tumbling out.

"Okay. I appreciate the whole 'burn Russia down' thing... But did you even think to mourn me? Just for a second?"

He was quiet for a long while contemplating if he should even reply or leave her question unreplied.

Then he shook his head once and his jaw set. "I don't have that luxury."

Leila turned to him with her eyes sharp. "Of course, you don't. You just have rage. Retaliation. You always have something to destroy. But never time to feel."

Makros pounded a fist to his knee. His voice was colder this time around when he spoke.

"It's better to respond first and reflect later," he said. "There will always be something left to feel—and no shortage of time for emotions."

Leila let out a bitter laugh. "Makros, yes grief is an emotion, but so is the anger you're feeling. If you can believe that there's no shortage of time to process grief, the same can apply for anger."

He glanced at her with a hardened gaze. "Anger is a weapon."

"Makros—"

"Leila," he said, cutting her off. "Grief is what you do when it's over. I don't stop to mourn, I make sure what puts me in such a situation doesn't happen again."

She didn't answer.

She just turned her face back to the window, watching her reflection blur in the glass, fractured by passing lights.

What was she even trying to accomplish?

It just unsettled her the way he could hold her, protect her, go to war for her... and still when it came to grieving for her even theoretically he wouldn't.

Her shoulder throbbed, but the ache that settled in her chest was worse. That crushing weight of regret of trying to carve humanity out of a man who only knew how to burn the world down.

"You're such a damn fool," she muttered under her breath.

Not to him. To herself.

The silence held for one more breath.

Then Makros's phone buzzed sharply in the cupholder between them, the screen flashing with Dragon's name.

He snatched it up with a grunt, and swiped to answer. "What."

There was a pause.

Then his posture shifted, he straightened, stiffened. His other hand tightened around the hem of his shirt.

"What do you mean they're both dead?"

Leila turned to him slowly, her blood running cold. Who was dead?

Makros didn't blink.

"The Volkov brothers?" he asked, voice coming out like stone.

Then there was another pause before asking, "Who did it?"

Leila's heart pounded. Not because she cared about the Volkovs. But because this—this was the kind of news that turned into battles and wars.

"Aleksei doesn't have that kind of connection," Makros muttered, his eyes narrowing as they flicked toward her. "I'm the biggest connection he had. Find out who did this."

He ended the call with a sharp tap, knuckles white around the phone.

Leila stared at him. "The Volkov brothers are dead?"

Makros didn't look at her. Just nodded once.

"Yes. And I'm not the one who struck first."

Leila watched him, uneasy. "Do you know who did it?"

"No." His voice was flat. "But I'll find out."

She hesitated. "Could it have been... one of your people?"

Makros's jaw twitched. "If it was, they'll be dead by morning for not waiting for my instructions."

"I thought you wanted them dead?" Leila pressed before she could stop herself.

He sneered. "I did but—forget it."

Leila was relentless with the questions.

"Okay, how do you know it wasn't someone Aleksei knew?"

Makros could have shut her up if he wanted to but he didn't want his frustration to be evident.

"Aleksei doesn't know anybody that can pull such strings."

Makros tried to do some calculations in his head and time and time again he came up with the same chilling possibility.

What if the parrot perched beside him was the reason the Volkov brothers were dead?

First he'd been shot at. Then a threat was delivered to his father.

And now, mere minutes after someone took a shot at her, the Volkovs were gone.

He reached for the burner phone stashed in the console, tapped out a number, then stopped, his thumb hovering just above the screen.

His jaw tightened.

"No," he muttered, more to himself than her. He locked the screen and tossed the phone back into the console with a dull thud. "Not yet."

Leila turned to him, frowning. "Who were you going to call?"

Makros kept his eyes on the road. "It doesn't matter, because if I call now, they'll know I didn't do it. And I want them to wonder."

Leila crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her pulse raced. "So what now?"

He exhaled, slowly and deliberately. "Now I wait to see who makes the next move."

"The next move. What if it's you next?"

He finally turned to her with a ruthless and unreadable look.

"Then I won't be the only one bleeding."

Her breath caught. She looked away, back to the window. The city lights looked colder now. Less comforting. More ominous.

Nicolai pulled the car to a sudden stop at a red light, the engine idling as he waited. He'd been listening in on their conversation and he had a theory of his own but far be it for him to interfere.

Makros after stewing in the silence spoke as the car resumed its drive again.

"I didn't kill the Volkovs. But someone wants it to look like I did."

He paused.

"And that means they want you dead too."

Leila's stomach twisted. She didn't ask why he said that. But she already assumed that she knew. Because being at Makros's side meant being in the line of fire.

Always.