Page 19 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

NIKOLAI

I wake to cold sheets.

Empty bed.

Gone.

The space where Lilly should be feels like a wound. Vacant, but her perfume still lingers. Traumatizes. Reminds.

I sit up, take a look around. The bedroom looks like a hurricane hit it. My shirt is missing from the chair where I left it.

She probably took it.

The thought should make me smile. Should make me happy that she took something to remember this by.

Instead, it pisses me off.

Because she still fucking left.

Without a word. Without explanation. Just slipped out like a thief in the night while I was sleeping off the best sex of my life.

I check my phone. No missed calls. No texts.

Nothing.

Like last night meant nothing to her.

I know that's bullshit. Know she felt what I felt. But knowing doesn't make waking up alone any easier.

I pull on jeans, grab a fresh shirt from the closet. The cabin feels too quiet without her here. Too empty.

This is exactly what she did five years ago. Disappeared without explanation. Left me wondering what the hell I did wrong.

Only this time, I'm not letting her run.

This time, I know where to find her.

The phone rings as I'm reaching for my keys.

Mrs. Chen's number flashes on the screen.

Odd. The elderly woman has never called me before. I gave her my number after I fixed her car. Said she could call if she had car trouble again.

"Nikolai?" Her voice is shaky. Worried. "I'm sorry to bother you, but something's happened at the bakery."

My blood goes cold. "What kind of something?"

"Vandalism. It’s bad. That poor girl Lilly... you should come help her. You’re her friend, aren’t you? She's at the police station now, filing a report, trying to clean up the mess."

I'm already moving toward the door. "I'll be right there."

"Thank you, dear. She shouldn't have to deal with this alone."

The line goes dead.

I drive like hell toward town, my mind racing through possibilities. Random teenagers. Petty criminals.

But something in my heart suggests this is more than random mischief. After all, I’ve been around her in public. People have seen us together.

The first thing I see is the shattered glass.

Sugar and Spice's front windows are completely destroyed. Jagged edges catch the morning sunlight like broken teeth.

Then I see the graffiti.

Spray paint covers the brick walls in angry slashes of black and red. A Russian word I recognize immediately.

Whore.

My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood.

But it's the symbol carved into the wooden door that makes my vision go red.

A raven flying above a burning building.

Kozlov family mark.

Viktor's cousins found me.

Found her.

I park across the street, scan the area for threats. The main drag is quiet this early. No suspicious cars. No watchers in doorways.

But they were here. Marked her business. Threatened her.

Made this personal.

I cross the street calmly. I left Chicago because of those cops, not the fucking Kozlovs.

There’s no chance they’re scaring me away. Not after what they’ve done.

The front door hangs open. I step through the frame, glass crunching under my boots.

The interior is destroyed.

Tables overturned. Display cases smashed. The espresso machine lies on its side, chrome dented and pipes bent.

But no Lilly.

I call her name. No answer. She must still be at the police station.

Check the storage room. Empty.

The office behind the counter shows signs of a search. Drawers pulled out. Papers scattered.

They were looking for something. Or someone.

Rage floods my system like molten metal.

They threatened her. Put sticky fingers in my woman’s world. My son's mother.

Unforgivable.

I know how these operations work. Small crew, local muscle. Probably staying at the lodge on the edge of town where they can disappear fast if needed.

A couple of guys they don’t care about. Some low-level enforcers sent to deliver a message.

They have no idea who they're fucking with.

The motel sits like a scab on the landscape. Twelve rooms arranged in an L-shape around a parking lot that's seen better decades.

Two cars with Chicago plates.

I walk past every room with one ear to each door. Room 7 has male voices inside. Russian accents.

Bingo.

I head out of the building and approach from the back now.

The bathroom window is cracked open. Sloppy security.

Through the gap, I hear them laughing.

"Boss said make it memorable. Think we did good."

"Maybe we should grab the kid. Real leverage. Boss’ll give us a one-up for that."

The kid.

They know about Chleo.

Everything goes red.

I don't remember moving. Don't remember kicking in the door.

One second I'm listening through the window. The next, I'm standing in their motel room with murder in my eyes.

Three men.

The first one reaches for his gun.

Too slow.

My fist connects with his throat. Crushes his windpipe. He drops, making wet choking sounds till he stops breathing.

The second man gets his weapon halfway out before I'm on him.

I grab his wrist. Twist until bones snap. The gun clatters to the floor.

"Wait," the third one says, hands raised. "We can work this out."

"No," I tell him quietly. "We can't."

I break his neck with my bare hands.

Clean. Quick. Final.

The second man is still conscious. Cradling his mangled wrist. Bleeding out on the floor.

I kneel beside him. Let him see death in my eyes.

"You threatened my woman."

"Please—"

"You mentioned my son."

"We didn't touch?—"

I don’t let him finish. My elbow crashes into his temple, cracking skull against tile. He twitches. Goes still.

All three. Dead.

Not unconscious. Not limping.

Dead.

I stand in the middle of the room. Breathing hard. Blood on my hands. Soaked into my shirt. Dotting my jeans like paint splatter.

This is what happens. This is what happens when they come for mine.

I check their pockets. Find phones, cash, fake IDs.

And a photo.

Lilly leaving the bakery yesterday. Chleo skipping beside her.

Someone took surveillance photos of my family.

I pocket the photo. Set the rest on fire with their cheap cigarettes.

Let the Kozlovs find their boys like this. Let them know what happens when they threaten what's mine.

Sugar and Spice has some light, which tells me Lilly is inside, trying to fix things even in the dark.

I sit in my car for a full minute, trying to calm down. Trying to wash the blood from under my fingernails with wet wipes.

Doesn't work.

I still look like exactly what I am. A killer fresh from killing.

But she needs to know she's safe. Needs to know I’ve got it handled.

I walk in through the bakery.

"Who is it?" her voice is terrified, petrified.

"It's me."

Silence. Then she comes up round the back.

Lilly walks up to me in the doorway, her eyes wide. Her gaze drifts from my face to my clothes to the blood on my hands.

Her face goes pale. "Oh God. What did you do?"

I’m about to explain. To tell her about the threat I saw on the walls. Who those men were and why they wanted to hurt her.

Instead, her hand cracks across my cheek.