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Chapter Nine

DEMYAN

I pace my office. The voices from my trusted men come from the second dining room, or what should be a dining room. I don’t use it for parties. In fact, I don’t use it for anything apart from meetings.

But right now, I’m teetering, and I don’t need the distractions. What I need is to think and not give into some cockeyed plan to go scorched earth until we find Alina.

I have to play this fucking smart.

The woman I’ve locked up for her own good doesn’t help matters. She keeps stealing pieces of me that brood over her. I want to touch her again, taste her. I want to fuck her so hard she begs for mercy, use her to release some of the tension.

I want to use her to feel something other than this darkness that’s building inside.

Who the fuck blew up the wedding? Killed the groom and took the bride?

I’m pretty fucking sure Max died saving my sister. He probably got in the way or jumped someone .

They weren’t looking to shoot her, or she’d already be dead.

That sends a better message than taking her if her demise was the end goal.

No, this is something different.

I clutch the bottle in my hand, the one I’m thinking about drinking from. I don’t.

When I first met my pretty prisoner/rescue, she captivated me with that mix of innocence and openness. She had fire, too, that I unleashed.

Could she have been some long game plant? To what end, though? My sister would have been easy to take at her birthday celebration. And this… Sure, I have the inherited enemies of my father, not to mention new ones.

Fuck. I laugh and eye the seat that’s mine in an office he never used and yet I can see him there, behind the desk, fingers templed, distaste and disappointment aimed at me.

And I can hear his words.

‘Ty pozvolil moyey miloy devochke uyti. Ty trus. Neumelyy durak.’

‘You let my sweet girl get taken. You coward. You inept fool.’

English or Russian, the shame is the same.

“Fuck you, old man,” I say, setting the bottle down and spinning my laptop toward me. The news remains the same: nada, and the dots on the screen of those out looking are still spread far and wide.

I pull up a different screen. This one with the faces of those who might have done this.

In truth, it could be anyone. People always try to snatch power and I have power. But the retributions are such that most who think about it, think again and slink back into the shadows.

But I’m not arrogant enough to believe I’m untouchable .

No one is.

It’s only how you play the game and the allies you make that change things.

I play smart, better than my father, but I also straddle the line between the old world and the new and that brings dangers of its own.

Some allies feel betrayed or sidelined. Most keep it to themselves. Those who don’t… they’re presented with an option, fall in line or walk away.

The third option always remains unspoken. Death.

With a sigh, I pull up the page on Sergio Augusto.

Powerful. Mafia. A man not to be underestimated.

He just might be behind this.

We had an exchange of words recently over territory issues. I believe we need more flexibility, judicious blind eye. He believes in iron walls and Old Testament punishments.

If it were just that, I’d dismiss him, but it’s not.

The bearded man with the arrogant dark eyes seems to mock me in the image on the screen.

There’s tension between us. He’s more my father’s school of doing things than mine and though he knows he needs me and I need him, the tensions have been festering. Slowly building.

An escalation to where he’d decided to take matters into his own hands, perhaps.

Out of all of them, he seems most likely. He’s powerful enough. Feared.

But not by me.

If he has taken matters into his own hands and his last few angry words to me that I’d regret the damn day I stood up to him, then that’s a decision he’ll regret. I’ll make sure of it.

What I can’t be sure of is exactly how long he’ll regret that decision.

I’d like to make him suffer, but if my temper snaps… then hi s life is done. It’ll be done, anyway, but sooner rather than me drawing his death out.

“Boss?”

I look up from the computer as Ilya walks in, face grave, eyes blazing.

I hate it when he calls me boss, but he does it when he means business, and in private, when he’s giving me shit.

Considering we’re in private and there’s not a joking word that would come near him right now, I steel myself for whatever he’s going to say.

“Do you know where she is?”

He hands me a tablet. “I’ve got a location, but no confirmation of who’s holding Alina. The vehicle you saw matches, as well as the thugs.”

“Who?”

He smooths his hair. “I don’t know. This came from a source. He claims he saw her, described Alina pretty damn perfectly, down to the dress, and the car, too.”

“Could be a red herring.” Fuck. I press my lips together for a moment, then meet Ilya’s gaze. “Can this source be trusted?”

“Frankie’s a junkie working with three different gangs. So… probably not. He might have seen her or got word of her dress, though he doesn’t strike me as fashion forward.”

“Girl in white, Ilya. What’s he asking?”

“Too much.”

“So it could be a shakedown for his next few fixes, then.” I hand him back the tablet. What I want is to smash the whiskey bottle. Break something large. Destroy half the fucking planet.

I breathe in, lean against my desk and fold my arms. “Thoughts?”

“Frankie’s unreliable enough. But do we really want to dismiss this and risk not following up?”

“Let’s go, then. ”

“Like there would have been another choice.”

I get my gun and load it. “None at fucking all.”

We drive a small convoy that’s deadlier than most. We hit the outskirts of town and pull up a healthy distance from the old warehouse.

The area’s full of them, most of them falling down, derelict. Except one.

It’s in better condition than most and while I don’t see any cars, there are tracks in the dirt that cover the asphalt.

Ilya hands me an extra weapon and extra rounds. I thank him as my men wait for a signal. While we wait to see if there’s any movement, I say, “Thoughts?”

“If this were me, and I had a big name, big reputation, and a whole lot of power, or even if I didn’t, I’d choose this place if I wanted to hurt you.”

I nod. “Why?”

“It’s a no-man’s-land and thus harder to pin on any faction.”

I smile grimly. “Do it on your own territory and you can still cry that you didn’t know.”

“But you seem weak. This way…?”

“I’m betting she’s here.”

Silence falls. We don’t see anyone, but then there’s a sound, like a raised voice, suddenly shut down. Male, not my sister.

Ilya’s fingers flex to the door, something I ache to do, but I’m waiting for the scout’s report.

In the silence of the car, Ilya’s earpiece crackles, and I hear the voice of Stefan. “Not sure how many. Four hidden cars. About six men, I can see. No sign of Angel.”

Angel. The code for Alina. Dad’s code .

Ilya picks up his phone and meets my eye, then sends the message.

I feel nothing. It floods like cold water into every pore. And I’m more than grateful for it. Time enough to rage. But I need to be nothing more than death and destruction.

Almost at once, his phone goes off with a barrage of signals. Everyone’s ready.

Good.

“Time to fucking roll.” Strike first, ask questions later. If anyone lives. My sister is the first and only concern.

I reach for the door when Ilya puts his hand on my arm.

“Boss, if she’s there, maybe I should?—”

“Don’t finish that,” I say quietly.

We get out, and Ilya leads the way, just in front of me. I know what he’s doing. He’ll die for me, but I’m no coward and the moment we step in, we’re fury from the fucking gods.

The bastards in here don’t have time and we hit them hard with bullets until none stand. My men take care of the others that pour out of crevices like rats. The air’s alive with shouts and cries and flying bullets and the rat-a-tat-tat of a semiautomatic.

“Demyan!”

I spin at Ilya’s warning and plant a bullet between the eyes of a snake who’d been hiding. When we’re done, no one stirs.

And I pull my knife, crouching over my last kill. I do a rudimentary pat down, but there’s not even a wallet or cash on him. No burner, either. This is a preplanned holding place. I’d bet my right nut on it.

Taking the dead man’s hand, I flick open the knife and cut off his finger, wrapping it in a handkerchief I have, and then shove it in my pocket.

None of these bodies will have ID, so I should be able to get a print. Guys like these always have rap sheets. And then I’ll be able to confirm or rule out if Sergio conducted the attack.

I stand and kick the guy, then look around. My men are scouring the place, but I note Ilya’s doing what I’m doing. Standing, thinking.

There’s nothing here, I figure, as one of my men peers into a barrel, he’s pried open. Someone else has opened another. They’re old barrels but that means nothing. They’re perfect storage for drugs, guns, girls.

Bodies.

But I assume they’re empty as no one’s raised an alarm. Suddenly, Ilya raises a hand and everyone falls silent.

I hear it too. A thump, so soft, coming from what looks like just a wall. We look at each other and I nod. Together we approach, stepping carefully, silently, until we reach the wall.

Part of it’s in shadows, and I see it. A handle. I point and together we approach. He sends a message and behind us, in heavily accented English, Stefan calls out, “Nothing more here. Let’s go.”

Most of the men are out, only three others remain, one a sharpshooter. And they wait, weapons aimed.

The door might be unlocked or locked, but my money’s on the latter. On a silent count to three, I slam into the door, kicking it open.

A bullet whizzes by as I duck and Alina gives a muffled scream.

It’s all I need. I turn, aiming my gun, and I pull the trigger as the fucker aims again. I hit him point-blank between the eyes and he hits the fucking ground.

I step over the dead asshole to Alina, who’s in the corner, dress torn and grubby, her mouth swollen, hands tied.

Shaking, I drop to her and ease the tape over her mouth off, and I check her over, as gently as I can, cataloguing every rip in her gown, each piece of exposed skin, the grubby handprint on her left breast—and if I’ve shot the ass who did that I want to cut off his dick and shove it down his throat or resurrect him and do that to him while he lives and then kill the fuck.

Her eyes are swollen, the summer blue stormy, and tear tracks cut through dirt and makeup on her face. She’s got a black eye, and a bruised lip, dried blood on the inside of the corner of her lower one where the tape didn’t touch.

Her right cheek is black and purple and swollen.

But apart from the handprint, she doesn’t seem disheveled from sexual violation. I’ve seen what these kinds of animals do and they never leave the woman with dignity. And she clings to me, a good sign, too.

There’s no intrinsic distrust of men, even if I am her brother.

“Alina, are you okay? Did they?—”

“No.” Her voice wobbles and breaks, and she grabs my lapels. “I’m… I’m okay. They didn’t…”

She stops.

“Can you stand?” I untie her ankles as she nods and I help her up. They didn’t rape her or beat her, she wanted to say.

Someone hit her a couple of times, but she was also manhandled into a car’s trunk, so some injuries might be from that.

I’m still murdering the fucker who orchestrated this.

“Is she—” Ilya stops, takes in her bruised, tear-stained face. “I should have made some of them suffer before I sent them to hell.”

We start to lead her out, and she stumbles at the door, grabbing at me. “Max! M-max, is he okay?”

My heart shatters for her and I shake my head as I sweep her up in my arms, holding her close. Ilya looks how I feel as her slender body shakes and she sobs into my neck and shirt.

Her hysteria is enough she can’t contain it. Her sounds of grief ring out as we race her to the car and I bundle her in, gathering her to me again.

As Ilya takes off, I kiss her forehead.

“He died saving you, protecting you,” I whisper.

But she shakes her head, hands gripping tight as she sobs. “No. I got him killed.”

She’s wrong. I did.

Simply by being who I am, my sister’s love is dead.

And I’ve failed again.

But this is the last time. From now on, nothing will ever get in my way. Nothing, no one.

“I’ll fucking kill whoever did this, Alina. Mark my words. It’s a promise to you. On the graves of our parents, I swear.”

I make that particular promise for her.

I don’t need that kind of incentive.

Because even if they lived, I’d still hunt down and destroy the cunt who did this.

I’ll stop at nothing, and I’ll find the one responsible.

And when I do?

I’ll make them pay.

And pay.