Page 74 of Scarred Angel

“Word for word,” she mutters. “Guy’s begging to get his teeth kicked in.” Remi pauses and narrows her eyes as if an idea has just sparked. “You know, I bet Maxy would take care of that little problem for you.”

“As insanely tempting as that is, I don’t want to put that on Maksim. He has enough ghosts, if you know what I mean.”

She breathes out, planting both hands on the Supra’s hood. “Yeah. I feel that.”

Twenty-Nine

MAKSIM

The private dining rooms of the Alpen Rose are usually reserved for larger groups or quiet business meetings. So when Martin got a call from one of his contacts, a man now buried under six inches of concrete, he had no reason to expect anything other than dinner with a trusted friend.

What he failed to realize is that everything and everyone has a price.

I never forget. And I sure as fuck don’t forgive.

“The roast duck is a great choice,” I say, stepping into the dim room. Martin freezes, knife in hand, mid-slice, but he doesn’t look up.

“Mr. Belov, I?—”

“I suggest you choose your next words carefully. Whatever you say to me will decide your life’s next chapter.”

He lifts his gaze slowly, letting his utensils clatter to his plate.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt. Eat. I won’t take up much of your time.”

“Mr. Belov, I heard what happened at the drop. And I’m truly sorry for Shane’s actions.”

I circle him, enjoying the way his shoulders tense.

“That’s funny. Because I haven’t heard one goddamn word from you since that day. No explanation, no apologies. So I’m left to assume only one thing. That you were somehow involved.”

He shakes his head furiously. “No, that’s not true. I told you. I was sick. Food poisoning from a new diner downtown.”

I slide into the chair across from him. “Ah, that’s right. How can I fault a man for that?”

Martin cracks a nervous smile, but it doesn’t hold. Beneath it all, he knows I’m onto him. “But again, it’s been days, three to be exact, and not a word from you or about this drop.”

“You set me up,” I say, simply. No theatrics. No need.

He swallows. “Mr. Belov, I-I can explain.”

“Shane was friendly.” I tilt my head. “Recognized me instantly, despite it being our first meeting. And imagine my surprise when I looked him up and found your name on the donor list for his little foundation.”

He fumbles with the cloth napkin in his lap like he’s trying to fold it into armor.

“I had no choice. Someone threatened my family. They said?—”

“Who?” I cut in. “Shane? Someone else? Martin, look at me.” The question sits between us. He tries to blink away the moment, but I’m still sitting in front of him, waiting for him to break.

“You sold me out because you were scared. You thought you could buy safety. Instead, you bought a grave for your friend and a special chair in front of me for yourself.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that. I told them three men. I told them.” Martin’s voice is small.

“Three men, including you.” I watch the lie die on his tongue. “You doubled the count to six for protection money. You thought more men meant more leverage. You were wrong.”

He finally meets my stare, and I see him measure his options, whether to bluff, beg, or bargain. I bet none of them look promising.

“Please,” he says, the word raw. “I can—I'll fix it. I’ll get you names. I’ll?—”