Page 108 of The Ecstasy of Sin

I burst through the other side of the woods and keep running, heading straight for the side street I parked on.

Someone shouts as I shoulder past them, but I don’t give a fuck. Not even death can stop me from getting to Wren. I’d crawl out of the fucking grave and drag my corpse to the ends of the Earth to find her.

A trickle of relief moves through me once I reach my bike.

Popping open the storage compartment, I grab the black leather thigh holster and secure it to my body, before lifting out my gun. My jaw is clenched tight as I attach the silencer and slip the gun into place.

One hand is checking for the dagger always strapped to my back as I slide onto the seat of my bike. I lock my phone into the mount, leaving the tracking app open as I twist the key in the ignition, flip the kill switch and fire up the engine.

The moment it roars to life, I gun it off the curb and slip into traffic.

Although it’s quieter on this end of the city than it is in the heart of downtown, I still weave in and out of traffic at top speeds.The second I hit Highway 7, speed limits stop existing. I open the throttle and fly.

The road stretches on as the city disappears behind me, opening up to the dense, rocky forest that is the beginning of Northern Ontario.

My phone guides me through back roads, deeper into the woods, twisting through isolated, unmarked routes carved through rock and shadow. Wren’s signal races ahead of me, too fast to close in on.

I don’t want to catch them on the road. I need them to stop at their destination, and get a little comfortable. If I engage them in motion, there’s too much risk. They could crash, or decide to kill her, or even use her as a shield. I’m not willing to risk her getting caught in the crossfire.

With the sun plummeting toward the horizon, I’ll have just enough darkness to infiltrate wherever they’re taking her, and butcher every man standing between me and what’s mine.

When Wren’s pin finally begins to slow, turning down what looks to be a long, private driveway, adrenaline begins to course through me.

Images of her being beaten, raped, or shot point blank flash through my mind. The thought of her crying out for me to save her has me clutching the handlebars in a vice grip that makes my hands ache.

I’m twenty minutes behind, and a lot can happen in twenty minutes.

By the time I reach the road that leads to the property, the sun is nearly gone—painting the sky in a deep cobalt blue. Shadows stretch between the trees, dense and welcoming.

I slow, handling the bike with precision, keeping the engine low and smooth. Every sound is a potential alert, and every vibration matters.

I spot a maintenance road about a twenty yards away, running parallel to the main drive. I veer off, coasting down the overgrown stretch of dirt as I watch the screen of my phone to align myself perpendicular to Wren’s pin.

I stop, kill the engine, and dismount.

I move like smoke through the trees, blending with the darkness as I pocket my phone and let my eyes adjust.

Unlike Dimitri’s men, I was born for this. I’ve played a hundred games of cat and mouse in woods just like these, and my body moves in silence on autopilot.

When the cabin comes into view, I shift through the thicket until I’m crouched at the edge, surveying the area with quiet focus.

The small building is old and dilapidated. It’s either condemned, or is being used as a hidden Bratva safe house.

I count three men outside. Two by the front door, standing beneath a flickering lamp, murmuring too low for me to hear. The other is rounding the back of the structure, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke trailing behind him as he walks.

Wren is inside, with an unknown number of men. Considering the size of the SUV parked outside, it could be anywhere from one to three additional bodies.

Not that it matters. They’ll all bleed and die.

What does matter is the order.

I’ll kill the three outside quietly, methodically, so whoever’s inside doesn’t do something stupid like panic and shoot Wren.

The sound of a woman’s terrified scream breaks through the silence, coming from within the run down cabin. My heart rate skyrockets, and the need to massacre these men overwhelms me.

She’s afraid of someone that isn’t me, and that alone is enough to fill me with hatred.

The two men by the door laugh at Wren’s fear, but I ignore them. They’re dead men walking, and their time will come.