Page 3

YULIAN

THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER

“ Blyat’! ”

I barely restrain myself from hurling my phone across the street.

Maksim’s update has been nothing but shitty news: Nikita still hasn’t been found. Not at her apartment, not at her usual haunts, not even at HQ.

Maks is my best friend and second-in-command, but he’s still getting my full wrath right now. Mostly because I have nowhere else to vent.

“Boss—”

“Did I fucking stutter?” I interrupt. “ Find her. ”

“I’ve got all our men on it,” Maksim sighs. “Did you find out why her GPS signal died in Brownsville?”

“Hey!” someone pipes up down the sidewalk.

I ignore that voice behind me.

“No,” I mutter to Maksim. The truth is, I don’t have a goddamn clue why Nikita’s GPS would lead here at all.

She lives in Manhattan, for fuck’s sake. There’s nothing in this armpit of New York that could have lured her here?—

Unless…

Unless she found a lead.

“Excuse me? Sir?” The voice behind me is closer now. More insistent. “Your car is?—”

“Shh.” I hold up a finger to silence the nagging woman. Whatever she wants with my car, she can wait until I’m done. “Maks, you got anything else?”

“Not really,” he answers. “I just— Wait, hold up. I just got word that the man we captured is awake.”

My hackles rise. “Put him on the line.”

“You’re already running late to the gala, Yul. Let me handle this. I can?—”

“ Now, Maks.”

My second gives a frustrated sigh. “Alright, fine. But I’m not driving your ungrateful ass halfway across the city during rush hour.”

“You will if I need it.”

He bites out a curse in Russian. He knows I’m right. He knows he’ll never say no to me, even if I’m the one making myself late for tonight’s event.

Maksim is a lot of things, but disloyal isn’t one of them.

Not when it comes to me.

Which is why I don’t doubt for a second that he’ll do as I say.

There’s a little scuffling at the other end of the line. I walk into an alley and lean against the graffitied wall. It isn’t exactly a private setting to carry out an interrogation by phone, but it’s as private as it’ll get right now.

“No!” a new voice cries out. “I don’t know anything! I don’t?—”

“According to his ID, his name is Boyan,” Maksim informs me. “Just so you two can be on a nice, friendly, first-name basis.”

“Hello, Boyan.” My tone goes as cold as the fucking grave. “I’m going to ask you a few questions now. If you answer them, I’ll ensure that you don’t suffer. If you don’t… Well. There’s only so much I can do.”

“I don’t know anything!” Boyan repeats, panicked. “I never met her! I just?—”

“Maksim,” I cut in, “break one of his fingers.”

He doesn’t hesitate. A second later, a sickening crunch echoes across the line, followed by a scream.

“Let’s try this again,” I growl. “I will ask. You will answer. Say you understand.”

Boyan’s wails turn to silent sobs. “Y-yes. I understand.”

“Good. Then tell me how you knew Nikita.”

“I d-didn’t,” the man sniffles. “I swear, I?—”

“Maksim. Break another.”

A second crunch.

A second scream.

“T-that wasn’t the deal!” Boyan cries. “I answered your question!”

“And I didn’t fucking like it,” I snarl. “So do better.”

“I was hired! I-I swear, I?—”

Bingo.

“Tell me what they hired you to do,” I demand. “You have five seconds.”

To Boyan’s credit, it only takes him two to answer this time.

“T-to clean up!” he blurts. “I was s-supposed to clean her place. Like, wipe down the surfaces, get rid of traces.”

“Doesn’t sound like a normal cleaning gig to me.”

“I needed the money,” he sobs. “I c-couldn’t be picky. Please, sir, let me go, I promise I won’t tell?—”

“Name your client. Then I’ll consider it.”

Boyan’s breath stutters. “N-name?”

“Yes,” I grit. “I want a name.”

“I c-can’t?—”

“ Maksim .”

“Please, no!”

I hear scuffling, then another familiar sound—the sweet snapping of bone.

“ Arghh! I don’t know! T-they never say who they are! They hire through notes and pay cash! I swear, I have no idea who it is!”

They never say who they are.

Boyan’s words burrow deep into me.

My blood turns to ice water, carrying a numbing cold through me—the cold of suspicion.

Of memories.

Blood on the floor. Blood everywhere. The smell of gunpowder in the air, the echoes of screams.

White tablecloths stained red, red, red ? —

“Maksim,” I bark, “kill him.”

“No! Please, have mercy! I swear I don’t know anything! I?—”

BANG.

Boyan’s body thumps to the ground.

Thank God. Motherfucker was starting to give me a headache.

Moments later, I hear Maksim’s voice again. “So? We believe him?”

“I don’t know. He pissed me off.”

My second barks a laugh. “God, I fucking love working for you. Never a dull moment.”

“Good to know employee satisfaction is high.”

“I mean, the dental benefits suck, but I digress. Anyway—what about tonight?” Maksim asks, a swift change of subject. “You still going to the event?”

“StarTech’s future depends on this deal,” I say. “And I don’t need to remind you what else is on the line.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I grit my teeth. Maksim’s cheer clashes with my mood on the best of days, and today’s not a good day to begin with.

Not by a long shot.

“Without Nikita, I’m fucked. Find me a replacement date.”

“That’s gonna be hard on short notice.”

“I don’t give a shit.” My phone cover cracks in my hand as I clench it tight. “And keep looking for Nikita. I want her found.”

Before Maks can answer, I hang up.

Fucking hell.

This had to happen tonight , of all nights?

Plus-ones are a status symbol, as much as a good suit and an expensive watch. And the man I’m meeting tonight, Baldwin, is exactly the kind of shallow bastard to care mostly about the arm candy I bring for him to gawk at.

If I show up alone, this deal’s as good as dead.

Meet me there with my date, I type quickly to Maksim.

But as I walk to my car, I realize the problem with that plan.

My car isn’t there anymore.

“What the—” My eyes fix on the bright orange sticker on the ground. A towing company’s details. “ Blyat’. ”

Furious, I type in the towing company’s number and call.

“You have my car,” I spit the second someone picks up.

An automated voice answers me. “You’ve reached Brownsville Towing Trucks. If you want to report a car, press?—”

“I want to talk to a fucking human, goddammit.”

The robotic voice keeps blathering on. “ … To get your car back, please show up with your documentation between 9:00 A.M. and 6:00 P.M.”

I glance at my watch: 8:34 P.M.

“Fuck.”

“To go back to the menu, press?—”

“FUCK!”

I toss my phone across the street. It lands with a loud crack on the concrete, shards flying every which way.

I don’t need this shit. Not today of all days. Not when the thing I’ve been chasing after for so long is finally within my reach.

A way to find my family’s killers—to get my revenge.

But it can’t happen without Baldwin’s alliance.

I pull out a spare phone. I’m about to type another text to Maksim…

… when I see her.

Messy purple scrubs. Ash brown hair, pulled up in a haphazard bun. Tired blue eyes, without a smudge of makeup. A beauty mark just under her chin that draws my eyes like a target…

… and a shit-eating grin like the cat who ate the canary.

All at once, I know what happened.

I stalk towards the woman. As I get closer, I realize how tiny she is—barely reaching my shoulder.

But if she thinks she’s getting my merciful side, she’d better think again.

That shit does not exist.

“You.” I stop in front of her. “Did you get my fucking car towed?”

She freezes. Then she turns with steel in her spine, her shoulders held up, chin raised in defiance.

For a tiny thing, she’s a spitfire.

“I did try to tell you.”

“You had no right.”

I can tell my closeness rattles her, but she hides it better than most. It’s a refreshing novelty. The way she holds my gaze. The way she doesn’t back down, not even for a second.

It’s been years since anyone’s spoken to me like this—like I don’t fucking scare them.

That can only mean one thing.

She doesn’t know who the fuck I am.

Just like that, I get an idea.

Whether it’s a good idea or a bad idea remains to be seen.