Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
They laughed. Like it was normal.
Like any of it was funny.
“She thinks she’s in charge, but we only listen to Mateo. He plays along, but we do whatever the real boss says. Sometimes we follow her orders. Sometimes we just... have our own fun.”
His voice drifted off. I looked over and realized he was staring—mesmerized—at the cracked paint on the wall.
Jesus. This guy didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.
“They look like lightning,” he said, giggling like a high-pitched hyena.
I needed him focused.
“Hey.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “What do you mean you don’t always do what she says?”
He blinked and came back to me. “Like, she said grab the Russian, but do it quiet. Wanted it to look like he ran. No witnesses.”
“She didn’t want the girl?”
“Nope. Said he had to be alone. That’s smart, right? Keep the Ivanovs confused.”
“But he wasn’t alone.”
“Mateo got tired of waiting. Lied to her. We snatched the big guy and left the bitch.”
“You think that was a mistake?” I asked, watching his expression shift.
“Yeah,” he said, glassy-eyed. “Would’ve been better to keep her. A little reward. Tie her up, take turns fucking the bitch. Way more fun than leaving her for the wolves.”
My stomach turned.
Not because I was shocked; I wasn’t.
But because this was the kind of filth we were dealing with. Not soldiers. Not mafia.
Predators in sweat-stained clothes, pretending to be men.
He kept rambling, his speech gradually slowing. “There was another guy, though. We didn’t plan for him. Don’t know who the fuck he was. Barely made it…out myself. If I find him…”
I let him nod off.
Out cold like most of the warehouse.
Mateo slumped in a chair, a needle and rubber tie abandoned in front of him.
A few others had passed out with their heads on the table.
One guy sat on the floor singing off-key about Lola the showgirl, swaying like a tree in the wind.
Perfect.
Time to move.
When I got back downstairs, Pavel had cut himself free.
He was hunched over the table, sweat-soaked, both hands bracing his weight on his one good leg.
“You need help, cousin?” I asked.
“You hit like a bitch,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
I smiled. “Then you bleed like one.”
He snorted and motioned for me to come help.
I slipped under his arm and hoisted him up. Heavy bastard.
“How hard is this going to be?” he asked.
I grinned. “We’re walking right out the front door.”
“What? What about the men?”
“What men? I only saw bitches.”
He rolled his eyes. “Bitches with guns. And I might talk a big game, but I’m not actually bulletproof.”
“They’re drunk. High. Half can’t lift their heads. They’re not loyal to her. They’re loyal to Mateo.”
“And Mateo?”
“He’s got a needle in his arm and won’t be waking up anytime soon.”
Wishful thinking. But I’d take the odds.
Pavel let out a low whistle. “I feel like a loser for getting caught by these assholes.”
“Oh, you should.” I grinned. “I’m never letting you live this down. This is funeral-speech material.”
“Not if I kill you first.”
We made our way through the halls, slow but steady. Pavel still had enough awareness to carry a gun and check corners, but we both knew if a single shot was fired, this warehouse would light up like a war zone.
I wasn’t twenty-two anymore.
I had no interest in dragging my cousin with one arm and firing with the other.
That shit hurt.
Step by painful step, we reached the exit.
The second the cold night air hit my face, I finally took a full breath.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Damien said as Artem and Gregor took Pavel off my shoulder. “What took so long?”
“The tequila.”
“What?” Gregor asked.
“There were too many to fight. Pavel’s leg is busted. So I got them all drunk.”
“When you say drunk…”
“I mean fucking wasted. Skunk weed, tequila, maybe heroin. I’m not sure. Smelled like death and bad decisions.”
“You really aren’t getting that stink out of your clothes,” Mikhail muttered, holding his nose. “Just burn ‘em.”
“I’m not going with you.”
Gregor stepped forward. “Why not?”
“Because I lied when I said the girl’s motives didn’t matter. I’m not so sure now. I want to know why she took him. And what Los Infideles are really doing. They aren’t following her. Not really.”
“What are you saying?”
“How many of your men show up drunk and high on the job?”
“None. Ever,” Gregor said.
“Why?”
“Because they know better. Most respect me. The rest fear me.”
I pointed at him. “Exactly. Zoya doesn’t have either. They’re not here for her. They’re here for something else. And so is she. Two enemies teaming up? I want them both. I’m going to burn this whole fucking organization to the ground.”
“Wait—what is he saying?” Artem asked.
“I’m saying take Pavel home. Patch him up. I’m not finished here.”
I walked back toward the warehouse. My hand hovered over the brass handle.
Am I really doing this?
Walking straight into the fire, with no map and no way out.