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)
“You think I’m stupid?” she fired back.
“No, I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’ve just been in a car accident, and I need to get you to safety. I’m losing my patience, and the longer I spend trying to convince you not to shoot me, the longer I’m not looking for your husband.”
“I don’t believe you,” she spat. “Pavel never told me about you. You don’t look like them. You don’t talk like them. How do I know you’re not here trying to take me too?”
“Because the helicopter they loaded Pavel onto already left. Artem and Kostya will be here soon. I’m just trying to get you up closer to the road so they can get you to a hospital.”
“I don’t believe you,” she snapped again, a bit of hysteria creeping into her words before she swayed on her feet.
Too much fear.
Too much stress.
Not enough trust.
“What you believe is really none of my concern.” It was taking more effort than it should to keep my tone civil. I was losing my grip on my temper.
I had no experience comforting upset women.
Relationships weren’t exactly my strong suit, especially in my line of work.
The only thing that stopped me from just leaving her here was knowing how hard Pavel would kick my ass if I did.
The helicopter had left, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more Los Infideles members in the woods. They could have used her to pressure and torment Pavel.
It was what I would’ve done. Then again, I had no soul.
Time to move this along; a hysterical pregnant woman bleeding out while holding a gun on me was not the best situation to find myself in.
Too many variables.
Too many ways this could end badly. Like with a bullet in my chest… or worse.
I couldn’t afford to be slowed down.
Pavel couldn’t afford for me to be slowed down.
I looked past her, toward the road—just long enough for her to turn her head. In one motion, I snatched the gun, ejected the mag and round, and tossed it aside.
“Now, are you going to listen? Or are you going to make this harder and keep me from getting him back?”
CHAPTER 3
ZOYA
The second I landed the helicopter, shut it down, and secured it, I stormed into the warehouse to assess the damage this ill-advised outing had caused.
Yells echoed through the space.
I knew whoever that madman we’d left behind was, he had seriously or mortally injured more than a few of my men.
He had moved like vengeance incarnate.
Precise. Merciless. Calculated.
Something had to be done about it. Someone had to pay.
Rage, adrenaline, and fear pulsed through my body, and I wanted to scream.
But I couldn’t.
As a woman, anytime I showed any reaction other than cold calculation it was viewed as a weakness.
If I was angry, shouting or screaming proved I was overly emotional and couldn’t be trusted.
If I showed concern for my men, then I was weak-willed and not suitable for this life. And if, God forbid, a single tear trailed down my face, then it was over.
It didn’t matter if it came from anger, frustration, or sadness.
A tear was a sign of weakness.
These feral animals would no longer consider me their leader—and might kill me themselves.
The protection my money provided only went so far.
Which was why spotting my second-in-command casually leaning against a wall, cleaning his gun while the surrounding men bled and my unconscious prisoner lay unrestrained on the cold concrete floor spiked my blood pressure.
Time to be the ruthless bitch they accused me of being.
“Mateo!” I yelled, careful to not let too much anger show. Just enough so everyone knew I wasn’t fucking around. Controlled fury.
God, walking that line was exhausting.
“Oh shit, reina de hielo is getting hysterical,” someone muttered. I shot them a withering look, and they moved behind someone else.
Ice queen.
At first, I hated the nickname, but now I used it as armor. Another layer between me and the men who worked for me.
“Mateo,” I yelled again.
“Yeah, boss?” he said, not looking up from his pistol. The further into the warehouse I moved, the stronger the stench of acrid gunpowder and carnage became. I breathed in deeply, using the smell of violence to focus myself.
“You said he’d be alone. Why wasn’t he alone?” I demanded.
“I don’t know.” Mateo shrugged. “It was a mistake that should have never happened.” He looked up, his dark eyes assessing me, like he was annoyed by my presence but was forced to tolerate me. “But we’ll take care of it. We’ll go back and kill the bitch.”
Every time one of them opened their mouth, I remembered why I hated needing them.
I hired them because I needed ruthless; I needed vicious.
It didn’t mean I had to like them…or respect them.
There had to be a certain element of crazy in any man willing to go up against the Ivanov family. However, their complete nonchalance over killing women and children was unsettling.