Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Stay here a minute? I’ll be right back.”
She tilts her head, brows raised, but I just shake mine once. No. I’m not going to scare her over something that might be nothing. We don’t chase shadows. We don’t breathe life into ghosts.
I take the scenic route to the bathroom, a slow loop around the place. Everything seems fine—until it’s not.
There’s a table in the corner. Four men. Their eyes are locked on me.
I don’t look back. Don’t engage. Just slide my hand to the butt of my pistol, and feel the cool, hard reassurance there. Then I walk straight back to the table, grab my wallet, and throw down some cash.
“We need to go,” I say quietly but firmly. “Right now.”
“Papa—” Luka starts.
“Now, Luka,” I say, my voice low and sharp.
His lip trembles, but Ruthie doesn’t hesitate. She picks him up like she’s done it a thousand times.
“Listen to your papa,” she says, steady and calm. “Right now.”
The three of us move like a nuclear unit, tight and contained, toward the exit. Behind us—chairs scrape. Shit.
I could take them. Every one of them. But I’ve got Ruthie and Luka with me.
Shit.
I scan the parking garage and spot our car—an SUV, parked next to a van. I did that on purpose. Cover. Options.
“Go to the car,” I say to Ruthie, low and fast. “Immediately. Buckle him in.”
I’m done playing defense. I’m going to be proactive this time.
She starts moving fast, dragging Luka along and holding him tight. He’s a big kid for his age, and she’s so small—it looks like she’s about to fold under his weight. I turn, and just like that, I’m face-to-face with two men. I know instantly: Irish. I can feel it in their stance, see it in their eyes. Their weapons are already out. I don’t wait. I don’t hesitate.
“Run, Ruthie!” I shout.
Ice in my veins, I pull the trigger.
First one—straight between the eyes. The second—I hit his shoulder. He drops, screaming, and I finish the job. Another shot. Right between the eyes. I walk toward them, pumping lead into their bodies. One after the other. I make sure they stay down. No second chances. No mercy.
They didn’t even have their guns fully drawn. Amateurs. Or maybe they just underestimated me.
The back parking lot’s empty, no witnesses—except one old man sitting in his car, eyes wide, frozen. He stares at me like he’s seen death walking. And maybe he has. I rip open my shirt and show him the sign of the Bratva burned into my skin. Brotherhood. “Fucking leave,” I tell him, voice low and calm. He nods, peeling off like a scared dog. Good.
No one’s gonna fuck with the Bratva. And even if they do—Rafail has the chief of police tucked in his fucking pocket.
I call Rafail immediately, scanning the area for movement, making sure no one else is stupid enough to come after us.
I fill him in.
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
“Back to my house.”
I don’t see any sign we were followed. It doesn’t feel like a safe-house call, not yet. But I have a bag packed, ready to go, just in case.
Fucking shit.
I holster my gun and head to the car. Ruthie and Luka are safe… for now. But fuck these people.
I open the driver’s side door—and she’s sitting there. In my seat. “I’ll drive,” she says.
“The fuck you will,” I snap. “Get in the passenger seat.”
She glares. “Are you kidding me? You’ve got adrenaline pumping through your veins like a junkie coming down off a high. It’s not safe for you to drive right now. I’ll drive.”
I exhale hard. She’s right. I hate it, but she’s right. I circle the car, but before I climb in, I lean down. I don’t fucking care anymore. She crossed the line. She needs to know who she’s dealing with.
I pause, then smirk.
“I’ll let you drive for now, little Ruthie. But you’re going over my knee for this. I swear to fuck. This is not how I operate, and—”
“Threatening me with a good time,” she cuts in with a grin, not missing a beat. But her cheeks are flushed pink.
Fuck my life.
She’s into this.
Damn.
I shut the door behind me and slide into the passenger seat. She’s right—my body’s still humming with adrenaline. I need to cool down. And I need to check in with Rafail again.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“I’m fine,” she says, eyes on the road. “Are you?”
I glance into the back. Luka’s got his headphones on, watching a show on her phone, totally unbothered. Oblivious.
“He didn’t see anything,” she whispers, like she’s trying to believe it herself.
“Fuck.”
“Vadka,” she mutters under her breath. “You really need to stop swearing.”
“I know, I know…”
I check my texts with Rafail. There’s no evidence the Irish are still close, but those two? They felt personal. Too personal. Like they had a vendetta or maybe tied to someone I’ve already put six feet under. Figures. I’ve hosed down half of fucking Ireland at this point. I’m a walking target.