Chapter 44 Landon
LANDON
“Iaccept your terms, Orlov,” I call out, stepping forward with my hands raised slightly at my sides. “No one else needs to die tonight.”
Orlov’s thin lips curl into a triumphant smile. His finger still hovers over the detonator, the small black device with its blinking red light taunting me with every step I take toward him.
“Wise decision, Blackwood. Come closer. Slowly.”
I move deliberately, each step calculated. My gaze never leaves his face, but my peripheral vision tracks everything—the positions of my brothers, the distance to cover, the exact moment when Sadie will need to activate the jammer.
Sadie.
A foreign sensation spreads through my chest, cold and constricting.
It takes me a moment to identify it—fear, not for myself, but for her.
The realization is jarring. I’ve faced death countless times, orchestrated violence without blinking, felt rage and lust and determination—but this protective fear is new.
I don’t like it. I don’t like that she’s standing there with the jammer in her hands, a target for Orlov’s men. I don’t like that her safety depends on timing and electronics, and luck. I don’t like that I’ve involved her in this criminal world of mine.
“That’s far enough,” Orlov commands.
I stop, keeping my expression neutral despite the storm raging within. I need to get closer. I need Sadie to wait for my signal, not panic and trigger the jammer too soon.
“You’ve caused quite the inconvenience,” Orlov says, gesturing with his free hand. “Your territory, your distribution networks—they should have been mine months ago.”
“Ravenwood Hollow has always been our territory and always will be,” I reply dryly.
His eyes narrow. “On your knees.”
I hesitate, making a show of resistance before slowly lowering myself.
“Good boy,” Orlov mocks. “Now tell your brothers to drop their weapons.”
I don’t need to look to know Xavier, Knox, and Vane are aiming at Orlov from various positions. My attention shifts briefly to Sadie. Our eyes connect, and I see determination replace her fear.
The cold sensation in my chest intensifies. I’ve never worried about anyone else during an operation. My brothers could always handle themselves.
I remain on my knees, my body coiled, preparing to fight as Orlov circles me like a vulture over fresh carrion.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Sadie’s subtle movements—her fingers working swiftly over the backup jammer I’d given her earlier.
No one else notices; all eyes are fixed on the spectacle of a Blackwood brought to his knees.
“You know what happens to men who cross me?” Orlov’s accent thickens as his growing confidence takes hold. “They disappear. Piece by piece.”
I force my gaze to stay on him, not wanting to draw attention to Sadie. “Fascinating. Is there a point to this monologue, or can we move on to the part where you realize you’ve made a grave mistake?”
Rage flashes across his face. “The only mistake was letting you Blackwoods live this long.”
He steps closer—exactly what I need.
Orlov raises the detonator, his thumb hovering over the red button. “Perhaps I’ll start with your pretty little hacker. Watch what’s left of her brain paint these pristine lawns.”
His thumb comes down hard on the button. Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing happens.
The dawning realization on his face is exquisite—confusion giving way to understanding, then panic.
“Something wrong with your toy?” I ask, lips curling.
I don’t wait for his response. I surge upward, my fist connecting with his throat before he can call for backup.
He staggers, gasping, the detonator clattering to the ground.
I kick it away and drive my knee into his stomach, following through with an elbow to the base of his skull as he doubles over.
Orlov recovers faster than expected, drawing a concealed blade from his sleeve. He slashes wildly, catching my forearm as I block. The pain barely registers through the adrenaline flooding my system.
“You think you’re so clever,” he hisses, blood spraying from his lip as we grapple.
I grab his wrist, applying pressure to the nerve until his fingers spasm and the knife drops.
Orlov and I circle each other, a deadly dance of precision and fury. Blood drips from the gash on my arm, but the pain only sharpens my focus. He’s stronger than I anticipated, fighting with the desperation of a man who knows his life hangs in the balance.
“Your family dies tonight, Blackwood,” he spits, producing another blade from his jacket.
I dodge his first strike, landing a solid blow to his kidney that makes him stumble. “You overestimate yourself, Ilya. Always have.”
His next attack is vicious—a flurry of slashes that forces me to retreat. I regain ground quickly, calculating each move as I drive him toward the fountain. I’m winning, wearing him down with methodical precision, when his boot connects with my knee. Pain explodes through my leg as something tears.
I falter, just for a second. It’s enough for Orlov to gain the advantage. His blade arcs toward my throat—a killing blow I won’t be able to block.
A blur of emerald green flashes between us. Sadie. She drives the signal jammer into Orlov’s wrist with surprising force. He howls, the knife clattering to the ground as she follows through with an elbow to his face.
“Get away from him,” she hisses.
I recover instantly, tackling Orlov to the ground while he’s disoriented. Three strikes later, he’s unconscious, blood streaming from his broken nose.
Heavy footsteps approach as Xavier, Vane, and Knox rush into the garden, weapons drawn. Orlov’s remaining men scatter into the darkness, abandoning their leader without hesitation.
“Took you long enough,” I mutter, binding Orlov’s wrists with his own belt.
Vane kneels beside the unconscious Russian, his green eyes gleaming with violent intent. “Just like we discussed? The warehouse by the pier?”
“Perfect,” I nod. “Three days should be sufficient.”
Knox’s face contorts with rage. “After what he did to Bianca? Make it a week.”
“We got her back,” Xavier reminds him, though his voice holds no comfort.
“Doesn’t matter,” Knox snarls. “She still wakes up scared. I want him to suffer twice as long as she did. I want him begging for death before we’re through.”
I glance at Sadie, standing slightly apart, arms wrapped around herself. Her eyes are wide, taking in this new reality—the violence we’re discussing.
“He’ll never touch anyone we care about again,” I promise.
Anyone we care about.
My own statement reverberates in my mind, striking a dissonant chord. Care. The word feels foreign and uncomfortable in my thoughts.
I stare at Sadie, her emerald dress torn at the hem, blood—not hers—spattered across the bodice.
A tectonic movement in terrain I thought was solid and mapped occurs. I care what happens to her. Not because she’s mine, not because she’s useful, not because of what she can do for me.
Just because she’s Sadie.
The thought of her being hurt awakened a visceral protectiveness. I hadn’t just been afraid of losing my property. I’d been afraid of losing her.
I try to find the edges of this feeling, to contain and categorize it. But it refuses to be neatly labeled and shelved away. It’s messy, inconvenient, and dangerous.
“Landon?” Her voice pulls me back to the present. “You’re bleeding.”
I glance down at my arm, noticing the cut is deeper than I’d realized. “It’s nothing.”
She steps closer, concern evident in her expression. “We should get that cleaned before it gets infected,” she says, tearing a strip from her already ruined dress to wrap around my arm.
I let her tend to me, watching her face as she works. My chest tightens with an emotion I can no longer deny.
I care about Sadie Reynolds. And that terrifies me more than any threat Orlov could have made.