28. Mikhail
28
MIKHAIL
T he photo of Alex glares back at me from my phone screen.
Something about him doesn’t sit right. I can’t explain it, but I trust my instincts. And my instincts are telling me he’s a problem.
The car door opens, and Torres slides into the passenger seat, shaking off the cold as he exhales.
“You don’t like that guy, do you?” he asks, nodding toward my phone.
I don’t answer.
Because we both know the truth.
Torres lets out a low chuckle, resting his elbow on the door. “Well, you have good reasons not to.” He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. “I dug around. The guy arrived in town around the same time as Lila.”
I go still.
“Coincidence?” Torres shrugs, smirking. “I think not.”
I take the paper, my jaw tightening as I scan through it.
Nothing.
No past records. No history before Camden Hill.
Who the fuck is he?
“He’s not saying who he is,” Torres continues, watching me closely. “And considering the way he’s been circling Lila? I don’t like it.”
Neither do I.
I can feel my blood heating, my fingers curling around the steering wheel. “You think he’s dangerous?”
Torres snorts. “He’s not you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I shoot him a warning look.
He smirks, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, boss. Guy’s been way too friendly, way too interested. You sure Maggie didn’t blabber about the baby shower?”
A muscle in my jaw twitches.
Fuck.
I didn’t want him there. I still don’t.
The thought of Alex anywhere near Lila, near my children?—
My hands tighten dangerously on the wheel.
Torres is watching me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m still shocked you helped Maggie organize it.”
I don’t respond.
“Must really love her, huh?” he adds, almost offhandedly—but then he sees the way my expression darkens, the way my grip tightens just a fraction more.
His smirk vanishes, and his brows lift slightly. “You really do love her,” he murmurs, like the realization just dawned on him.
I don’t say anything.
Because I don’t need to.
I restart the engine, the quiet hum filling the car. “I can’t lose her,” I say simply.
Torres is silent for a beat.
Then he exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah. I get that.”
I put the car in gear, my mind razor-focused now. “Tell me more about the guy,” I say, my tone sharp as steel.
Because one thing is certain.
If he’s a threat to Lila, I will bury him.
The drive to the Fevre Inn is quiet.
I grip the wheel tightly, my foot pressing heavier on the gas. The thought of Lila at the Inn, surrounded by people I don’t trust, sits like a stone in my gut.
“You think this Alex guy will make a move tonight?” Torres asks, breaking the silence.
“He won’t get the chance,” I mutter.
Torres exhales, shaking his head. “You’re really on edge, huh?”
I don’t answer.
Because something doesn’t feel right.
I keep my focus on the road, gripping the wheel tighter, my jaw locked.
Then, just as we approach the long driveway leading to the Inn?—
Gunshots.
I react instantly, slamming the brakes and throwing the car into park, my hand already reaching for my gun.
Torres curses, his eyes sharpening. “Shit. That’s coming from the property.”
I throw open the door, stepping out fast, adrenaline surging through my veins.
Another shot rings out.
We move fast, staying low as we weave through the shadows, scoping out the property.
Gunfire still rings through the air, sharp cracks splitting the night, but I don’t rush blindly toward the noise.
Not yet.
Because something isn’t adding up.
Torres nudges my arm, his voice low. “You see that?”
I follow his gaze.
There are men everywhere, moving in coordinated formations, covering entrances, blocking off pathways.
Too many.
Too organized.
This isn’t just some random attack.
Torres tenses beside me, his fingers flexing over his weapon. “Some of those guys—I recognize them,” he mutters. “They were at that abandoned compound I checked out the other day.”
My blood runs cold.
I narrow my eyes at a group huddled near the warehouse entrance. A flash of ink on one of their wrists catches my attention.
A brand I’ve seen before.
A mark I know too well.
Evans’s men.
Lila’s father.
My chest tightens, fury curling hot and sharp in my gut.
This isn’t just some small-time job.
This is something bigger.
And Evans is involved.
Torres must see it too because he exhales sharply, his face darkening. “What are they still doing here?” he mutters. “Didn’t you tell them to leave?”
“I did.”
Because I did tell them to leave. I made it very clear to Evans that his job was done. That he had no reason to be anywhere near Lila or this town anymore.
And yet?—
Here they are.
Torres curses under his breath, his eyes narrowing.
We move fast, slipping through the dark, tracking the movement of the men stationed around the property. The place is crawling. More than a dozen outside, and from the way they’re positioned—guarding the exits, watching the perimeter—there are more inside.
I signal Torres. “We take them quietly. Work from the west side in.”
He nods.
We strike.
I fire before the first guard can yell, the bullet tearing through his skull. His body drops, but the sound is like setting off a trip wire.
Gunfire explodes into the night. A hail of bullets whizzes past me, punching into the stone wall behind us. Torres ducks, firing back in rapid succession, dropping two before they can adjust their aim. I move fast, pressing against the trunk of a parked car, scanning the chaos. They’re spreading out now, taking cover, barking orders.
I don’t wait for them to regroup.
I push off the car and charge.
Torres is covering my six, laying down fire, his shots precise, efficient. The ones near the warehouse doors take cover, but I catch a glimpse of movement—one of them circling around, trying to cut us off.
I dive low, rolling behind a stack of crates just as another round of gunfire sprays the area. Wood splinters around me. I pivot, taking out the shooter with two clean shots to the chest.
For a second, everything is still.
Then—chaos.
Gunfire erupts from every direction.
Torres and I move fast, ducking low as bullets tear through the air. I fire twice, dropping two men before they can react. Torres presses against the SUV, firing at the ones near the warehouse entrance.
I take off toward the main building, cutting through the cross fire. A man lunges at me from the side, blade glinting under the lights. I sidestep, grip his wrist, twist—his own knife buries itself into his stomach. I shove him off before he can drag me down with him.
The moment I step inside the warehouse, I know I’m outnumbered.
The place is crawling with men—Ryan’s, Evans’s—but I don’t stop moving.
I tear through them.
A blade swings toward me. I catch the attacker’s wrist, twisting hard enough to snap bone before shoving my knife into his gut. I don’t pause as he slumps forward, gasping for breath.
Gunfire erupts from the other side of the room. I dodge, roll behind a stack of crates, and fire two shots. Both hit their marks.
I need to find Lila.
A man rushes me with a crowbar. Stupid. I sidestep his swing and slam my elbow into his throat, cutting off his breath before shooting him point-blank.
I turn, moving toward the back of the warehouse?—
Then something sharp hisses past my ear, embedding into the wooden beam beside me.
I pivot, gun raised?—
Alex.
He stands a few feet away, gun trained on me, his expression unreadable.
Fury spikes through me. “You,” I growl.
His mouth presses into a thin line. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
I pull the trigger.
He ducks, firing in return?—
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, something thudding just past my shoulder and hitting one of the men who goes down in a heap.
He missed. Barely.
I lunge forward, but his sleeves ride up as he moves, exposing the tattoo on his wrist.
A sun.
The same sun Alexei had.
My blood runs cold. “You,” I breathe, staring at him.
His eyes meet mine, something dark and knowing flickering there.
Realization slams into me like a freight train.
“You are Alexei.”