Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Christmas Eve
The picturesque landscape of the Shenandoah Valley in winter is right out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, but I can’t enjoy the snow-capped scenery of Dilliwyll just yet.
It started snowing as soon as I crossed the Pennsylvania-Maryland state line.
Not too much to make the roads treacherous, but enough to make me take it easy and pay attention.
After ten hours in the car, my ass is numb.
Maybe I should’ve accepted Syn’s offer to fly down with them, but the thought of being couped up in a small jet with Hendrix for over three hours was a big hell no.
“You sure?” I ask Pyotr, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Unfortunately.”
Fuck.
It’s been months since the Society gala when we cleaned house. Why now?
“We’re tight with one of the MC clubs in Richmond. Diesel is their Prez, and he owes me one. He can have some of his men down there in an hour.”
“Diesel? Seriously?”
“You know how they are with their call signs.”
“Actually, I don’t.” My dashboard navigation indicates a left turn ahead. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I don’t indicate when I sharply veer onto the dirt road that will take me to the farm. “I’ll call you later.”
“Make sure to stand under the mistletoe with your wife.”
I groan my annoyance. He loves to bring that up every chance he gets. “I’d like to keep my head and the rest of me intact.”
“But you want to,” he says, making kissing noises.
“You’re a jackass, you know that, right?”
“I’m your jackass.”
I slow my speed, my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. The farmhouse is about a half mile up ahead. “I’ll get back to you once I get to the house.” Pressing the button on my steering wheel, I disconnect our call and hit the voice command. “Call Tristan.”
It takes several rings before a voice answers. And it’s not Tristan’s.
Constantine’s gravelly tone comes over the speakers. “He’s busy.”
“I don’t care. Go get him. Now.”
He hangs up on me.
Motherfucker.
I press the answer button on the dash screen when Tristan’s name pops up seconds later.
“Syn has been asking when you’d get here. Where are you?”
“Did you bring your gun with you?”
“No. Why?”
Opening the center console, I push down to open the hidden panel and pull out the pistol I keep in there. Attaching the silencer to the end, I ask, “Does Dierdre have a shotgun or a rifle?”
A door slams shut. “I’m out of earshot. Why the fuck are you asking me about—”
“I’m sending you a pin to my location. I’m about a half mile from the house. Do not say one fucking word to Syn.”
I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or the baby.
“Aleksander, what the fuck—”
Stopping the car in the middle of the road, I quickly get out and take off into the woods, using the dimming light of dusk to help guide my footfalls.
The shadows are where I’m most at home, anger my best friend.
I channel that dark emotion and let it seep into every pore, needing it to become the killer Nikolai and Drako raised me to be.
The headlights of the black SUV I caught a glimpse of in my rearview mirror shut off as it slowly edges along the dirt road toward the house. The windows are blacked out, and I can’t see who is driving or how many people are inside. Doesn’t matter. They’re all going to die.
I find a good vantage point behind a thick bramble, take aim, and shoot the front and back tires out before firing four shots in rapid succession through the driver’s side window.
The SUV swerves off the road and tips hood-first down the low embankment into the ditch before coming to a stop when it slams into a copse of trees.
Like a circus car filled with clowns, four men haul ass out of the Escalade and fire in multiple directions as one of them tries to get the driver out, his body nothing but dead weight in the man’s arms. Blood pours out of the half of his face that is missing where my bullets hit their target. One down. Four to go.
Shouts in French rise up as the men scatter. I can only make out snippets of what they’re saying because they’re yelling over one another, but the “Arriver à la maison. Tuer la fille,” flash-freezes my blood.
Not waiting, I burst out of my hiding place, my finger depressing the trigger until my magazine empties. Bodies plummet to the ground, one after another as I stalk forward, my only thought is to stop the men from getting to Syn.
Instead of killing the last man, I shoot his legs, his scream of pain as he topples backward into the ditch echoing through the frigid evening air.
My harsh, panted breaths come out as plumes of icy vapor, but I’m immune to the cold as I stare down at the bastard who came here to hurt my angel.
“Who sent you?”
I already know the answer. I just want to hear him say it.
His hands draw up. “S’il vous pla?t, s’il vous pla?t.”
Blood and brain matter eject sideways, and the man’s body goes still, his brown eyes wide open but unseeing.
“Why the fuck did you do that?”
Hendrix comes up beside me. “I got bored listening to him beg.”
“He only said two words.”
He scans the road and the other bodies lying there. “He said six words. Four too many.”
“S’il vous plait means please, which he repeated twice.” And he should know because he’s fluent in French.
“Potato, po-tah-to,” Hendrix replies in his snooty British accent.
God, I want to throat punch him so badly. Hendrix’s habit is to do whatever the hell he wants without thinking about the consequences or repercussions. The old idiom about looking before you leap is completely lost on him.
“He would’ve talked.”
“My bad.” Squatting down, Hendrix picks the man’s pockets, finding nothing. No wallet or phone or anything useful. “Any more lurking about in the woods?”
“No. Just them…I think.”
Glancing over his shoulder, his voice raises to a shout. “You think?”
“I only saw the Escalade following me.”
Spotting a gun in the grass, I pick it up, check to see how many bullets are left in the magazine, and slip it under the back waistband of my trousers. “Who’s with Syn and Dierdre?”
Hendrix rises from his crouch. “Con and T.” He takes out his phone and texts Tristan. “Who the fuck are they?”
“Laurent’s men.”
The glow of his phone’s screen makes his blue eyes look translucent when his gaze snaps up. “Mathis Laurent?”
I nod. “Katalina is dead.” That’s what Pyotr called me about.
Michael, Laurent’s former right-hand, staged a coup and took over his organization, vowing to get revenge for those responsible for Mathis’s death.
Katalina was the one who actually killed her father, so he went after her first, but Syn stabbed Mathis in the eye with a cocktail fork at the gala after he backhanded Katalina, which is why the dumb fuck came after her. He’ll soon regret that bad decision.
Lifting the trunk door to the Escalade, he pokes his head inside, then shuts it. “Syn is going to flip when she finds out.”
I glower at him. “It’s Christmas and her birthday. Her need-to-know can wait a few days.”
Hendrix returns my glower and raises it with crossed arms over his chest. “She’ll take your concern and kick your ass with it. Besides, there are dead bodies and a crashed SUV blocking the road. I think she’ll notice.”
Good point. I text Pyotr.
Me: I’m taking you up on your offer. Tell Diesel I’ll compensate him and his men for their time. I also need a clean-up crew here within the hour.
His reply is instantaneous, like he was waiting for me to contact him.
Pyotr: Already called Diesel the moment we hung up. Dad will have a crew out there as soon as possible. How bad?
Puddles of blood mar the graveled dirt and grass as snowflakes begin to drift down from the heavy blanket of clouds overhead.
Me: Five bodies and a large SUV.
Pyotr: I’d feel better if I was there with you.
Because Hendrix is a nosy shit, he blatantly reads what I’m typing. “I forgot you were mafia.”
“I am not mafia.” Mafia is mostly cosa nostra. He should know. Syn’s cousin, Andie, grew up in that world.
Me: Hendrix is standing right here. We’ve got it covered.
Pyotr: Hey, fuckwad.
Hendrix barks out a laugh and starts walking up the road. “My balls are starting to freeze. See you back at the house.”
Me: He’s gone.
My phone rings. “I’m serious about coming. I don’t trust them.”
Ride-or-die friends like Pyotr are rare in this world. “I promise, I’m good. Find out where Micheal is hiding.”
Because I’m going to kill him.
“Hold on…” I hear voices in the background. “Mom said to tell you Merry Christmas and that there’s a big present under the tree that you have to come get in person because she misses you.”
Leaning against the side of the SUV, I smile. “Tell her Merry Christmas, and I promise to come visit soon.”
I jump when Syn pops up right next to me. “Merry Christmas, Pyotr!” she says and hits the End Call button on my phone.
“How did you—”
Her heart-shaped face is a mask of pissed-off beauty. “Tell me everything that happened before I dropkick you into New Year’s.”
“Told you,” Hendrix says, chuckling from the darkness.