Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
NIKO
“T here’s nothing, Niko,” Darian tells me, shaking his head as if he's truly surprised. “All these people are completely legit. In fact, they’re not just legit, they’re next level.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demand with a scowl which has become omnipresent over the past couple of days.
“It means her sister, Gabriella Mountbatten, nee Preston, is married to a fucking English Duke. And not just any English Duke, but a cousin to the British royal family!”
Something about that scenario sparks a vague recollection, but I push it aside. It’s not important right now.
“What about the husband?”
“Ah yes, Zack Kincaid - a billionaire by completely legitimate means. Not a single skeleton in his closet. He’s a venture capitalist specializing in cutting edge technology.”
I stare at him in disbelief, my mind reeling. How is this possible? I was so certain Lyah's family would be the key to unraveling her lies. But if they're clean...
“The one thing I can tell you about Kincaid is that he’s been searching for one Emylyah Bascov for the past six years.
My intel - and don’t ask me how I got it - tells me that’s when he discovered the marriage himself, at the age of twenty-seven.
But until he was put in touch with Gabi, he never managed to get close to finding her. ”
Despite his reputation as a vicious thug, Darian is an expert hacker. Something nobody knows except me, so I don’t doubt the information is sound.
I run a hand through my hair, frustration mounting. "So, there’s absolutely nothing tying this to Red Scorpion? It really is all just coincidence?"
Darian shrugs. “As far as I can tell, yes. These are not the kinds of people who would ever want anything tying them to organized crime. I can tell you that much, unequivocally.”
“Fuck! Does that mean Emylyah’s in danger from these people? A loose thread they don’t want becoming public?”
Darian frowns. “Honestly Niko, I don’t think that’s how these types of people work. They’re not like us.”
I pace the pristine, freshly decorated study my staff spent an entire day and night refurbishing, my mind racing. There’s still an itch between my shoulder blades that refuses to go away.
Or maybe I am just being paranoid.
Better paranoid than dead, though.
"Keep digging," I order Darian. "There has to be more to this story. We need to find out why the hell Lenka married off her twelve-year-old daughter.”
Unfortunately, my mother-in-law is ‘not available’ right now.
Something else that has me suspicious. What the hell else did Emylyah say the other night?
The details are a blur, but I’m sure there was something relevant.
I guess Darian’s right, and I need to talk calmly to Emylyah.
Am I ready for that? It doesn’t really matter, does it? I need answers.
Striding to the door, I yank it open and eye the guards standing there at the ready. “Fetch my wife,” I growl to the closest one while I think of the best way to tackle this. With a brief nod, he strides off.
“You want me to stay while you speak to her?” Darian asks. “Or do you want privacy?”
“Stay,” I tell him. “You can give me your opinion.” And maybe act as a deterrent if things get out of hand, although I don’t tell him that much.
The wait doesn’t help my temper, so when there’s a light tap on the door, I throw it open, only to find two worried looking men there, and no Emylyah.
A cold dread settles in my gut. "Where is she?" I demand, my voice low and dangerous.
“She’s not here, Pakhan,” the soldier I sent to find her says, glancing at the guy next to him, who I know is one of Emylyah’s security detail. I keep the same men on her, so she recognizes their faces. I raise my eyebrow to him in askance. “She left, sir,” he reports, hesitantly.
"What do you mean, she left?" My voice is dangerously quiet. “She’s shopping? Visiting Roisin? Having a spa treatment?” I prompt when he shuffles uneasily from foot to foot.
The man pales and swallows, and I know I’m not going to like what he says before he even says it. “She - she’s gone, Sir.”
His voice is barely above a whisper, but the words echo loudly in my ears.
“Y-you told her to get out, and she did. N-nobody stopped her because you said…” He gulps. “You said you were done with her. We all heard you.”
My world tilts on its axis.
The messenger is dead before his body hits the ground, his eyes staring lifelessly as a trickle of blood seeps from the hole in his head, and I holster the handgun I have no recollection of using.
“Get him out of here. Make sure his family is compensated.” Darian tells the others without so much as blinking, like this is something that happens every day.
It’s not.
I usually have the utmost respect for my men, and I know this one didn’t deserve the fury I unleashed on him, but I’m past caring as I storm down the hallway to the suite I haven’t used since the morning before the confrontation with Emylyah.
I burst into our private quarters, hoping against hope that they’re wrong. But the utter stillness of the living room, the pristine, untouched bed and the absence of a couple of treasured photos confirm my worst fears. She really is gone, and no one stopped her.
For a moment, I stand frozen, staring at the space where she should be. Then a different kind of white-hot rage surges through me.
"Emylyah!" I roar as I whirl around, slamming my fist into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. Again.
Another mess to clear up.
The pain barely registers, even as reality sets in.
Where the fuck is my wife? My pregnant wife. How could this happen?
At least Darian is here to prevent me from going berserk this time, and through the ringing in my ears I hear him calmly take control.
"Check the cameras. Now!" he demands of several of the men. “And find out who was on the gate when she left. I want all the information you can find.”
They all scurry away, most likely to avoid being the next man to taste a bullet.
I’m not known for such shows of intimidation or force since I prefer to earn loyalty through respect, rather than fear.
But I’m not feeling particularly rational right now, and they all know it.
I don’t care, it’ll speed them to do Darian’s bidding, and I’ll have answers all the quicker.
“We can track her car,” he reassures me. All our vehicles have location devices.
Except when the answers come, they are neither good nor useful.
My heart pounds as I watch the security footage. There she is, my Emylyah, simply walking out the front gate in the middle of the night with nothing more than a small bag slung over her shoulder. No vehicle. No bodyguard. No way to track her.
The soldier on the gate, whose job has always been to protect her, looks at her like she’s filth, slamming the gate behind her as soon as she crosses the threshold. I want to throttle him. Slowly. While I stare into his terrified eyes.
I shove the fury aside so I can concentrate on the necessary details.
The time stamp shows she left barely thirty minutes after our altercation. Stopping only long enough to take a few essentials. She can’t even have enough clothes for more than a couple of days. Two days have already passed. She could be anywhere by now.
"Track her phone," I snap at Darian. “Find out where she is.”
"Already did that. It's off, boss," he says grimly. "But there has been some activity on her credit cards. She withdrew a decent amount of cash, but I’ve set up an alert in case any of them are used again."
I slam my fist on the desk, causing the monitor to wobble precariously. "How the fuck did this happen? She was supposed to be protected!"
Darian remains annoyingly calm, making me want to punch him, too. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m known for my icy displeasure, not red-hot rage.
"You told her to get out, remember? The men were just following orders."
I glare at him, but deep down I know he's right. This is my fault. Normally sangfroid, I let my unusual temper get the best of me, and now Emylyah is out there alone and vulnerable. Pregnant with my child.
"We need to find her," I growl, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Now."
Darian nods, already tapping away at his laptop. "I'm monitoring all her accounts, social media, everything. If she pops up anywhere, we'll know."
“I’m going to the West Village,” I announce, needing to do something.
To act, instead of just standing here trying to pace out my frustration, which is not helping one little bit.
And I’m too short of men to go around punishing them for allowing Lyah to leave, even if I did tell her to get out.
I just wanted her out of my sight while I got my anger under control.
I never meant for her to leave the safety of the compound.
Objectivity is not a strong point for me right now, even if I don’t want to examine the reasons. I keep telling myself it’s because she can be used to get to me. Because she’s carrying my son. But deep down, in a corner I don’t want to acknowledge, I know it’s more than that.
Still, now my mind is less clouded by emotion, the logical place to find her is with Roisin.
I should have thought of that sooner. Would have if the rage hadn’t fogged my judgement.
This is why being cold and collected is always favorable and I leave the rage to my brother. Fucking messes with your head.
Ten minutes later, I’m glad it’s my driver tackling this interminable journey, and not me. I really do have too short a fuse to deal with traffic right now.
The twenty-mile trip takes an hour and a half, not unusual, but not doing anything to help my frame of mind, either. I tried, in vain, to keep myself distracted with emails and information, but my mind is fucked. Damn Emylyah for this!