28. Emil
EMIL
Shit hits the fan, and these bastards are suddenly nowhere to be seen.
After flipping the dockyard upside down with my men, I return home and see my four guards staring at me plainly.
“How the fuck could you let her escape?” I sigh.
Of course, this impossible woman would find a way to escape. Running away is in her blood. My guards can only do so fucking much when it comes to protecting Fia, since they’re forbidden from using violence.
“She knows how to knee a man in the balls and cause damage.”
“Yeah,” adds another. “And kick another in the face.”
I remove my suit jacket, sweating through it. The sun is finally out, shedding light on things I would rather keep buried. Tossing the suit jacket over the porch, I undo the top few buttons of my shirt and retrace my steps back to the car.
“Be careful in the city, pakhan.”
“I’m always careful,” I say, popping the car door.
“Luka and the Kuzmins are the one who need to be worried when I rip out their throats and send their bodies on a ship to Vancouver.” I start the car engine, rolling the window down to give my guards one last final order. “If Fia returns, ring me immediately.”
I drive out of the front gates, heading toward the city when I receive an incoming call from the man, I’ll have dead on a spike by the end of today.
“Speak,” I grunt down the receiving end of the phone. “Before I cut out your tongue and shove it down your throat.”
“I’d love to see you attempt that over the phone,” howls Luka. “You have been searching in the wrong places for me, bratan, wasting your time. I know how fond you are of doing that.”
I step on the gas, the car building speed. I brake harshly around the next bend, the tires skidding on the road.
“Drive safe, bratan. I would hate to see you die from reckless driving. Too fucking clean.”
“Hilarious.”
“Anyway, I need you alive so I can see the look on your face when you realize everything is over.”
I grind my jaw, intrusive thoughts telling me to swerve into the tree line and end this now, but Fia is still out there needing to be saved. I have to keep myself alive for her and the twins.
Luka and Alexander can burn in hell with me.
“You might want to turn around,” says Luka. I can feel his smile from the phone. “There is nothing left for you in the city anymore.”
“Cut the fucking bullshit and tell me where Fia is.”
“Right here beside me, waiting to be shipped.”
I grip the steering wheel, the trees closing in. The very world around me feels like it's shrinking.
I step on the brakes, the tires screeching as I make a U-turn in the middle of the road, heading toward Harbor Island instead of downtown Seattle.
“You have a lot of confidence for a man who’s barely able to defend himself,” I say down the phone. “Are you sure you want to tell me your exact location?”
“I’m very sure,” chuckles Luka. “I know how you get around Fia, especially when she’s hurt.”
I end the call and ring my men, telling them to meet me at the dockyard for the second time today.
I already have guards stationed there, and none of them have mentioned Luka. I suppose they still believe he’s innocent in all of this,
“Don’t fucking trust him,” I shout down the phone. “He has Fia in a shipping container. I want you to disable him. Be discreet about it. By the time I arrive, I want him on the floor, pinned down.”
“All due respect pakhan, Luka is your longest friend.”
“Which is why he needs to pay the price with his death when I arrive at the docks. Disarm him and any other men on the premises. And don’t kill him. I’ll do the honors.” I end the call, tossing my phone on the passenger seat.
I grip the steering wheel with both hands and send my foot to the floor.
My tires slip on the gravel as I arrive. I abandon my car at the entrance and jump the fence. Clouds mask the sun, turning the atmosphere gray.
I meet my team of assassins at the entrance and guide them in.
“Is it true about Luka? He’s been conspiring against us this entire time?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I grumble, gravel crunching underfoot as we pass abandoned warehouses, heading toward the container yard.
Finding Luka in this area will be a fucking headache.
Containers are arranged in a certain way to disorientate.
Intruders lose themselves in the maze and have us to deal with when we shoot them on sight, trapping them in the web that Luka helped me fucking design all those years ago when we first established something.
He consolidated me after my father’s death, motivating me to step up and continue his legacy. I refined the business, took the organization from the streets and established it into something much bigger than a few messy hit and runs.
To make sure law enforcement never came knocking on our door, we made ourselves look legitimate, swapping out the streetwear for bespoke suits, fit with black ties and gold cufflinks.
Gold was easy to afford after we scammed a few innocent people, forcing them to pay debts they couldn’t afford. Luka was the creative director behind a lot of the ideas.
Now I fucking see why. He was in this for the long game, plotting to one day take everything from me.
Fog drifts in from the bay, the clouds growing thicker. A few hours of sunlight is all a state like Washington deserves for being home to the worst criminals in America who lie to their own kind.
Man eats man in the Bratva, but it never once fucking crossed my mind that trusted friends could turn on you.
I take heavy steps, a sweat still beading down my forehead even though the sun is now long gone.
Now I see why my father isolated himself from his family.
Opening yourself up to trust, confiding in another human being, is more catastrophic than any nuclear weapon. People see potential, not friendship.
I swipe a piece of hair from my face as we enter the container yard. Fia is the only real person in my life, more real than I can ever hope to be. My life has been based on lies, full of people never saying what they mean.
People only smile because I have money to my name. Remove the wealth and I become a man in love, which is arguably more powerful than anything the Bratva could have ever given me.
The atmosphere turns dark, containers stacking high into the air in every direction. I glance over my shoulder, signaling to my men to keep back as I create distance, disappearing into the next corridor alone.
Calling my men here was a mistake, since they increase my chances of survival. The thought of seeing another day after this one leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I’m undeserving.
Chasing after Fia, apologizing, doing everything in my power to make it up to her, still won’t change the fact that I forced her into this. Good doesn’t counteract bad. My death is the only thing that can reverse things.
“He’s up ahead.” A figure materializes in the distance, fog skirting up the sides of the corridor.
I march forward, shadows dispersing as I close the distance between me and the guard. For a man who remains neutral in all circumstances, unbothered by everything, the uneasy look on his face tells me that we have a problem on our hands.
“What is it?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself.”
Nausea rolls through me in waves, each one bigger than the last. I grind my jaw, knife clenched in my hand as I follow the guard down the dark corridor. He steps up into the container, standing aside to let me through.
Fia is unconscious, her head tilted back, resting against the back of the chair she’s been strapped to. Cuts and bruises line her face, the color drained completely from her face.
Pain stabs me in the heart, a seldom tear threatening to fall from my eye as I face the consequences of my actions. I lose over and over again, the same lessons repeating until I learn to face the music and put a stop to this for good.
The pain encourages me to yield, to drop the knife and let death take me, but she can still survive this.
I rush forward, gently cupping her delicate face in my hands, tilting her head toward me. Her eyes are shut, her mouth soft. Blood tints her lips a vibrant color, red lines trickling down from her mouth where Luka bust her lip.
I monitor her pulse, pressing two fingers to her wrist, measuring her heartrate. Her pulse might be stable, but things could decline if she remains in this state for a long period of time.
I need her out of here before she wakes up. Amnesia needs to work its magic and remove all of her memories. I want her away from this world, away from me.
I run my fingers over her face, estimating how many times she has been hit.
I remove my hands, feeling them start to shake. Anger surges through me like an electric current, each heartbeat ramping up the voltage. I feel charged, like a lightning bolt on the verge of striking. And I want Fia nowhere near me when I explode.
“It was me,” admits the guard, his boots scuffling on the metal floor as he walks on. “He made me beat her.”
I register the words, but my head is scrambled. The bastard is under oath to protect Fia, and yet the first chance he has, he busts her lip and knocks her unconscious?
The lightning bolt explodes, my fist speaking the words my mouth is unable to.
I thrust the guard into the shipping container wall, grabbing his arms, shoving them above his head. Pinning him a long glare, I introduce my fist, punching him straight in the face. He smashes into the container wall, squinting as he looks at me, blood rushing from one nostril.
“He was going to kill me,” says the guard, struggling to contain the nosebleed. Blood drips, his hands coated red. “He put a gun to my head and gave me no fucking choice.”
“There’s always a fucking choice. While you work for me, you follow my rules.”
Something shifts on the guard’s face, the broken nose forgotten about. “Perhaps I no longer want to work for you, bratan, when you marry a liability and force us to protect her. Your Bratva is doomed.”