Chapter 9
Louhi
My leg bounces uncontrollably in the back seat as the SUV pulls into Conall’s underground garage in downtown Boston.
This out-of-control emotion isn’t something I’ve experienced since I was seventeen and the doctors were explaining my options.
I hate this feeling. I’ve always maimed and murdered my way through sticky situations.
Death solves a lot of issues. Not this time.
I’m nine thousand kilometers from where I should be, from the man I love. I hate that Viktor is right about needing a plan if we’re going to get Sean and Kazi out alive. Then there’s the complication of my brother…
“Have you heard from Mercer?” I twist my hands in my lap as the car comes to a stop.
Viktor frowns. “No, why?”
Battling with my frayed nerves, I drop my head back against the leather seat. “I need to get in contact with him.”
“Once we’re back in Russia, we can discuss this again,” Viktor offers, and I grind my teeth.
Fuck, I need an outlet.
Conall McQuaid emerges from the lift as we climb from the vehicle, his eyes widening as he takes me in. I look like hell and a half, but I can’t be bothered. There’s time for a haircut later.
“Louhi, it’s good to see you.” Con’s Irish brogue is thick as he acknowledges me, dipping his chin.
I smile politely as Viktor ushers me inside the lift with a hand on the small of my back.
I bare my teeth in warning. He chuckles, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
He’s always been like this; his hands have some sort of laser instinct when it comes to women.
His two colossal wolfdogs fill the last remaining space as the chrome doors close. They nuzzle against Viktor’s legs.
“I didn’t think I’d have the chance to see you again for another several months,” Conall remarks in Vik’s direction. The two of them have been friends from the moment Con’s father died several years ago and he took control of the Irish crime syndicate. It’s an alliance no one saw coming.
When the doors part, I’m greeted by identical twin flames, part of Conall’s inner circle: brothers, Declan and Desmond. Kieran, Con’s second, is nowhere to be found, but I’m not surprised. He’s been spending more time in Ireland lately.
“Goddamn, Louhi, you look… rough,” Declan remarks, his dark eyebrows inches from his hairline.
The corner of my lips twitches as I roll my eyes. “Exactly the words every beautiful woman wants to hear.”
“Well, she looks much better now that she’s wearing my clothes,” Viktor observes with a smirk, charm dripping like diamond baubles.
“Watch yourself,” I warn Viktor with a lethal smile painting my lips. “He’s killed for me. He’ll do it again.”
He sniggers. “Ah, are we referring to inmate number sixty-nine?”
I loathe to think of Sean as anything other than the guard I fell for, though I’m certain he’s on the other side of things now.
“How old are you? Twelve?”
Vik chuckles, the sound reminding me of a much younger version of him. “Forty-two, actually, but thank you for letting me know that I look young for my age.”
“Prepubescent isn’t a compliment,” I mutter.
“Prepubescent is not what the lovely women in by bed are claiming,” he retorts.
“Are you sure they were speaking a language you can understand?” I snipe as I stride for the wine closet off Conall’s kitchen and step inside. I’ve spent quite a lot of time here, so I know my way around, and I carefully remove the bottle of Bordeaux I’m searching for.
When I step back into the kitchen, Desmond has already set several wine glasses on the kitchen island, and I wink at the quiet twin. Today, he’s my favorite.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I glance up to find Viktor’s attention flicking between me and the expensive bottle of dry red wine as I decant it. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“You look…dehydrated.”
I hold up my broken middle finger. “If the torture didn’t kill me, Is?, a bottle of wine won’t be my demise.”
He narrows his crystal-blue eyes. “I’m not your father.”
“Torture?” Declan pipes in. “I feel like we’re missing something. And if it has anything to do with why you look like shite, I’m betting it’s juicy.”
Too impatient to allow the wine to breathe the way it should, I pour a small glass. “Oh, there’s a story, but I’m only telling it once, so we should wait until Sasha gets here.”
With a Túath glass in hand, Conall swirls his Irish whiskey and changes the subject. “I assume you’re going to be looking for a safe place to stay for the next few days.”
As Viktor and Conall hammer out the details, I lift the glass to my lips. I close my eyes and moan audibly as the decadent flavors of plum, blackcurrant, and tobacco dance on my tongue. Vittu, that’s incredible.
When my eyelids part, five sets of eyes are pinned on me.
“Good wine,” I admit with a shrug. There was a moment on the floor of my dank cell when I feared I may never indulge in my excellent drink of choice again.
Before anyone can comment further, I ask Viktor and Conall, “Do either of you have any jobs for me?”
“Aye,” Con confirms. “I contacted kuoleman jumalatar, but there was no response.”
“I’ve been…occupied. Is the mark in the city now?
” I rarely take jobs with a twenty-four-hour turnaround, let alone something shorter than that.
They’re too dangerous and unpredictable.
However, I need to get my hands bloody. It’s the only thing that will keep me sane and level-headed until I can get back to Sean.
I may as well collect some money while I do so. You can’t have too much of that.
Con dips his chin. “Lenny Johnson.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I think I need some sleep before I start sending souls to the underworld for Tuoni and his wife Tuonetar to contend with.
I can’t afford to be sloppy now.
When the door creaks open, I step inside and am hit with stale, musty air, but I’m home.
I couldn’t deny that it was safer to stay at Con’s place, but I wasn’t going to attempt to sleep without my fucking pillow.
It’s late, but I’ve already gone too many nights without it.
Plus, I could really use some clothes that fit.
Thank fuck, I bought this flat outright a couple of years ago; otherwise, there’d be no chance of gathering my belongings.
“So, this is where you live,” Conall states, scanning my lavish living space. He insisted on coming with me when Viktor said he was going to the private airport to meet Sasha and inspect the arms he brought.
“You’re a bloody genius,” I reply caustically, then yawn.
I hardly slept last night…or the night before that.
I stared at the ceiling of Conall’s guest room with my attention split between the two men most important to me.
I couldn’t stop my mind from conjuring up images of what Sean might be going through or where my brother might be. Maybe I should’ve had more wine.
Yesterday, Viktor threw a fit about me leaving before I saw a doctor.
Ridiculous, really. Especially since I didn’t let the attractive doctor on Conall’s payroll do much other than apply a few butterfly bandages and give me some antibiotics—which I’ve actually been taking.
I even let her draw blood to check my white blood cell count to ensure I didn’t have gangrene or internal bleeding.
As it turns out, my body really is the little engine that bloody could. No gangrene for me.
“Give me a break.” He smirks. “You’ve never let any of us see your place before.”
I shrug. “I like my privacy.”
Although I’m not sure I’ll be able to come back here again. The thought has me rubbing Sean’s dog tags that rest between my breasts. I’d abandon everything for him.
He shuts the door behind him after I picked the lock since the Feds have the keys to my flat. I’m grateful they didn’t use them. “Is that why you didn’t tell any of us that you loved the guy you’re waging a war to rescue?”
Swinging my head in his direction, I find him absently flipping through a large coffee-table book about medieval castles. I was only a glass and three sips of wine deep when everyone pressed me for the story. Viktor will have to hit the highlights with Sasha later.
I narrow my eyes, but he’s not paying any attention to me and charges on, despite my silence. “I wouldn’t so much as sit in traffic for any of the women in my phone, let alone go to war for one.”
“Remind me why we’re friends.”
He chuckles, glancing at me for the first time to find my arms crossed over my chest and head tilted to the side. My shoulders are set, and my jaw is clenched.
The bellend smirks. “Good for you for finding someone. I’m simply saying that you could’ve told us you loved him.”
I roll my eyes and turn on my heel, stalking into my bedroom. Opening the bedside drawer, I unlock the safe I keep there.
“If Declan had known that torture would’ve done it for you, he probably would’ve tried to get you into my bed years ago.”
The safe beeps as the door unlocks. “It’s not a torture kink; it’s a Digs kink.”
“Digs, huh?” He lifts his eyebrows when I toss him a glance over my shoulder.
“Piss off and bring me a bag from the closet.”
When he does, I feel his assessing gaze locked on the inside of my safe.
“Have you heard from your brother?” Con queries from beside me.
I stuff the black duffel bag full of my favorite weapons, the keys to my safe houses, and an assortment of fake passports before tossing some clothing into a second duffle and grabbing my beloved pillow.
Shoving the items into his arms, I change into unassuming tactical gear and my beloved combat boots.
“No, and that’s a serious fucking problem,” I mutter, then perk up, my attention fully on him now. “Have you?”
He shakes his head. “No. He went underground four months ago.”
The burner phone I keep in the safe seems to glow like a beacon, and I reach for it quickly.
I frown as I hold the mobile in my hand.
How would Conall know that Mercer went underground four months ago?
Mercer doesn’t work for him… Or is that just when my brother’s trail went cold?
That makes sense, considering I’d been in prison for a month at that point.
Like he can hear my unspoken question, he continues.
“I’d been thwarting attacks on some of my shipments until four months ago,” Conall explains, and I frown. “Everything pointed to the attacks originating in the UK. But there’s been a lull since then.”
What? My eyebrows scrunch as my head snaps in his direction. “You can’t think that Mercer is behind that. We both know your problems have nothing to do with my brother.”
“No, Louhi, that’s what you believe.”
There’s no way Mercer is responsible for any of those attacks. That doesn’t sound like my brother, but the longer I go without hearing from him, the more concerned I’m becoming.
Conall’s heavy stare drills into my skull like he’s boring into the Earth’s core as I take a deep breath before dialing a number I know by heart.
I stare out at the sparkling skyline through my bedroom window as the line rings…and rings…and rings, then there’s nothing but a vacant click that I hear in my heart as much as my mind. Where are you, Mercer?
Conall remains silent as I dial my brother again with the same result. By the third attempt, my hands are trembling as a sudden high tide of rage and anxiety sweeps through my body. At this point, spilling blood is the only thing that has any chance of calming me down.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Right now, I have a much larger, more significant issue to contend with. One that deserves my sole attention, so I change the subject. Sean first, Mercer second.
With a huff, I shove the phone into my pocket before moving to my computer and accessing the encrypted job postings for kuoleman jumalatar.
Unsurprisingly, there’s a whopping one hundred and eight requests.
My lips hitch as I scan the list to see how many of those the Goddess of Death might visit tonight.
Finding a handful of men and one woman that might be in Boston, or nearby, I make a mental list of my targets, including the man that Con mentioned earlier.
“Alright,” I announce, tucking my laptop under my arm. “Let’s go.”
My giant shadow follows me from the room as I head for the door. “Oh, grab the four bottles of wine in the cupboard above the refrigerator, would you?”
“Is that really on your priority list?” he asks, doing as I requested.
“They cost me a fortune, so yes.” Martin, the owner of the wine shop down the street, ordered them just for me. I’m not leaving them behind.
“Where are we headed now?” he questions once we’re in the hallway.
Armed with basic facts, two Ruger RXMs, three knives, and my .338 Lapua Magnum—locked safely in its case—I start for the where my bike is waiting.
“You’re headed home, and I’m off to clear my head.”