Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Artyom
Mikhail stands across from me in my office, scrolling through messages on his phone with that tight frown he gets when something isn’t adding up, and the longer I look at him, the more I feel the same pressure building in my chest. Two days and still, we’re no closer to knowing who tried to take Kira outside the club.
Two days where I’ve been forcing myself to stay calm, so I don’t burn the whole fucking city down for answers.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Mikhail mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Boris knows better than to risk this. He wouldn’t touch your woman. It would be suicide.”
“It looks like him,” I say, because the pattern fits—timing, territory, method—but my gut rejects the idea entirely.
Boris is many things: greedy, arrogant, reckless when he feels invincible.
But this? Grabbing Kira and going after me through her?
That would be a declaration of war, and even he isn’t stupid enough to break our alliance like that over nothing.
“Unless someone wants it to look like him,” Mikhail adds, and that’s the only explanation that makes the slightest bit of sense, but it’s not enough. I need more than a theory before I put a bullet in someone’s head.
My phone buzzes on the desk, and I check the screen immediately. Kira. I feel something shift low in my stomach, irritation mixing with something I don’t want to name. I pick it up.
“Where are you?” I ask immediately.
She should be at the hospital now. I told her to call me if anything felt off, and I’ve been thinking about her all morning even though I tried to convince myself I wasn’t.
“I got held up,” she says, too light, too casual, her voice stretched thin. “I’ll be home a bit later.”
My eyes narrow. “Held up by what?”
There’s a brief hesitation on the line, small but sharp enough to cut through whatever patience I had left.
“Work,” she says. “It’s nothing. I just—I’ll be late.”
I stare at the floor for a long beat, listening to her breathing, measuring every small tremor in her voice. She’s lying to me. I don’t know why yet, but I know she is, and the awareness hits me fast and sudden, like a gunshot.
“All right,” I say slowly, even though nothing in me is all right. “Come home soon.”
I end the call and keep the phone in my hand because I don’t trust myself to put it down without throwing it across the room.
Mikhail watches me, his brows raised. “Problem?”
“Yes,” I say, already grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair. “She’s not at the hospital.”
He straightens immediately. “What do you mean she’s not? Her shift shouldn’t be over yet.”
I give him a sharp look and pull out my phone, dialing the hospital with the calmest tone I can manage. “Let’s find out.”
Collins answers immediately, her voice stiff and overly polite in that way people get when they’re scared they might say the wrong thing. “Mr. Morozov, of course, how can I assist you? Everything is in order with Ms. Jones—no issues at all.”
“I’m calling to make sure our arrangement stays the same,” I say smoothly, as if that’s the only thing on my mind. “She shouldn’t have to deal with any unnecessary problems at work.”
“Absolutely not,” the woman rushes out. “We respect her completely, and I personally let her leave early today. Anything she needs, anything you need—please don’t hesitate to tell me.”
My jaw tightens so hard I feel it in my teeth, but my voice stays even. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to confirm.”
“Oh, yes, yes, we’ll continue to take excellent care of her.”
“I’m sure you will,” I say before hanging up.
The moment the call ends, all the civility in my tone evaporates, replaced by the heat sitting low and sharp in my chest.
“She left early,” I say quietly, almost to myself. “And she lied about it.”
“Did she sound sick on the phone?” Mikhail asks.
I shake my head once. “She sounded like she was trying not to be caught.”
Mikhail exhales sharply. “Fuck.”
Exactly.
I head for the door, chest tight with something that feels like a mix of fury and fear, and I hate the second part of it more.
I don’t get afraid, but the second someone looks at her the wrong way, touches her, thinks about taking her from me, something shifts in me so violently I can barely think straight.
Mikhail follows close behind as we move through the house and out to the car.
“You think she’s in danger?” he asks as I slide into the driver’s seat.
“I think I don’t know where she is,” I say, starting the engine, “and that’s enough.”
We pull onto the street, and I replay the sound of her voice, strained while trying to sound normal.
There was no panic or immediate danger, but she was hiding something.
And I can’t shake the memory of the SUV I assigned to follow her, the one she accepted too easily when I showed her in the garage.
If she walked out of the hospital without checking whether my men were behind her…
or worse, if someone else was behind her…
My grip tightens on the wheel.
Mikhail glances over. “You think she met someone.”
The thought hisses through me like a blade.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But she wouldn’t lie unless she had a reason.”
“Good reason or bad reason?”
I clench my jaw. “Either one puts her at risk.”
We pass through the left turn at full speed, tires humming against the road, and I feel myself slipping into the state I go into before something breaks—the hyper-focused silence where all I can hear is my pulse and the faint echo of Kira’s voice.
I thought keeping her close would make things easier.
That once she was here, under my roof, under my protection, everything would settle.
But she has this way of doing the one thing I don’t expect, the thing that knocks me off balance, the thing that reminds me she isn’t just another piece on the board for me to move around.
She’s something else entirely, dangerous in a way I didn’t prepare for.
I press harder on the gas.
“Call the men near the hospital,” I tell Mikhail. “I want to know if anyone saw her leave. I want to know who followed her. I want locations, cameras, descriptions—everything.”
He nods, already dialing. “And if we find someone?”
“If they touched her,” I say, my voice low, steady, certain, “they’re dead.”
I turn the next corner, my pulse heavy in my throat, because I know the truth even before we find her. Kira didn’t walk away from safety for nothing. She’s going to someone, or someone is coming for her. And whoever it is, I’ll get to them first.
Kira
The place Lucas texted is an old side street behind a row of closed stores, the kind of area that looks empty even when people are around, and for a moment I stand there with my hands shoved deep in my pockets, wondering what the hell I’m doing and why it feels like my whole chest is trying to collapse in on itself.
I keep glancing around because it’s getting darker, the air colder, and every sound hits my nerves like a warning, but then I see him, leaning against a wall a few meters away, his head down, his shoulders hunched, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.
“Lucas?” I call out quietly.
He looks up, and the sight of him knocks the air out of me.
He’s thinner than before, his cheekbones sharp, eyes bloodshot and sunken, jaw clenched like he’s holding himself together by force.
He pushes off the wall and walks toward me, and the closer he gets, the more he looks like someone I don’t fully recognize.
“Kira,” he says, and his voice cracks in the middle, rough in a way that tells me he’s either been crying or yelling. He stops in front of me and stares for a long second before pulling me into a hard hug, his hands gripping the back of my coat like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I stand stiff for a moment, unsure whether to hug him back, then I slowly lift my arms and hold him, even though everything inside me feels too tense to soften.
“You look awful,” I whisper.
“So do you,” he mutters, but there’s no humor in it.
When he pulls away, he wipes his face with the back of his hand and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear something out of his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry, Kira.
I know I messed everything up. I know I’ve—God, I’ve ruined your life and mine and I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”
My throat tightens. “Lucas—”
“No, listen,” he cuts in quickly, voice sharp and desperate. “You shouldn’t be with him. You shouldn’t even be near a man like that. You don’t know what you’re doing. Come with me, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
I freeze. “Lucas, I’m not leaving with you.”
His jaw tenses. “He’s got you brainwashed or something. I mean, look at you. You’re defending him? Him? The man who is putting a gun to my head?”
I flinch.
“He didn’t hurt me,” I say quietly.
Lucas laughs, and it sounds bitter, broken. “Yeah. Yet.”
He steps closer, grabbing my arm with too much force, his fingers digging into my sleeve. “Kira, you have no idea who you're dealing with. He’s a monster. You think he loves you? You think he sees you as anything but something he owns? Look at you. Look at what you’ve become.”
“Stop,” I say, pulling my arm back, but he grips harder.
“You think you’re safe with him?” he spits out. “You think he won’t toss you aside when he gets bored? You think you matter to him? You’re just convenient, Kira. That’s all you’ve ever been to him.”
It hits a nerve so deep I feel it like a bruise forming from the inside.
“Lucas,” I say again, my voice unsteady, “let go of me.”
But he doesn’t. His eyes go wild for a moment, full of panic and frustration and something darker. “I need you,” he says, shaking his head hard. “I don’t have anyone else. We’re the only family we have left. You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I say, forcing the words out, even though part of me feels split open. “But I’m not going with you. I can help you, but I’m not running away with you.”
His grip tightens again, almost painful. “You already chose him,” he says, voice low and shaking. “I can see it all over your face. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
The breath catches in my throat because saying no feels like lying and saying yes feels impossible.
Lucas sees the hesitation and his expression twists. “Jesus Christ, Kira. Do you even hear yourself? After everything he’s done? After what you went through in the system? You’re just repeating the same pattern. You go from one kind of abuse to another, and you’re calling it love this time.”
My stomach drops.
“Don’t bring that into this,” I whisper.
“Oh, I will,” Lucas snaps. “Back when you were a child, didn’t have a choice. Now you do.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, my voice shaking now. “You don’t know anything about—”
“I know enough,” he cuts me off, stepping in closer until his face is inches from mine. “I know you think he’s different. You think he’s going to save you or fix you or whatever bullshit you’ve convinced yourself of, but he’s the reason you almost died. Twice.”
“How do you—”
He cuts me off. “He’s the reason you’re lying to everyone, including yourself.”
“I’m done talking about Artyom,” I say, trying to pull back again, but he clamps down harder and yanks me forward.
“You’re coming with me,” he says through clenched teeth, and suddenly his voice isn’t desperate anymore—it’s something colder, that scares me more than the men who grabbed me outside the club, because this is my brother, and he’s looking at me like he’s willing to drag me through the street if he has to. Was he really there that night?
“No,” I say, louder, pushing against his chest. “Stop it, Lucas. Let go. Let me go.”
“Please,” he says, and now he’s begging but his hands are still rough, his breathing unsteady, his eyes unfocused. “I need you, Kira. I can’t do this without you. You have to come with me. You’re all I have.”
“Lucas,” I plead, “you’re hurting me.”
For a moment he doesn’t seem to hear me, and then everything snaps at once—his fingers digging in even harder as I try to pull back, both of us reacting at the same time in this messy, frantic tangle of panic and desperation—
“Kira.” Artyom’s voice lands like a gunshot.
Lucas jerks in surprise just as Artyom steps into view, and the cold, lethal look on his face makes my heart stop beating for a second. Mikhail is behind him, tense, watching everything. Artyom’s gaze drops to Lucas’s hand gripping my arm, and something inside him breaks. I see it. I feel it.
He moves so fast I barely have time to react. One second Lucas is beside me, the next Artyom has him by the front of his jacket, slamming him back against the brick wall with so much force my ears ring.
“Let go of him!” I cry out, grabbing Artyom’s arm, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe any differently. He’s somewhere else entirely.
Lucas chokes out a sound as Artyom’s fist slams into his stomach, folding him forward before another blow catches the side of his jaw. The sound of impact is sickening, and I stumble back, reaching for Artyom again.
“Stop—please, stop—he’s my brother—Artyom, you’ll kill him—”
He doesn’t hear me, just grabs Lucas again, drags him up by his shirt, and forces another hit that makes Lucas’s head snap to the side. Blood splatters across the pavement.
“Artyom!” I shout, louder this time, pulling on his shoulder with both hands. “Please stop, please, he’s not—he’s not the enemy—”
Before anyone can react, shadows move at the end of the street. Four men, maybe five, rushing in fast. Mikhail curses under his breath, stepping forward and Artyom finally looks up, just enough to see the movement, but not enough to release Lucas.
And the men grab him. Two pull Lucas away from Artyom, dragging him backward, yelling in Russian, while the others step between them.
“Wait!” I shout, panic shooting through me. “Stop! He’s hurt—let him go—what are you doing?”
But the men don’t listen. They haul Lucas toward a black SUV parked at the corner. Mikhail steps forward with his gun drawn, but Artyom lifts an arm to stop him, his jaw clenched, eyes burning.
“Don’t,” Artyom snarls.
They shove Lucas into the car, the door slamming hard enough to echo off the buildings, and the engine roars as they pull away, disappearing down the street in a blur that leaves the air vibrating and the silence collapsing in behind it.
I’m left standing there with my breathing too fast and too shallow, the whole scene still ringing in my ears, while Artyom stands a few steps from me with blood on his knuckles, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, his eyes fixed on the empty stretch of road where my brother vanished moments ago.