Chapter 32
DECLAN
H olding my phone against my ear, I rest my other hand on the cool windowsill, the crisp morning air brushing my skin as I gaze at the still, silent woods.
Jesus. Christ.
My patience is wearing thin.
“What do you fucking mean?” I yell down the phone at Conan.
“Exactly what I said the first time. Where do you want us to take him?”
I rub my temples, feeling the dull throb behind my eyes.
Today of all days, when the girls arrive, one of our truck drivers gets a tail on an arms delivery.
So he brakes, smashes up the guy’s car, and drags his unconscious body into the truck to deliver him to me.
“How certain are we that he was being tailed?” I ask.
“Asher doesn’t bullshit. He’s one of Enzo’s best.”
“We can use my cabin?” Conan suggests.
I nod. Actually, a good idea from him. His setup in the woods on our estate has its uses.
For Conan, it’s his hunting ground.
But it keeps us protected.
“Good plan. I’ll head there now.”
Shoving my feet in my boots, I light up a cigarette and trek through the woods to Conan’s cabin. Nestled right at the back.
I see the markers on the trees and chuckle.
He’s already begun the prep for his own Decadence Chase.
Pushing in the passcode, the door creaks as I enter. Inside, it’s pretty decent. Wooden furnishings, a cozy log fire, and leather couch.
And a bar. A fully stocked bar of our dad’s whiskey.
I pour myself a glass and wait for my brother’s arrival.
He bursts through the door, the heavy weight of the bleeding man a burden on his shoulder, with Finn hot on his heels.
Con drops him on the couch, the impact muffled by the cushions. Finn immediately starts assessing his vitals, his fingers deftly checking a pulse.
“Well?” I ask Finn.
The guy doesn’t look well at all.
“He’s breathing. Heart rate is very low. If we wanna keep him alive, I’d need to get him to my medical room pretty quick.”
“Check his pockets,” I tell him as I step closer.
His face is pretty unrecognizable at this point.
Probably should put the fucker out of his misery.
Finn tosses me the wallet.
I open it up and pull out the license.
Igor.
Russian.
Interesting. What are they doing here? It wouldn’t be one of Mikhail’s men. But he might know who this fucker is.
“I’ll make some calls. Is it worth trying to keep him alive?” I ask Finn.
“Honestly? No. Waste of our time. Hit to the head like that. He ain’t gonna be telling us shit.”
With a curt nod and a sharp intake of breath, there is an unmistakable metallic click of my pistol snapping free from its holster.
Finn moves well out of the way as I pull the trigger.
“I liked that couch,” Conan whines behind me.
“Burn it and him. Get a new couch.” I brush him off. I don’t have time for distractions.
This whole thing is driving me insane, another piece in a chaotic puzzle that makes absolutely no sense. The uncertainty is a suffocating weight.
Something ain’t right.
Today is not the day; I have games to play.