9. Ivan
9
IVAN
T he moment I’m awake, I check the footage of her, spooling back to watch her starting her day. I couldn’t sleep last night, thoughts of her invading my mind every single time I closed my eyes. So I overslept this morning. But before I do anything else, I need to know she’s safe.
She’s moving through her tiny apartment, the security footage sharp, capturing every detail. She looks tired, sluggish. Too pale. I watch as she presses a hand to her stomach the moment she gets out of bed. Then she rushes into the bathroom, her body folding over.
Is she sick? Throwing up two days in a row.
She moves through her morning, dressing quickly, her fingers shaky as she buttons up her work uniform. She doesn’t eat. That irritates me more than it should.
Then she trips over something on the way to the door. The duffel bag she stole. Surprised she didn’t throw it out. The strap rips. Something flies out of it.
A small, silver object.
I go still. What is that?
She frowns, picking it up, turning it over in her fingers.
Then she plugs it into her laptop and everything makes sense. That’s what Vlad was bringing me. That’s what Darren was so desperate to retrieve. I don’t know what’s on it but I know men have died for it already. So that’s why Darren’s trying to track her down.
My breath slows. My body locks.
I lean closer to the screen, every muscle in my body wired, on the edge of snapping.
A slow, seething rage curls in my chest, dark and consuming. She has no idea the kind of problem she’s just stepped into.
What’s on it? I have to find out.
I clench my jaw as she stares at the screen, her brow furrowing, her lips parting slightly in confusion. She recognizes something.
What do you see, little princess?
The laptop screen flickers in the footage. She rips the flash drive out and shoves it into her handbag with shaking hands.
My phone vibrates. I glance at the screen. Maxim.
I pick up at once.
"Movement confirmed," Maxim says, straight to the point. "Darren is heading for New York right now with a lot of men. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“He coming to catch a show?”
“He’s coming for Cora.”
“That girl you’re stalking?” He sounds surprised. “Why?”
“She found a flash drive sewn into the bag, plugged it in. Guessing it had a tracker embedded. Darren knows where it is, knows where she is. He’s coming to get it back.”
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know yet but I’ll find out soon enough.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Get her, get the flash drive, kill anyone who tries to stop me.”
“Good plan.”
The streets outside Cora’s restaurant are quiet.
Too quiet.
I sit in my SUV, engine off, gun in my lap resting against my thigh. My fingers tap lightly against the leather, slow and methodical. Calculating.
When they come for her, they die.
Simple.
I adjust the mirror, scanning the street. No movement. No obvious signs of trouble. But my instincts are razor-sharp, honed over years of navigating battlefields far worse than this one.
Then—
A shift in the air.
A presence.
More than one.
I stiffen, my grip tightening slightly. My pulse doesn’t spike. My breathing doesn’t change. But my instincts flare red-hot.
I clock the movement in my periphery.
A dark car pulls up behind my own.
I exhale slowly, suppressing the flicker of irritation in my chest. The flash drive had a tracker. It’s the only explanation.
Her plugging it in brought it back to life. Now it’s pinging a location to Darren and his people are here to get it.
The first man steps out of the car. Then another.
Four in total.
Their movements are slow—not in a rush. That means they think they have control.
They don’t.
The leader steps forward, a thick-set man with dark eyes and a smirk that makes me want to rip his throat out. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the restaurant.
I roll my shoulders, shifting just slightly. Loosening up.
I inhale, slow and even as I climb out my car and make my way toward them. They’re still facing the restaurant, discussing tactics.
The leader barely has time to react before I slam my boot into the back of his knee, sending him sprawling. I land a second shot to his balls before turning to the rest.
I use the nearest man as a shield, twisting his arm behind his back, making him take the blade meant for me. He chokes on a scream as his own man stabs him in the chest.
Two left.
I drop the corpse, kicking out the knees of the one with the knife. His leg breaks, and as he opens his mouth to scream, I punch him hard enough for his teeth to break. He drops, screaming in agony. Another kick and he’s silent.
One left.
He panics and runs.
I let him.
For a second.
Then I raise the knife and hurl it into the back of his neck.
He collapses with a strangled scream, blood pooling beneath him.
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
I exhale, slow and steady, forcing the adrenaline down. Ten seconds have passed since I stepped out of my car.
I catch the movement too late. The leader is reaching into his jacket, pulling out a gun. He gets off a shot, the silencer making a soft phut as a bullet grazes my side.
I kick the gun out of his hand, crouching down and grabbing his neck, snapping it an instant later.
I push up from the pavement, my breath controlled, but my side burns. People are running, screaming. I don’t care.
I press a hand to my ribs, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through my shirt.
One of them got lucky. Didn’t hit anything vital, but it fucking stings. Same spot that’s only just healed from last time. Maybe I should start wearing bulletproof vests.
I glance down at the mess around me. Cops will be here soon.
I send Maxim a message.
Four to collect. Make it snappy.
Then I walk into the restaurant.