Chapter 14 - Jag #2
When I’ve taken his trust, his access, and his inheritance, I’ll take Dove, and we’ll disappear again. New city. New names. Same shadows.
That’s the long game.
And that’s when the front door bursts open, breaking our fragile standoff.
Three figures flood into the tattoo shop, all unmistakably lethal.
Monty, Leonid, and Kodiak Strakh fan out, instantly encircling me. Monty and Leonid hold sleek black pistols, their stances formidable, murderous intent radiating from their eyes. Kodiak aims a damn crossbow at me, his expression predatory.
Hunters. Savages. Murderers.
Just like me.
“Throwing a party?” Leonid’s gold and blue eyes glitter with malicious amusement. “Didn’t invite us?”
“We would’ve been here sooner if your shower routine didn’t take an hour.” Monty points a smirk at Leo’s braids.
“I have a lot of sins to wash off.” Leo waggles a brow in return.
I clench my jaw, recognizing each face from exhaustive surveillance and digging. They’re killers, ruthless and efficient, as monstrous as the rumors. This isn’t a situation I can win through force. But pride keeps me anchored.
“Your town, your rules.” Gun steady on Wolfson, I meet Monty’s eyes. “Is that it?”
Monty hardens his glare, casually aiming his gun, and damn it all, he looks good doing it. It’s the suit. Each tailored thread clings to him like sin, cut to perfection over a body that shouldn’t belong to a fifty-year-old man.
Not just any man. A legacy. Old money. Russian mob. How many lives has he ruined with a single phone call?
My stomach twists with admiration and resentment. I hate men like him.
Wish I could say the same about his son.
Wolfson looks like him. Same bone structure, same god-tier DNA, but younger, wilder, and draped in rebellion instead of Armani. While he carries it differently, less polished, more unpredictable, the effect is the same.
No, it’s worse. Wolfson’s perfect, symmetrical, angelic face could start wars or end them, depending on who’s watching.
It’s me. I’m watching. And I’m inconveniently aroused.
Hell knows I’ve dug up everything on the Strakhs, memorizing every photo and studying their habits. None more than Monty’s blue-eyed freak of a son. And yet nothing prepares me for standing in the same room with all four of them.
They don’t just live in Alaska. They are Alaska.
Raw, stunning, and carved out of ice. If I’m being honest with myself, I’d let them rip me open if it meant I could crawl inside their minds and understand what makes predators like them breathe.
Because there’s a terrible, majestic beauty in them. A beauty that seduces.
But I’m not here for that. I’m here to take back what’s mine.
“Pull your dogs off my sister.” I flex my jaw. “Or I’ll start dropping bodies.”
Kodiak grunts behind his crossbow.
“We know all about your body count.” Leo shifts his weight.
“Then you know I’ve buried better men in worse places.”
“I appreciate the show of support, ladies.” Wolfson lowers his blade and strolls forward, positioning himself between me and his murderous family. “But you interrupted a special moment. Jag was about to admit his undying love for me.”
“By undying, you mean dead.” Leonid directs a pointed look at the gun I still aim at Wolfson.
“He’s misunderstood.” Wolfson shrugs and winks at me over his shoulder. “Aren’t you, baby?”
My brows furrow. How does anyone take him seriously?
“He’s a threat,” Monty snaps.
“I hear you.” Wolfson pinches the bridge of his nose and peers at me. “When it comes to threats, the Strakhs do one thing and one thing only.”
“We kill them.” Leo bares his teeth.
“Mm-hmm. Yeah.” Wolfson nods to himself. “But we all agreed I would take the lead on this.”
“No.” Monty exchanges a look with the others. “No one agreed to that.”
“Let’s try something new.” Ignoring my gun, Wolfson returns to my side, drapes an arm over my shoulders, and taps his blade on my chest. “Threats can be managed. Let’s do some managing.”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Kodiak snarls.
“True, but he’s no ordinary terrorist.” Wolfson squeezes my shoulder. “He’s mine.”
My chest heaves, torn between homicidal impulses and curiosity at his bizarre approach.
Sex is my weapon of choice. Give me five minutes with a man, woman, trans, or non-binary person of any sexual orientation, and I can have them on their back and panting through a release before they realize I’ve stolen their passwords, drained their bank accounts, and opened their throat.
With Wolfson, it won’t just be easy. I’ll fucking enjoy it. He’s irrationally gorgeous, viciously uncivilized, and sculpted in the image of an archangel from the underworld. I’ll savor every glorious inch of him before I take his last breath.
But first, I need to get rid of his family. If I’m reading the room correctly, Wolfson doesn’t want them here, either.
I catch his gaze. “You want me to leave town. Your family wants me dead.” I look between each armed man. “And I want my sister back. How do we reconcile that?”
“Newsflash. Dove’s decisions are non-negotiable. She made her choice, and shocker, it’s not you. But here’s what I can do.” Wolfson swishes the knife in the direction of his workstation. “Let me keep my job here, and I’ll let you leave breathing. Simple enough?”
“Absolutely not.” Monty scowls.
“And he wonders why we don’t let him take the lead.” Leonid huffs.
“Yet here we are.” Wolfson keeps his eyes locked on mine, gauging my response, before turning back to his family. “Look, Rath Vader isn’t going anywhere. We all know that.”
“Rath Vader?” I arch a brow.
“Heavy breathing, dramatic entrances, daddy issues… The helmet fits.” He returns his attention to the Strakhs. “Killing the dark one just complicates things.”
“Or solves them.” Leonid steps forward.
“Do we really need another dead psychopath? Yawn. Been there, stabbed that. Let’s try this new thing called restraint.”
“And risk Dove’s safety?” Monty asks.
“Dove’s protected. Unlike her brother.” Wolfson ruffles my hair. “I always wanted a house pet. I’ll feed him and deworm him and buy him a pretty collar. If he bites, I’ll put him down. I promise.”
I study Wolfson closely, trying to unravel his angle.
He’s not sane. Not even close. He’s madness dressed in eyeliner and flower-printed rain boots. Unmedicated, unbothered, and somehow still functioning. But put a needle in his hand, and the tragedy becomes alchemy.
Wolfson Strakh can tattoo like no one I’ve ever seen. A fact I discovered through meticulous research.
An idea forms quickly, driven partly by cruelty, partly by intrigue.
“Fine.” I narrow my eyes, catching the interest in his. “I’ll take your deal. Under one condition.”
“Yes?” He flutters his lashes.
“You give me a tattoo. Today.”
Silence hugs the room for an awkward moment before Wolfson bursts out laughing. “For real?”
A chorus of objections resounds from the rational ones as I nod, confirming my offer.
“Told you.” He smiles at his disapproving family. “He wants me under his skin in every sense. I should charge double.”
He jokes, but he doesn’t see it. He’s inviting me in. The second he touches me, I will be under his skin.
People think it’s greed or fear that destroys them. It’s not. It’s the need to be unique. The sick little ache to be noticed. Recognized. Admired by all. That’s the real human weakness. The fatal flaw.
Nothing cracks open a human faster than the sweet sound of their own name.
Wolfson wears that flaw like a badge. He might not realize how tightly he clings to his ego-stroking art and personalized validation, but he will. When it all burns, it won’t be blood paving the way to his demise. It’ll be that deep hunger for affirmation that he couldn’t live without.
I don’t have to do much. Just wait. Wait until he falls to his knees, arms reaching, shattered, and shaking.
And I’ll be there. No lube. No mercy.