Chapter 17
Kazimir
In one smooth motion, the gun is in my hand, its weight familiar, arm extended. When I squeeze the trigger, the pressure is satisfying, and I fire a shot into the brick wall over the bar top.
The Foundry is in an old building, but the brick only splinters and cascades to the floor. It’s not a clear shot through. The sharp pop is so loud that for a few moments my ears feel like they are stuffed with cotton and ringing. It’s a dizzying sensation, but I brace against it and stand firm.
Everyone stops.
The politician on the floor is moaning. The men who were previously bent over beating the shit out of him scramble for the side door, and for some fucking reason the bouncer lets them through.
I step further into the room and let my trigger finger rest on the barrel, but I don’t put the safety on. My eyes sweep the room again, moving over countless bodies crouched, men who have pissed themselves or are just completely still in terror. Topless women trembling or in shock.
To Aly again. She’s still half-behind the bar with Devin. Her eyes are wide; the curve of her throat and shoulder barely visible around the corner. “Kaz?” Her lips form my name, but I can’t hear her, not yet.
The blood is still roaring through my ears.
Jak is a hunched shadow at my side, his eyes moving restlessly over the room, hair disheveled. “Mr. Baranov. I apologize, I didn’t know—”
Before he can finish, the side door opens again. Nika steps in, dragging one of the men who escaped. Even in the dim light of The Foundry’s bar, his skin is pale and waxy, and his eyes are angry and roving.
“Here.”
Nika obeys the order and drags him across the room to where I stand just inside the main door. The patrons closest to Jak and I scatter further back like rabbits hyperaware that there are predators in their midst.
The man is forced to his knees, and Nika’s gun is pressed to the nape of his neck.
“Who do you work for?” I ask.
There’s nervous movement in the big room, but my gaze has narrowed, honing in and focused. Nothing will distract me. This is who I am. Cold fury.
The man sneers, but he isn’t going to answer. I learned long ago not to waste my time questioning and torturing when I already know the answer anyway.
He’s not as garishly dressed as Hinto, but Hinto isn’t stupid enough to let his cronies walk around Savannah so conspicuously.
“I’m sorry about this, Jak.” My tone is flat enough that I’m sure the owner of The Foundry knows that I’m not really sorry. My words are simply a formality.
My wrist comes up, the other hand cradling the barrel and grip, and the next round sounds out like a whip. Nika stepped to the side; the bullet punches through the man’s head and into the old floorboards.
He drops like a puppet with its strings cut. His body hits the floor with a sound that does not belong in a place meant for pleasure.
The politician passed out; Jak’s girls are slipping into back rooms trying to disappear. People sprint to the exits like blood from a wound, thick and frantic. Men who spend their days acting like predators are now the prey, escaping out into the street.
Jak’s breath is slow and ragged. His mind is probably racing at what just happened here tonight. When I glance up, I see Aly’s bare knees, and a flash of Devin’s red hair. “Go to them,” I tell Nika, and he does.
My eyes are locked on Alyona. Her skin is pale, and she’s standing there, shaking.
Her chest is heaving, and her mouth is parted as if she’s forgotten how to breathe.
She is wearing almost nothing. She’s too exposed, too visible, and too damn vulnerable in this room that suddenly feels like a slaughterhouse.
Rage coils tight and lethal in my chest.
I move toward her, every step deliberate. Glass crunches under my boots. When wisps of hair fall in front of my eyes, I push them back angrily, feeling my blood simmer in my veins.
Devin is beside her, gripping Aly’s arm hard enough to leave marks. Her face is ashen, and her eyes are wide. She looks at me like I am both savior and executioner.
“Take her to my car,” I tell Devin in a flat, cold voice. It’s so controlled, it’s on the edge of breaking. “Now.”
Devin swallows, nods, and obeys without a word, pulling Aly with her on shaking legs.
Aly doesn’t resist or speak; she just stumbles along with Devin.
Nika’s jacket is shrugged around her shoulders, and the heavy fabric swallows her frame.
She looks back once, her eyes meeting mine, and something in my chest fractures at the raw fear I see there.
Good, a darker part of me thinks. Fear will keep her alive.
Jak is at a table downing what’s left of a whisky neat. He has the wary stillness of a man who knows he has survived something he shouldn’t have. He straightens when I gesture to him, moving toward me without protest. His hands are visible, and his expression is tight.
We stand amid the wreckage of his club, surveying the damage. With the lights on, it looks sadder than ever in here.
“You want to tell me why this happened on my territory,” I say quietly.
Jak’s jaw flexes. “I’ve been trying to keep things under control. I thought she understood not to come in—”
“That wasn’t control.”
“No,” he agrees, voice low. “It wasn’t.”
I study him; the lines on his face are deeper than they were a month ago. Worry is etched by something that has been gnawing at him in the dark. Jak has always been careful, always knows where the lines are drawn. He knows that what crossed the floor tonight did not belong to him.
When I came to him after Alyona’s first week at The Foundry, before she ever understood that she was mine, he had no ties to any group. But now the Bratva owns him. I own him.
“There’s someone else,” he says finally. “New guy. He’s been moving product through the upper tiers, selling to people who don’t know better, cutting corners, pushing harder stuff. The overdoses started after that.”
“Hinto,” I say.
Jak glances at me. “Is that his name? Whoever he is, he’s testing you.”
“He’s testing me,” I agree, and feel something cold settle into the place that sits behind my ribs.
I look toward the door and see my men locking the place down and scrubbing the night clean. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want trouble. I was hoping law enforcement would shut it down quickly, but…”
I turn back to him, my gaze sharpening. “This is trouble.”
Jak’s eyes look past me toward the exit Alyona disappeared through, and his voice drops. “She shouldn’t have been here.”
The words are a match to gasoline.
“She will never step foot in this place again,” I say, each word measured. “If she does, I will shut this down myself, and you will not get a warning.”
Jak stiffens, but he doesn’t argue or point out that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Understood.”
I hold his gaze a moment longer, making sure the weight of that warning settles, then step past him without another word.
Outside, the night air is heavy and humid with Savannah heat. My car is idling at the curb. Devin stands next to the open door with shaky hands, while Aly is already inside curled up on the seat. Her bare legs are drawn up to her chest, and her face is buried in the collar of my jacket.
I get in and sit beside her.
The world narrows, and all I hear is the quiet hum of the engine and the soft sound of Aly’s breathing.
I don’t look at her. I don’t trust myself to.
My hands rest on my thighs, clenched hard enough that my knuckles ache, jaw locked as I force my anger down into something contained, something usable.
If I speak now, I will roar.
If I touch her now, I will not stop.
The car pulls away from the curb, then city lights slide past in blurry streaks. Aly shivers, and the jacket slips, exposing too much skin. Before I can stop myself, I adjust it. My fingers brush her shoulder and immediately heat flares at the contact.
She flinches first, then leans into it. Her body angles toward mine as if seeking shelter. The sight nearly undoes me.
I draw her closer; slowly and carefully. She burrows into my side and presses her head against my chest. I can feel her warm breath through the thin fabric of my shirt. She trembles, and I wrap an arm around her without thinking, anchoring her there.
“It’s over,” I murmur, my voice rough. “You’re safe.”
She nods, and wraps her fingers around my shirt, clutching it in her fist; holding on like I’m the only solid thing left in the world. The trust in that simple gesture is a weight I feel keenly, settling heavy and irrevocably.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” she whispers.
No, you shouldn’t have, I think, but I don’t say that. Instead, I tilt my head down until my mouth is near her hair. I inhale deeply, breathing in her scent; sweat, fear, and something sweet.
“No,” I say instead. “You shouldn’t have been put in a position where that place was the only option.”
She stills, then pulls back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes search my face, and she asks, “You mean it?”
“I always mean it,” I say.
Something shifts. It’s fragile and dangerous. She swallows hard before whispering, “I’m yours.”
The words hit like a blow.
I didn’t ask for them. They are offered, raw and unguarded. Every instinct in me surges to claim them. Sealing that truth into something permanent and unbreakable.
I cup her face, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, my restraint hanging by a thread. “Careful,” I murmur. “You don’t say things like that unless you understand what they cost.”
Her eyes don’t waver. “I do.”
The rest of the drive passes in charged silence. Her body is soft and warm against mine. The estate gates swing open and the house rises ahead of us, lights glowing amber against the night.