Chapter 6 - Viktor
Snapping the black briefcase close, I tucked the phone away and snatched my sunglasses from Fedor’s opened palm. He stood by the car, holding the back door open like some posh chauffeur, with squinted eyes, and a grim line for lips. “Are you ready, boss?”
Sweat trickled down the sides of my face and I dabbed it off slowly, with clenched teeth and a handkerchief. The sun was fucking hot, and something else—something I couldn’t place—was ticking in the back of my mind, like a memory I was struggling to recall.
“I am here, or am I not?”
A dark brow rose on his forehead, and he gave me a look that said he knew more than he was letting on. “You’re hesitating.”
He was right; I hesitated. It felt like I had left something behind, and that made me agitated. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, threw the briefcase in the back seat, and looked at Fedor’s black double-breasted suit. “How are you even surviving in that shit?”
“A killer look has to be maintained,” was all he said with a shrug before he motioned to the phone in my pocket. He had overheard the conversation—curses and severe threats I hauled—on the phone and wondered if it was related to a current shipment underway.
“Supplier?”
“Fucking swindler. Said he’s from Benjamin and has a good deal for me.”
Confusion settled on his face and his brows furrowed. “Benjamin never sends third parties.”
“I know.”
I wiped off more sweat and crossed my arms in front of my chest. The ticking in the back of my head became a nag and I tried to ignore it. “Must be some hungry lad trying to make money,” I said. “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten shitty calls like that.” I tried to distract myself, but the nagging didn’t stop. I looked back from the car to the factory and hoped it would click.
“We got word from Vlad,” I mumbled, perusing. Maybe that was it; I had forgotten to tell Fedor about the phone call. It was a fucking surprise to get a personal call from the Pakhan, even though I knew it had to do with his stupid brother.
“Let me guess,” his eyes held amusement. “It was about the punch.”
I smirked. “He called to commend me. Told me I didn’t punch him hard enough.”
Fedor tutted, shaking his head when he said, “Poor Boris,” without emotion.
I snorted. “Now, I’m the one that has to deal with the fucking mess he made …”
Then it clicked. The reason for the ticking and nagging in the back of my mind was none other than the red-haired Irish princess herself, and it wasn’t because I remembered how good she smelled or how perfectly our bodies molded, she fitted against me like a missing puzzle piece. Her long legs, her trim figure …
My head snapped to meet Fedor’s cursory gaze. “Is there a problem?” He asked and, immediately after, his lips twitched. “It’s the girl, isn’t it? The reason you’ve been hesitating?”
I allowed a scowl to cross my face and gave him a stern look. If I could have, I would have wiped that stupid smirk off his face with the butt of my gun, but that would only have proved his silent accusation to be true.
I ignored his insinuation and asked, “Who’s been taking care of her?”
He cleared his throat and shifted his stance, distributing his weight on both legs as he parted them. A slight tension fell from his shoulders as he closed the car door as I slumped into the back seat. “Pavel has the morning shift, Anton gets the afternoon, and Mikhail takes the nights.”
“Did you say, Anton?” I took off my sunglasses and a strange mix of fury and angst rushed through my veins. Vipers and Falcons. I remembered Anton and his brother Grigor. Two of the most loyal men we had in the Bratva. Everything might have been rays of sunshine when I jogged up memories about them. But there was a fucking problem.
Grigor got killed in a gang fight. A fight led by the one and only Cian O’Sullivan himself. After Anton discovered who’d pulled the trigger, he swore he’d get his revenge, one way or another. And that same Anton was on duty to watch Cian’s daughter.
Fuck!
“Wait, we need to go back!” I jumped out of the car again.
I flung the sunglasses at nothing—even if I’d been aiming for Fedor’s head—and my feet moved briskly. “Who the fuck told him to watch her?” I growled when he fell beside me, reaching for the silver steel inside his jacket.
“He volunteered.”
It all made fucking sense now. Word spread like wildfire after I captured the Irish princess; having Cian’s daughter gave us the upper hand. No doubt Anton heard it and must have been waiting patiently for the right opportunity to strike. Anger raged a turbulent war within me. I didn’t like being outwitted, and certainly not by one of my men.
Red blinded me and scorching heat that wasnt from the fucking sun stung my skin. I drew my gun and cocked it. Gnashed my teeth and ran my fingers through my hair. She’d always tried to act strong, to pretend she had thick skin and would fight if she had to. Fuck, if only she knew she was no match for the fucking snake. Anton had set a record for gunning down ten men in ten seconds. He was fast and clever, apparently too smart for his own good.
There was no way she could survive him.
As the elevator descended into the basement, I braced myself for the worst and suppressed the growing pain in my chest as we came to a stop. But when our feet touched the concrete floor, the sight that met my eyes was anything but what I had expected.
Slowly, I tucked my gun between my belt, taking careful steps as I neared her cage.
The gate was open, and in the corner, she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest in a pool of blood. A lot of blood. I narrowed my eyes at the sight. Anton’s lifeless body lay close to her feet, an ugly gaping wound at his throat, her clothes were torn, and she was covered in blood. Her lips were moving inaudibly, almost like a repetition of incoherent babbling. Her shoulders shook and silent tears ran down her cheeks.
No further explanations were needed. It was clear what had happened.
When her eyes met mine, I frowned, and she cried harder.
“Viktor...”
It was the first time I heard my name on her lips, and it touched me in a certain way, like a soothing balm on a burn. My chest tightened and a strange pain shot through my heart.
She looked up at me through her shimmering wet lashes, with resentment and trauma in her glassy eyes and blood covering almost every inch of her pale skin. “I ... I swear, I didn’t mean to. It was... he wanted to … I had to fight.”
I clenched my jaw. If the asshole wasn’t dead, I would have killed him myself. “Get up.” My tone was harsher than I intended. “You’re coming with me.”
She flinched and broke into a loud whimper. “No, please … Are you ... Are you going to kill me now?” She hiccupped.
I ignored her question and motioned Fedor to help her up. He did and we made our way to the elevator. Even then, she didn’t stop crying.
I could hear her sniffling from behind. “You’re going to kill me,” she hugged herself and mumbled when the elevator doors shut with a dull ding.
Over her head, I exchanged a glance with Fedor, and when he deciphered the hidden message, the bastard had the audacity to glare at me before very reluctantly taking off his jacket and handing it to me.
I draped the jacket over her shoulders and her mumbling paused. She tilted her head back and I caught the reflection of the elevator light in the sea of emerald. My eyes flickered to her swollen, bloody lower lip. Without thinking, I stroked the soft spot with my thumb, wiped off the blood ... and the doors opened.
Fedor cleared his throat, I withdrew my hand, and we stepped out.