Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
KADE
I’m clenching every muscle in my body so hard, my asshole hurts.
The rage I feel is all-consuming. I want to pay attention to her, and I mean, I am, but I’m also hoping someone does something stupid, and I can explode and let out some of what I feel.
So much fucking torment.
And just as much conflict and guilt.
A whole lot of my fury is directed at myself for being so fucking blind to what I should have seen. A shit ton more of what I’m feeling lies squarely at his feet.
Perhaps there should be some sort of comfort in the fact the file we have on Sergey Petrov is wrong. The file is full of leads that end up in a dead zone, where witnesses suddenly can’t remember any detail, or the places you investigate are simply not real places.
It’s been a waste of endless police resources, but each lead was followed up because the people who took those reports and did the initial investigations were solid policemen, and detectives, with years of experience and good credentials behind them.
Standing here now, a burning realization is curdling in my stomach.
It’s not the intel that’s been soured; it’s what happens to the information after we get it.
We, as in the police. Our files on Petrov, everything on him, has obviously been tampered with.
And considering the level of security needed to be on the Organized Crime team, it points to someone above us having some real influence behind the scenes.
Someone has been swapping out photos or manipulating the originals because I know this fucking cunt. This prick inadvertently pushed me onto my career path, all because of a family vacation we took to London one summer years ago.
It wasn’t until we were back home that my sister, Josie, died. Her death certificate ruled it an accident, but I knew that wasn’t right. I knew in my gut there was nothing wrong with my memory.
While in London, I’d gone to the rave with Josie. I’d seen them talking, flirting, kissing, and then he handed her something. She denied it, of course, and we fought over it, which was memorable because we never fought.
Our argument never sat right, and after she died, and I found her diary and found out it never sat right with her either.
She even wrote in her tiny handwriting a huge entry about the guilt she had for lying to me.
Sadly, that guilt didn’t stop her from taking the pills she smuggled home.
She was in her bedroom after we’d all gone to bed.
Talk about fucking guilt; our rooms were right next to each other, and I slept through her falling face-first and convulsing as she overdosed so violently she broke her nose.
When I finally got to pull the file on Sergey Petrov, all the evidence laid out in the files suggested I had forgotten the face of the asswipe who gave my sister the MDMA tabs.
The man who I have been chasing for too many years in my work with Organized Crime wears the face of the Russian we know as Sovietnik.
Our file on Sovietnik is right. He features a lot and appears prominently as one of the newer players in child and Omega trafficking, but until this very moment, he has been a ghost. Because someone has been looking after Sergey Petrov for a long time, it seems.
Quinn wipes her hand across her face, using it as a veil to look over at me. One glance, a fraction of a second, and it’s like I can feel her soft, quiet voice in my head, promising everything will be okay.
Instantly, I feel better. It’s like a factory reset for the noise inside my head. I watch her hold her head high as Sergey Petrov, the man I am going to fucking murder, makes fucking goo-goo eyes at the women standing next to Quinn.
So much fucking injustice in this world.
So much motivation is welling inside for me to be the best person I can for my beautiful, strong-willed woman.
SANTIAGO
Kade needs to put a plug in his emotions. He’s practically vibrating next to me, and the longer the service goes on, the more noticeable it’s becoming.
“Calm down,” I snap, infusing more than a suggestion in my Alpha bark. It’s low enough that no one hears.
The reality is, I’m not sure anyone would hear a thing over Bambi’s less-than-subtle sobs each time the priest speaks, or the murmurs at the back of the room where a group of men haven’t stopped speaking since the service started.
I thought the Russians were all about tradition, but Sergey Petrov apparently lives by his own rules, given he allows another woman to continually steal the spotlight on what should be a big day for him and his actual bride.
Obviously, it’s an arranged marriage, but how he’s acting, and how he’s letting people around be so blatant in their disrespect, is a sign of what a weak Alpha he is.
It’s odd seeing him, and now that I have, it makes sense in a way that Quinn hasn’t said a word about him.
I already hated the prick, and I’m okay admitting I’m seething with jealousy, but in the flesh, it’s plain as day that Sergey Petrov is piss fucking weak and has relied on everyone else for too long.
He’s a large man, but he’s not radiating health or vitality.
The strong waft of alcohol and chemicals in the air nearly overpowers the scent of the god-awful flowers someone chose.
He is not the true embodiment of an Alpha.
To be an Alpha is to protect and provide by being at the forefront, not from hiding behind others.
An Alpha should lead by example and make the hard decisions others can’t in their need to protect and provide; I guess that’s why he has Aleksei near him.
Aleksei is as much of an enigma as Sergey is an asshole.
Him being here as second-in-command feels wrong on so many levels.
I knew after being in his presence for a handful of moments that he is an Alpha who holds as much power and dominance as someone like Ronin, Valentine, and me.
So, why the fuck would he align with such a cunt of a man?
Ronin and Valentine would shit themselves if they could see me now. Blood would stain their hands because there’s a lot of shit that’s happened recently in the global underworld that could easily be attributed to the Russians. Most recently was the attack on the O’Connors themselves.
I discreetly check my watch to see if Ronin has managed to source the name yet. Or at least a photo of the person responsible, but so far, I’ve got nothing more than the attacker being Russian.
Of course I am here for Quinn, but I could and would enact vengeance in the name of the Trinity Alliance.
I get a better understanding of the crap both Ronin and Valentine have recently been through, and what they have done to protect and secure their Omegas.
Neither of them took issue with stalking, kidnapping, blackmail, or murder when it came to their fated matches.
I’d always found it slightly fucking weird, but now I probably owe them, and their packs, an apology.
I know I’d do anything necessary to help Quinn in any way possible. Whenever she is ready to do something—I fucking hope the first step is to leave him—I am there. I will use every favor Ronin and Valentine owe, and then some. I will spend every dollar I have to make her disappear off the radar.
A new identity for her would take a couple of days to arrange. A new passport, a little bit longer. But time and money are no object, and I really will do whatever necessary to help her hide and stay hidden.
I suspect I’m not the only one ready to risk it all. Kade would be there doing everything he could too. Maybe between his contacts and experience with the police, and my experience in the underworld, we could provide the safety net she needs.
The wild horse is Aleksei. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, my stomach drops to my feet as the ceremony moves towards the inevitable outcome as Quinn and the Russian turn to face each other.
Sergey's focus is on the officiant. My focus is on the beautiful woman standing right in front of him. The one he never looks at or even acknowledges.
They get to the part where they swap vows and rings, and a lull of noise finally falls over the crowd. Sergey speaks, his voice like nails dragging on a chalkboard, but it’s probably more about what he is saying. This part of the service seems universal.
When the priest turns to Quinn and repeats the words again, Sergey faces the crowd and grins like a crocodile.
Quinn's vows get lost under the applause of the crowd.
I stop myself from rushing in and saving her from further humiliation by mentally running through a long list of possible ways to kill her new husband.
ALEKSEI
“Come.” Sergey directs Quinn out of the main reception room, away from the milling guests.
Kade and Santiago follow. They haven’t left her alone for a second and have been consummate professionals the entire time. Same with Roshka.
No one has approached her, not because of her guards, more because the bastards in attendance are rude as fuck. But also because Sergey hasn’t spent any time since the service near her.
It’s shameful the way he has acted today, including how he snuck off with Bambi immediately after the service. As we walk through the door into the large meeting room, I find myself walking into another of his games.
The dining table has been twisted and placed at an angle. Rows of chairs sit diagonally to the alignment, all of them facing the front. The chairs are already occupied.
“What is going on, Sergey?”
“I want to welcome her to the family—in front of our closest allies.”
The doors behind us close. Unease skates over my senses because Sergey has gone to a lot of effort in setting this up but also keeping this from me.
There’s a reason for it all. What that is, I’m not sure just yet.
“Zhena!” Sergey barks at Quinn, suddenly making her jump, in turn making him smirk.
I lean close to him. “She doesn’t understand Russian, Sergey. Talk in English.”
Humor dances in his eyes when he looks at me, then ignores my request about speaking in English. “You seem to know her so well.”
I disagree, shaking my head.
He guides me towards the head of the table with an overly done show of tenderness.
“The truth is, if anything happens to me, she will be, by rights, yours. Just like my title. This house and everything in it, Aleksei. It’s how father set everything up.
He died; I inherited everything. I die; you inherit it. ”
He’s generalizing and dramatizing as he speaks, until he stops talking and squeezes his eyes shut, his head lulling backward.
“Sergey?”
He stays like that long enough to have me pulling my phone out to call the doctor, but when he opens his eyes and his pupils are blown, he confirms what I had figured out. “Take one with me. Celebrate my wedding.”
In his palm sits a handful of pills.
“Tonight is about you, Sergey. I will celebrate with you, but not tonight. Someone, and that will be me, will watch over you so you can relax.”
All lies. There's no way I would be in the same room as him with my inhibitions lowered by chemicals or anything else. It would be dangerous. For the both of us.
My promise seems to come at the right time, and as his features relax and the high he’s riding ebbs, he accepts what I said about looking after him.
“I knew you would say that.” He slaps my shoulder hard enough to nearly make me stumble, but I’m used to my brother's scheming.
“Wife.” He flips to English and turns to Quinn. “Come. Wedding is one thing, but now we will make you a part of the family.”
A few of his friends chuckle, and the feeling we’re getting set up intensifies.
“Of course,” Quinns says. Her words are as bland as her smile. And the way she’s not her real self with him makes me think she will do okay in our world, if she can maintain the indifference.
She walks with an elegance to her step, but it’s not cocky or arrogant. He draws the two of us closer until I can see all the freckles dusting her nose, and the air I breathe is full of her scent.
“Let me properly introduce you to Aleksei. He is my second-in-command, as we say in Russian, Avtoritet. In his position, he is the only one who can speak or act for me when I am unavailable. People in our world have no choice but to listen and do as he says, because he is me. Do you understand what I say?”
Her expression is pleasantly bland, despite the way Sergey speaks down to her. And she hides how offended she is in her voice when she says yes, but I see it in her eyes plain as day.
“Good.” Sergey’s energy is as smug as his smile. He is leading us on and enjoying every second of it.
Until I know more, I can’t exactly do anything. Like everyone else here, I’m waiting for the punchline. Sergey looks at me, then back at Quinn, and I ready myself because he obviously has the both of us where he wants.
“You must know he is also my brother. And now I’m going to watch with my friends while my Avtoritet, my brother, consummates my marriage to you.”
“Sergey!”
“It was not a request, Aleksei,” he says, slapping his gun on the table in front of Quinn.