Chapter Fifteen
Dead Man’s Hand
Rafe
W atching Willow walk up the steps of the Russian monstrosity Kirrill Singleton calls home on the arm of another man may be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
The fact her ankle is wrapped in a gold manacle to show her sold status, the fine gold chain that twirls around her thigh and connects elegantly to her wrist is on public display proves what a truly terrible idea this facade is.
Ivanoff has held to his word, keeping his gaze respectful at all times. I’m glad of it, as it would irk me to murder my host in his own home. For his son, however, with his wandering eyes and wayward hands, I can’t say the same.
They make a pretty couple, Willow dressed in a gold lamé pantsuit, neck to toe with slits up the side to show off her jewelry, Ivanoff in his black tux.
A whore and her master. That’s tonight’s theme.
I don’t see anyone else wearing manacles, but then, I suspect our host has a bank account larger than most of the guests.
Except, perhaps, our target.
We have one shot at tonight. The fact I’m not with her sits poorly in my gut, like three-day old seafood on the cusp of inedibility.
I shift in my seat as Dom growls at me, working the drone’s controls.
The tiny device floats overhead almost at cloud level.
The military grade tech Ivanoff acquired on demand provides excellent intel and reduces our chance of discovery.
“Stop fucking fidgeting,” Dom mutters as he stares at the miniscule display.
I hover over his shoulder and attempt not to be a backseat pilot, but I’m shit at it. “Let me know if you need a break,” I suggest, but the terse words sound pithy to my own years.
He snorts. “No chance. You’ll fly us into a cloud. Or worse.”
I concede as he dodges a waft of the fluffy stuff and focuses on the party guests, making an inventory of who’s who.
Thalia saves the data on a connected laptop, working through everything she can.
It looks like my ex head of security has been teaching my ex healer a few tricks in my absence.
Not that I object to a little upskilling right now.
My head is awhirl with a low level panic I can’t see beyond while everyone else around me is focused on the mission.
But without Willow beside me, I’m lost. The fear of not getting her back tonight is crippling.
Ever since I had Dom bring her to me in my father’s club that first night, she’s been in my veins, her soul etched next to mine.
But I can’t stand and watch while she dives head first into danger without me. Dom’s head is down, while Thalia searches the guest list for names. Our team and theirs are working. The only person not doing something right now is me.
An easy problem to rectify.
I retreat from the rented room one step at a time.
The moment my feet hit the hallway, the door sliding shut on me, I turn and stride away.
Once, Dom would have looked back and seen me but tonight he’s too distracted.
I’m not sure if that is a good thing as he directs Willow through the microscopic earpiece she wears that Ivanoff promises is undetectable, or if it bodes poorly for the entire operation.
Either way, they can do the whole thing without me.
I don’t bother to count and see how long it takes for them to discover I’m no longer in the rented apartment.
My heels clip along at a quick pace as I hit the stairs and take them two at a time.
My path takes me out of the building, and the long way around the block, across the street and through the front gate.
There are nights to hide and operations where stealth is critical. Tonight, Singleton’s party is lit with security every five feet around his boundary. If I try to sneak in, his men will pin me before I make it three steps onto the property.
I’m banking on the fact the bastard will be curious to see what I have to say to him. I’m banking on him thinking I’m unaware Willow is here. And I’m banking on the fact he doesn’t know she’s free.
If I’m wrong on any of those counts, I may have just signed my own death warrant...
And hers.
As I approach the gates, the nearest security guard raises his hand to his cheek.
That same hand then drifts to his sidearm but doesn’t connect as I stroll past and offer a friendly smile.
My bet pays off. He doesn’t ask for an invitation, or identification.
Nor am I challenged at any other checkpoint from there on in.
The only contact I have with anyone after I enter the property is a suited Matre’d who meets me at the door to a ballroom ostentatiously outfitted with Romanesque columns and parquet flooring. A string quartet plays on a raised dais.
“Don Gallo.” The man stands a little off to one side, his feet angled toward me and offers a clean bow and a glass of cognac. “Master Singleton requests the pleasure of your company for a short period.”
My lips form a tight line. “How interestingly phrased.”
The man’s eyes rise to meet mine, though his body remains stiff and bent in supplication. “Indeed, sir.”
“Please.” I gesture for the man to show me the way before he breaks something, like his back.
He straightens and leads me away from the party. I glance over my shoulder, seeking Willow, but she’s nowhere in sight. Breath leaves me as I follow Singleton’s man, surprised when, as I round a corner, he drops back a step, fighting with a potted palm that seems out of place.
“Good God.” I free him from the plant that did nothing to harm him, though his hair is askew.
“Thank you, sir,” he mutters, fixing his part that looks suspiciously sideways, and stumbles into me. “Oh, I do—I am sorry,” he splutters, gripping my hand with his white gloved one.
“No apology needed—” I blink at him as a small pistol is pressed into my palm.
The pressure is swift and precise, far more so than the bumbling servant act that continues convincingly before me.
“I appreciate it, sir. If you could not report me to Master Singleton, I would be v-very grateful.” Red faced, the man casts his eyes toward the carpet, his rounded shoulders trembling slightly as he walks away.
I follow at a distance, uncertain if he’s crying, or laughing. The weight of the tiny handgun tells me it’s loaded and not just a fashion piece or a cigarette lighter. I trace the smooth butt with my thumb where it’s inlaid with shell. It’s a very specific gun provided for a specific purpose.
If I hadn’t come along at the precise time, I wonder whose hand it would have been pushed into.
Ivanoff’s, perhaps, or Willow’s? I frown at the servant’s back, wondering at his role in this farce.
Can I trust the weapon not to blow my hand off, or be shot myself the moment I raise it against Singleton?
Either way I must be certain of the situation before I pull the weapon.
One shot.
My earlier thought echoes around my head, more pertinent now than ever. Before I can form a larger plan, the man pushes open a concealed door set into a wood panel along the hall and ushers me inside.
His eyes connect with mine as I pass him, and once more his shoulders angle him so his body gives him the best vantage point for his actions. He leans backward and I know his face can’t be seen from within the room as he mouths a single word.
“One.”
That’s all.
One shot. It’s what I have to end the man who took my wife and tortured her. Who sold and trafficked countless women and has no intention of ever stopping.
Over the years Dom and I have talked of the situations we’ve been in, how lucky we’ve been to walk out of each one afterward.
The narrow escapes we’ve had, the defining moments that could have gone either way.
My preference is to live a long, happy life with my wife, my man by my side and see children of our own.
I regret not making Willow fat with babies earlier, but our lives have been too complicated until this point.
Perhaps, if I do take her home tonight we can rectify that in the morning.
Perhaps. So many ifs. So many nights I could have spent otherwise.
But if that isn’t my fate, if my life ends here tonight, then I’m glad to have taken a path that prevents more women like Willow and Thalia and Ivanoff’s niece from being taken and damaged and murdered.
Used and hurt by the cruel asshole I face now.
“Singleton. Good to see you again,” I murmur as the door slides shut behind me.
The man I’ve tracked across three continents leans back in his seat, surrounded by a roomful of men bearing hardware across broad chests and over shoulders.
Tonight my time might have expired. I do regret not filling Willow with babies. Our babies. A part of us to live on. I regret not kissing her for longer, or telling her I love her more often.
What I have done will have to be enough. His smug face stares back at me as he motions his man forward. I let out a breath, relaxing my shoulders, and count the steps between his man and myself.
Four, five, six...
By the last step I know I can’t hold off any longer. I have to fire. In my head I say goodbye to Willow, sad I haven’t planned this moment better, but am glad to remove one more hideous, cruel predator from the world.
Singleton says nothing more, just waits.
In his place I might have done the same.
But I’m not the asshole on the other side of the desk about to have his brains splattered across the carpet.
The second I start to shift, before I raise my hand to expose the pistol hidden within my palm before his man reaches me, a shrill sound rips through the room, loud enough to bring every man in it cringing away like he’s been physically slapped.
“The hell,” I mutter. “That’s a shit alarm, Singleton.”
Even the asshole henchmen around us wince.
“Get it off.” Singleton shoos his men away, leaving just one across the desk behind him. “Figure out what the fuck just happened.” Muttering to himself he leans forward and points at me. “You did a stupid thing, tonig—”
I don’t give him a second to tell me anything else. My hand rises and I fire my single bullet at the man left behind his desk, giving him an extra breathing hole through his brain.
Singleton jerks in his seat, his eyes wide.
“The fuck did you—”
“No one checked me,” I say casually, as I waltz across the room. Rounding his desk I grip Singleton’s lapels, wrenching him upward as I lean down and liberate the dead man’s gun. “Not a soul. But that’s not a mistake you have to worry about any more at all.”
I place the borrowed gun to Singleton’s temple and feather the trigger.