Chapter 2
Dominik Morozov
“She got you good, boss,” Petrov says in Russian from the backseat just as Renat pulls away from the curb. His voice is raspy from the throat punch, and I can barely hear him over the ear-splitting screams coming from the very back.
Glancing over my shoulder at him and Viktor from the front passenger seat, I tell the men still nursing their injuries in the same language, “You two underestimated her. And if I hadn’t stepped in, she’d be long gone. My busted nose is on you both.”
“Sorry, boss,” Viktor replies, his eyes lowered and hand still protectively over his crotch.
“Won’t let it happen again,” Petrov assures me with a bowed head.
These men, along with dozens of others in the city, answer only to me and our Pakhan. They’re lethal and loyal. Soldiers who do what they’re told. Sometimes, they just forget to expect the unexpected. I’m not as ruthless as our leader, so I decide to let them off easy this time.
“Better my nose than my balls,” I remark.
“Amen, boss,” Renat agrees.
Under the passing streetlights, I examine the bleeding scratches on my wrists and hands. I probably have a few bruises on my shins as well. All of which could’ve been avoided if she had just stopped and talked to me rather than run and fight like a feral fucking cat being cornered.
There are lines I’ve never crossed, not even for the Bratva. I don’t hurt women unless they’re trying to kill me.
I pray that she doesn’t test that rule tonight.
While we’re all busy pretending we don’t hear her shouts from the trunk, I turn back to Viktor. “Open your mouth. Let me see the damage.”
The bald man peels back his bottom lip to show me the bleeding wound. “Didn’t lose any teeth, just took a chunk out of my goddamn lip when she kicked me.”
It’s hard to believe that the petite woman managed to injure me and two of my best men tonight. All our training goes to hell when we’re faced with a defenseless hellcat instead of armed men.
Petrov leans up between the seats, offering me a canvas bag he must have picked up from the sidewalk while I was getting her to the car. “Her phone’s inside,” he says.
“Nice work,” I tell him. “It could be useful.”
Digging around inside the canvas bag, I find the device. It’s on and so old that it doesn’t even require a passcode or face ID to unlock it, allowing me to scroll through her call log and text messages.
There’s no mention of the stolen money, no voicemails from Archer Kent telling his sister that he’s leaving town either.
For some reason, I’m relieved that Alina may not have any involvement in his theft since she hasn’t spoken to her brother in nine days.
Even that communication was nothing more than a laughing emoji in response to the GIF of a flying cat she sent that says, “Me rushing home to do absolutely nothing.”
I lay the phone on the console between the front seats and tell Renat, “Keep it active and on you at all times. If he reaches out to her, I want the call traced.”
“Yes, sir,” my IT expert easily replies while keeping his eyes on the road.
I remove my own phone from my suit pocket along with her shirt rag to dab at my throbbing nose while I debate sending Gavriil a text or calling him with an update.
Since I don’t want him to hear her continued screams, I go with a text.
“Where to, boss? Pakhan’s estate?” Renat asks.
I consider his question for a moment and make a snap decision. “No. We’re going to my place. We’ll use the empty garage bay to question her,” I say as I type out the message.
None of the men say a word, but I can practically hear their thoughts they’re smart enough not to say aloud: The Pakhan isn’t going to like having to come to her this late at night.
They’re not wrong. But if Gavriil doesn’t want to come all the way back to the city tonight, then I can handle it.
I’ve just hit send when the screaming stops, making my head, along with the others, turn slightly toward the back. There’s a moment of silence, then come the questions.
“Why? Why are you doing this to me?” she asks.
Her voice is barely more than a whisper thanks to all her shouting. And I fucking hate hearing the fear and desperation in it.
Rather than answer her, I pass the tote bag back to Petrov.
“Inventory it,” I direct him.
A moment passes where Alina doesn’t speak or scream, thankfully, as he begins digging through her purse.
“Usual girly shit—sunglasses, feminine products, pink lip gloss, hair ties, more hair ties, mints.” He pauses, then I hear clanging.
I look back and find him holding a heavy keyring that could rival a school janitor's. Various keys are attached to it, not normal, modern ones, but the giant, antique skeleton key style nobody actually uses. “The fuck?” Petrov mutters in English before switching back to the language our hostage probably won’t understand. “There’s at least a dozen of them.”
Why would she need a bunch of old keys? What do they go to? Rooms at the hotel she works at? If so, why carry them around with her when they must weigh several pounds?
It’s odd and also a little endearing.
I’m still thinking about the damn keys when Renat pulls into my apartment’s parking garage and heads down to the lower level.
The one I rent solely for my vehicles, with limited security and no cameras.
There are also four garage bays, including one that’s kept empty, with no windows, just a steel chair that can be bolted to the floor, a few tools, and a drain in the middle of the floor that takes care of messes.
After Renat parks, I open the car door and take a slow, deep breath of the gasoline and oil scented air. My men get out as well, and we all meet at the back of the vehicle.
“She’s going to scream again, isn’t she?” Renat asks, key fob in hand, ready to open the cargo hatch.
“Probably,” I reply with a sigh as I rub my temple. “I had three fucking meetings today about port shipments. Now this bullshit. Let’s hurry up and get it over with.”
Tipping my chin at Petrov, I tell him, “Go unlock the door then check in with the guards on perimeter duty to let them know we’re back and warn them we’ve brought in a flight risk.”
“Sure thing, boss,” he replies.
Once he walks away, Viktor asks, “Have you received a response from Gavriil about the change of plans?”
Always the worrier.
“No, not yet,” I reply.
“You sure you want to do this now, boss?”
By ‘do this now’ he means disobey the Pakhan over some random woman he ordered us to bring in.
“I’ve followed his orders,” I reply, ending the discussion. “Now, once she’s settled, I’m going to go up to my apartment and clean up all this fucking blood. Neither you nor Petrov will even think about retaliating for earlier while I’m gone. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Viktor agrees.
“Open the hatch,” I tell Renat. “Then I want you to go and check the security cameras. Notify me or Viktor of any late-night visitors.”
“Will do,” he replies, then the screaming starts immediately when the back of the SUV opens.
I should’ve known she was saving up for what she thinks is her next chance to alert someone to her current predicament.
My head fucking hurts. I’m sick and tired of the screeching, and I still have to review the week’s tribute reports to get a non-compliance list ready for the enforcers by morning, all while trying to find the son of a bitch who stole from us by questioning his sister.
Something about Alina Kent tells me this night is about to get a lot more complicated than tracking down her brother.