Chapter 4 #3
Arkady pauses, and his breathing deepens on the line.
“Ivan is useful,” Arkady says again, quieter this time.
“I don’t care how useful he is,” I tell him. “You involved him. You involved her. That makes this personal.”
“You’re letting emotion dictate strategy,” Arkady warns.
“I’m letting consequence dictate the outcome.”
The line goes quiet. Then, “You should think carefully.”
“I have,” I answer. “And when I find her, we’re going to have a different conversation. One that doesn’t involve phones.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“I would.”
I end the call and lower the phone. Polina watches me from across the table. She doesn’t ask what was said, but her eyes communicate the question anyway.
“Arkady believes he’s in control,” I tell her.
Mikel returns to the room, rubbing the back of his neck. “The detainee cracked.”
My attention locks on him. “Details.”
Mikel steps closer. “The man confirmed Ivan has been meeting one of Arkady’s captains at off-grid properties. He also confirmed a relocation happened today. Two women were moved with a six-man escort.”
My chest tightens hard enough to make my breath hitch, but I don’t let it show.
“Where?” I demand.
Mikel shakes his head once. “He didn’t know the final destination. Only the starting point.”
“The starting point is still a point,” I reply.
Mikel slides a folded sheet of paper across the table, with an address scribbled on it. A storage complex. Not far from the train yard.
Polina raises an eyebrow. “That’s not where he’d keep them. That’s a pass-through.”
“Exactly.” I fold the paper and pocket it.
I look at the map one more time. I need confirmation, not a guess. I need to be sure before I send men through the door with weapons. Rowan can’t be caught between me and Arkady’s desperation.
I turn toward the room. “Move.”
The men disperse, Polina starts issuing orders, and Mikel remains at my side. I head toward the exit, the cold of the hallway meeting me again like an old enemy.
Outside, the snow continues to fall in light, small flakes that reflect in the security lights and vanish as they hit the ground. Charlotte looks peaceful from a distance.
It isn’t. Not tonight.
The drive to the storage complex takes twenty minutes. The roads are slick in places where snow has turned to slush and refrozen. My driver keeps the speed steady, his grip firm on the wheel, the headlights slicing through the thin swirl of flakes.
I sit in the back seat and watch the city pass. Streetlights. Empty sidewalks. A late-night diner with a single car in the lot. A gas station with a neon sign flickering in the window. Normal life, moving on.
Rowan should be in the apartment, wrapped in one of her thick sweaters, complaining about the cold and teasing me for never wearing a scarf.
She should be drinking coffee and reviewing chart notes because she refuses to stop working even when I tell her she needs rest. Instead, she’s in a place she didn’t choose, surrounded by men who see her as leverage.
My hand tightens against my knee.
Mikel sits across from me, his eyes forward. “Karp’s team is already in position.”
“Good.”
A few minutes later, we turn off the main road and follow a narrower side street lined with chain-link fencing.
The storage complex sits back from the road, with rows of metal units and a small office building in the center.
Security lights glare over the lot. Snow has gathered along the base of the doors.
We don’t enter through the front. We pull to the far side, where the fence line meets a strip of trees. My door opens. The cold hits immediately, pushing under my coat. Snow crunches under my boots.
Karp emerges from the shadows near the tree line, tall, broad, and silent. His face is hard in the way it gets when he’s ready for violence. He gives a short nod to Mikel, then to me.
“We have movement,” Karp murmurs. He keeps his voice low. “Two vehicles came through forty minutes ago. One stayed. One left.”
“Any sign of the women?”
He shakes his head. “No visuals. Only men.”
I stare at the complex, the lights, and the calm. Calm can be false. It can be staged.
“Show me,” I instruct.
Karp leads us along the fence line to a position where we can see the central corridor between two rows of units. A black SUV is parked near a corner unit. Two men stand near it, their collars turned up against the cold. One smokes. The other keeps scanning the lot, his hand near his waistband.
They’re not Arkady’s standard. His men are disciplined. They don’t linger and they don’t smoke where they can be seen. These men look like hired muscle.
Ivan’s.
Karp gestures subtly. “Unit C-17.”
I scan the numbers painted along the row until my eyes land on C-17.
“Entry plan?” I prompt.
Karp’s gaze stays fixed on the men by the SUV. “We can take the two outside silently. Then breach the unit.”
“And if Rowan isn’t here?” I ask.
Karp glances at me. He understands the question. If Rowan isn’t here, a breach is noise. Noise triggers relocation and makes her harder to find.
I study the men again, not for what they are, but for what they’re guarding. Their focus wanders too easily. There’s no tension in their shoulders and no layered perimeter. If Arkady put Rowan here, security would be tighter. Which means the unit isn’t used for protection. It’s bait. A decoy.
Arkady’s voice echoes in my mind. “You won’t find her where you expect.”
I glance at Mikel. “Polina.”
“She’s tracking both properties,” Mikel replies. “Mint Hill is quiet. The lake house has movement. But no confirmation Rowan’s there.”
I stare at Unit C-17 and make a decision.
“Take the two outside,” I order. “No shots. If anyone inside reacts, pull back. We’re here for confirmation, not a firefight.”
Karp nods once and melts into the darkness with two of his men. I remain by the fence line, watching.
The men near the SUV don’t see Karp until it’s too late.
One goes down with a knife at his throat, muffled by a gloved hand.
The other jerks, reaching for his weapon, but a forearm locks around his neck and drags him backward into the shadows.
The struggle lasts seconds. Then the lot goes quiet again.
Karp signals. I move forward with Mikel at my side, stepping over snow and slush, our boots quiet against the wet asphalt. We reach the unit door, and Karp produces a key ring taken from the second man. He tries one key, then another. The lock clicks.
Karp raises his hand, his fingers counting silently.
Three.
Two.
One.
He yanks the door upward in one swift motion. The metal slams open with a harsh scrape.
Inside, the unit is lit by a single hanging bulb. The space is mostly empty. A folding chair. A battered table. Plastic zip ties on the tabletop. A cheap speaker. A dark stain on the concrete that might be oil. Or blood.
A man sits in the chair with his hands bound behind him and tape pulled tight across his mouth. He looks up as we enter, eyes wide and unfocused, somewhere in his mid-thirties, face already bruised and carrying the unmistakable strain of fear.
Karp moves first, ripping the tape off the man’s mouth. He coughs hard, sucking in air like he hasn’t been allowed to breathe freely in hours. His eyes bounce between faces, then lock on me.
“You,” he rasps. “You’re Sovarin.”
I don’t respond to flattery. “Who are you?”
He swallows hard, his throat working. “I drive. For Arkady sometimes. Not always. Just when they need me.”
Karp crouches and with a quick, controlled motion of the knife, slices through the ties. His shoulders drop, and his hands tremble as circulation rushes back into his wrists.
“They’re gone,” he blurts. “They moved them.”
My spine tightens. “When?”
“Today. Earlier.” His voice shakes. “They used my van for part of it. Then they switched.”
“Where?” The word comes out low and dangerous.
He shakes his head rapidly. “I don’t know the final place. I swear. They don’t tell the drivers. They tell us routes, then they change them.”
“Mikel,” I murmur, without turning.
Mikel is already moving, scanning the unit, checking corners, and looking for devices.
Karp’s eyes stay on the man.
“Who gave the order?” I press.
The man’s eyes dart toward the door. “Arkady.” He hesitates, then lowers his voice. “And the other one.”
That gets my full attention.
“The other one,” I repeat, keeping my voice calm.
He nods, his breath trembling. “Ivan. He was there.”
I keep my expression still. “What did Ivan want?”
The man shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just heard Arkady mention her name.”
Rowan.
My chest tightens.
Mikel steps back into view. “No cameras inside. No explosives. Looks like a pass-through and interrogation point.”
A staging unit. It’s Arkady’s style.
The driver suddenly leans forward, his voice urgent. “There was another stop. Before they switched vehicles. They met at a place by the water.”
Every other detail falls into the background, and my eyes narrow as I fix on him. “Describe it.”
The man squints like he’s replaying it. “Private drive. Gate. Trees. It felt like… a cabin area. Or a house that’s meant to be hidden.”
My pulse kicks as Karp’s attention shifts to Mikel, and Mikel’s gaze comes straight to me without a word needing to pass between them.
The lake property. Polina’s surveillance.
My phone vibrates again in my hand. It’s Polina.
I answer immediately. “Report.”
Her voice comes through clearly. “Activity confirmed at the lake property. Multiple armed men. One vehicle matches Arkady’s captain. We don’t have visual confirmation of Rowan.”
My jaw tightens. “Hold position. No engagement.”
“I understand.”
I look at the man. “You’re coming with us.”
His eyes widen. “I did what they told me! I didn’t want any part of this!”
“Then you will help end it,” I return. “You want to survive, then you give me everything you remember. Every turn. Every gate. Every marker.”
He nods rapidly, fear making him eager.
Karp signals to two of his men with a subtle motion of his hand, and they step in immediately, securing the man with firm grips on his arms and steering him toward the SUV Karp’s team arrived in.
I step out of the unit and scan the lot again. Snow continues to fall, soft and indifferent. One of Karp’s other men is already hauling the bodies away, quietly dragging them out of sight, leaving no trace behind.
It’s not a rescue. Not yet. But it’s a thread, and threads are what lead you to the center if you’re patient enough to follow them.
We move back toward the vehicles, the snow crunching under our boots. My driver steps ahead and opens the rear door, waiting without looking at me. I pause before getting in, the cold cutting across my face.
Rowan is somewhere near that water. Or she was. Arkady wants me to rush, to kick in the wrong door with too many guns and too much anger. I won’t give him that.
I slide into the back seat, and Mikel follows, the door closing with a solid thud. The engine hums as the driver pulls us away, and the interior begins to warm, the cold lingering just long enough to keep my thoughts clear.
Mikel watches me. “If she’s there, you’ll need to decide quickly.”
“I already decided,” I reply.
He waits.
I look out at the city beyond the fence line. “We confirm before we strike. We isolate the perimeter. Take the men outside first.”
“And if Arkady moves her again?”
I turn my gaze to Mikel. “Then we make Arkady desperate enough to make a mistake.”
His expression tightens. He understands what desperation does to men like Arkady. It makes them reckless. It makes them loud and predictable.
“And Ivan?” Mikel adds carefully.
“Ivan is still a tool in Arkady’s mind,” I answer. “That keeps Arkady blind.”
Mikel nods once. He doesn’t push.
I lean back against the seat and let my head rest briefly against the leather, my hand tightening once around the edge of the armrest before I force it to loosen.
Rowan is out there, and every instinct in my body wants to burn straight through whatever stands between us. But I’ve seen what happens when men move too fast. I’ve seen what a single misplaced bullet does. And I won’t gamble her life on my anger.
Arkady believes he’s testing my power. He isn’t. He’s testing my restraint. And restraint is the only reason he’s still alive. For now.