Chapter 5 #2
My jaw tightens, the muscle jumping beneath the skin.
I feel the tension gathering at the base of my skull and travel down my spine.
Rumors kill faster than bullets. They reach ears long before truth finds its footing, slithering through networks of gossip and fear until everyone believes the lie.
The wrong whisper can turn loyal men into opportunists overnight, convincing them that betrayal carries less risk than allegiance.
Nikolay taps two fingers against the map pinned to the wall, his movements quick and impatient. Spokane is circled with a thick red marker, the color bleeding slightly into the paper. “If people think we are slipping, more roads will burn.”
“Let them believe it,” I reply, turning toward the map. I study the routes marked in various colors, the shipping lanes that form the arteries of our operation. “Let them relax into the fantasy. The moment they breathe too deeply, I will close their windpipe.”
Anya studies my face carefully, her expression softening with concern.
Her worry is subtle, embedded in the slight furrow between her brows and the way her lips press together.
But it grows each time her eyes drift toward the stairs leading to Sage's room, as if she can see through walls to assess the woman sleeping beyond them.
She pulls another paper from the folder, this one a single sheet with typed text. “Hope's trail disappears near Spokane. The Italians are feeding a rumor that she is leverage. They refer to her as the little bird.”
Vega, who has settled beside the fireplace after checking on Sage, lifts his head at the mention of Sage's sister.
His ears twitch forward and his eyes dart toward the hallway, as if he expects Hope to materialize from the shadows.
The protective instinct runs deep in him, extending to anyone connected to Sage.
“They are not subtle,” I answer, keeping my voice low. “Hurting her sister is the same as hurting Sage, and they know it.”
Nikolay steps closer to the table, his posture rolling with tension that has nowhere to go. His hands curl at his sides, his fingers flexing as if reaching for a weapon that is not there. “We hit them back. Hard enough to break their teeth. A single warehouse. Something small but loud.”
I consider it, turning the idea over in my mind and examining it from multiple angles.
Violence is rarely messy when used with intent.
It becomes a tool like any other, effective when applied with precision.
Retaliation must leave an echo that travels farther than the initial act, a reminder that certain lines cannot be crossed without consequence.
“Burn a secondary facility. The one off Elliott Avenue. Make sure they understand whose city they bruise.”
“And if they do not,” Nikolay asks quietly, his hands curling tighter until his knuckles blanch white.
“Then I will remind them in person.”
He nods once with satisfaction, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He already knows what that reminder will look like and has witnessed it enough times to understand the impact behind the promise.
“But Hope remains the priority,” I instruct.
“Spokane is not a dead end. It is the last point they were confident enough to leave a truck visible. That means nearby roads, motels, safehouses, and every shadow they think they can hide in. I want eyes on everything. I want every Sokolov runner tracked, every courier flagged, and every name they have used in the last year pulled and reviewed. She has not vanished. Someone saw her, moved her, or heard the order. We force the truth out one broken body at a time.”
Anya's expression tightens again, worry deepening the lines around her eyes.
She walks to the window and pushes aside the curtain, revealing the world beyond.
Snow drifts in lazy spirals between the pines, the flakes catching the cabin lights as they fall.
Vega's tail gives one soft thump against the floor as he watches her, then returns to resting at his paws.
She turns back to me slowly. “Brat, you cannot keep Sage safe from here.”
“She stays,” I counter. The edge in my voice pushes too hard, so I bring it back under control. “I will not cage what is mine.”
“It is not a cage if it keeps her breathing,” Nikolay mutters with quiet conviction, his eyes meeting mine with blunt directness.
I keep my expression still, muscles controlled, and features neutral, but something twists beneath the surface.
The image of Sage half-awake in the soft lamplight flashes through my mind unbidden.
The bruise near her ribs, yellowing now but still visible.
The slight tremble in her hands when she tried to hide her pain, wrapping her fingers around a mug of tea to disguise the shaking.
The way she flinches when unexpected sounds break the silence, her body remembering threats even when her mind tries to forget.
I am keeping her here because she feels close enough to guard, within reach if something goes wrong. But I am also keeping her in a place enemies now know exists, a location marked on maps that should have remained hidden.
Before I can answer, Nikolay's phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and glances at the screen, his expression darkening instantly.
“It is Kolya,” he mutters, his thumb swiping across the screen. “There is a fire at the transport office.”
Anya stiffens, her hand moving to her throat in a reflex she cannot hide. Vega rises to his feet in one fluid motion, his ears pricked forward and alert.
“Put him on speaker,” I instruct, moving closer to the table.
Nikolay taps the screen, and Kolya's voice fills the room, sirens wailing behind him and men shouting orders. The sound fills the cabin, drowning out the peaceful crackling of the fire.
“Someone tossed a firebomb at the front entrance,” he reports, his words clipped and rushed. “No injuries, but the building is burning fast. They left a Sokolov crest on the wall.”
Heat spreads across my spine, radiating outward until it settles in my chest and shoulders. But my voice remains level despite the rage building beneath the surface. “Pull the fire crews back. That building is lost.”
Kolya inhales sharply on the other end, the sound cutting through the background noise. “Understood.”
“You will torch everything they own except their families,” I order, my tone slicing through the room. “Leave them with nothing but ashes.”
Anya’s body jerks, but she steadies quickly, fury simmering beneath her calm. “The Sokolovs pushed too far,” she growls under her breath. “Keeping Sage here gives them exactly what they want. Seattle is the only place they cannot touch.”
The silence that follows fills the room completely, thick and heavy. Even the sirens seem muted through the phone, fading into background noise that no longer matters. Nikolay and Anya exchange a glance, some wordless communication passing between them that I do not interrupt.
Vega presses against my leg, his solid warmth grounding me. I lower my hand to his head briefly, my fingers sinking into his thick fur. The familiar texture steadies my breathing, pulls me back from the edge of decisions made in anger rather than strategy.
I straighten, rolling my shoulders back and setting my jaw. “Prepare the estate.”
Anya releases a quiet breath, relief softening the angle of her shoulders. Her hands uncurl at her sides, her fingers relaxing.
Nikolay nods once, already pulling up contacts on his phone. “Security will triple patrols. The staff will have the estate ready by the time we arrive.”
The decision settles through the room like a stone dropped into deep water, the ripples spreading outward until they touch everything.
Seattle represents fortress walls and established networks, layers of protection I cannot replicate here in the mountains.
But it also means exposing Sage to a world she has only glimpsed from the edges.
Vega pads to my side, his muzzle bearing a scar he earned protecting Sage. His dark eyes hold mine with a quiet understanding that needs no words. He knows where we are going and why. He always does.
“Tell Otets we are coming,” I murmur. “Whatever follows us, we face it there.”