23. Nick
NICK
My feet hit the floor before my brain fully processes the threat. Years of training override everything else. The Glock is in my hand, safety off, barrel pointed at the window before the sedan even finishes skidding to a stop outside.
Behind me, Russ rolls off the bed and reaches for the weapon he left on the nightstand. His movements are fast and efficient despite being naked. Alex is already moving toward the doorway, his body low and controlled, positioning himself to cover the hallway.
The atmosphere in the bedroom transforms in seconds.
The warmth and intimacy evaporate, replaced by cold calculation and the promise of violence.
This is who we really are. Not the men who just made love to Marla.
Not businessmen in expensive suits. We're predators who've survived decades in a world that kills the weak.
I move to the side of the window, keeping my body out of the direct line of sight while I scan the vehicle. Dark blue sedan with one occupant visible in the driver's seat. No backup vehicles. No armed men pouring out of the treeline.
"One person," I say quietly. "Female."
Russ moves beside me, his gun raised. "Could be a distraction."
"Could be," I agree.
Alex stays at the doorway, watching the hallway and listening for movement from other directions. His jaw is tight, his eyes cold and focused. This is the version of Alex that built an empire from nothing. The fighter who doesn't lose.
The driver's door opens and a blonde woman stumbles out, her movements frantic and uncoordinated. She's wearing jeans and a t-shirt from the Ivory Wolf, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looks panicked, not dangerous.
"Fuck," Russ mutters. "That's Sharon."
I don't lower my weapon. "You're sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Sharon rushes toward the porch, nearly tripping over her own feet. "Marla!" she shouts, her voice high and frightened. "Marla, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay!"
Behind us, Marla makes a strangled sound.
I glance back and see her sitting up in bed, the sheet clutched to her chest, her eyes wide with shock.
She's staring at me like she's never seen me before.
At the gun in my hand, at Russ standing naked with a weapon pointed at the window, and at Alex positioned in the doorway like he's ready to kill. Because he is.
This is the moment she truly understands what we are.
Russ lowers his gun first, irritation crossing his face. "It's just Sharon."
"Just Sharon who drove here like she was being chased," I say flatly, but I lower my weapon slightly. Not all the way. Not until I'm certain.
Alex moves away from the doorway more slowly, his expression still cold and assessing. He doesn't trust easily, and a panicked friend showing up unannounced at a secluded location raises questions.
I step back from the window and scan the treeline one more time. The woods are quiet. No movement. No vehicles hidden in the shadows or glint of sunlight off a rifle scope. After a long moment, I click the safety back on and set the gun on the dresser.
"Nick!" Marla's voice cracks like a whip. "You pulled a gun on Sharon!"
I turn to face her, my expression neutral. "I pulled a gun on an unidentified vehicle speeding toward a secluded cabin where three pakhans are currently located. That's exactly how ambushes happen."
"She's my best friend!"
"I didn't know that until Russ identified her." I pull on my pants, my movements calm and controlled.
Marla stares at me, her face pale. "You were going to shoot her."
"If she'd been a threat, yes." I don't soften the truth. She needs to understand this. "Without hesitation."
Russ is already pulling on his clothes, his earlier irritation fading into something more serious.
Alex buttons his shirt, his eyes still on the window.
Marla looks between the three of us, and I can see the reality settling over her like a weight.
We're not playing at being dangerous. We are dangerous.
Violence is as natural to us as breathing.
Sharon's fist pounds on the front door. "Marla! Please!"
Marla scrambles out of bed, grabbing her robe from the chair.
Her hands shake as she ties it closed. She rushes past me toward the front door, and I follow close behind.
Russ and Alex fall into position automatically, flanking me as we move through the cottage.
We're still on alert despite knowing it's Sharon.
The hallway is narrow, lined with framed photographs of landscapes.
Afternoon light filters through the small window near the door, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor.
The cottage smells like coffee and sex, a combination that would be amusing under different circumstances.
My boots are silent on the floor as I move.
Marla yanks open the front door and Sharon practically falls into her arms, sobbing. "Oh my God, I was so worried. I tried calling you like twenty times, and you didn't answer, and I thought something terrible happened."
"I'm fine," Marla says, but her voice is strained. "I'm okay."
Sharon pulls back, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
Mascara has smudged beneath her lower lashes, and her blonde ponytail is coming loose, strands of hair sticking to her damp cheeks.
She's breathing hard, like she ran here instead of driving.
Then she notices the three of us standing in the hallway behind Marla, all of us dressed but clearly having just gotten out of bed.
Her mouth falls open slightly, and fresh color floods her face.
"Oh," she says quietly, her voice breaking. "Oh."
"What are you doing here, Sharon?" Russ asks, his tone more gentle than I expected. He steps forward slightly, his body language shifting from threatening to concerned.
Sharon's gaze darts between us nervously, her hands twisting together at her waist. "I heard things at work last night.
Scary things. And when Marla didn't answer her phone this morning, I panicked.
I thought..." She swallows hard, her throat working visibly as she glances at Marla.
"I thought maybe something happened to you. "
"What kind of things?" Alex's voice is cold, cutting through Sharon's emotional rambling like a blade.
Sharon flinches slightly at his tone. She's clearly intimidated by all three of us, but especially by Alex. "Employees were talking. They were whispering about some kind of attack. A warehouse or something."
I straighten immediately, my eyes narrowing on her. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Beside me, I feel both Russ and Alex go still.
"Who was talking?" I ask quietly, keeping my voice level despite the sudden spike of adrenaline.
"I don't know all their names." Sharon's hands twist together more frantically now, her knuckles white. "Some of the bartenders. A couple of the servers. Maybe five or six people total that I heard directly, but it felt like everyone knew something."
"What exactly were they saying?" Russ moves closer, his posture deceptively casual but his eyes sharp and focused.
Sharon glances at Marla as if asking permission to continue.
Marla nods slowly, her face pale. "They were saying that something big happened Sunday morning.
That there was an attack on one of your warehouses.
" She looks at me when she says this. "They said people were hurt and that someone almost died. "
The information isn't new, but hearing it discussed openly among employees is deeply concerning. That kind of talk spreads fast, and loose lips create problems we can't afford right now.
"How did they know it was my warehouse specifically?" I ask.
"I don't know. They just kept saying 'Vasiliev warehouse' and looking nervous whenever anyone walked by." Sharon's voice drops even lower. "The whole staff was on edge last night. People were scared to talk too loud. A couple of the newer servers looked like they wanted to quit on the spot."
Alex crosses his arms, his expression unreadable. "Did anyone mention who might have been responsible for the attack?"
Sharon shakes her head quickly. "No. Nobody seemed to know that part. Or if they did, they weren't saying."
"Sharon," I say carefully, watching her face. "Did anyone mention why they thought this attack happened? Any theories about motivation?"
She hesitates, and I can see her weighing how much to reveal. Finally, she nods. "Some people were saying it might be connected to... to some kind of business deal. That maybe someone was trying to send a message."
The merger. They're talking about the merger, even if they don't know the specifics. Information might be leaking faster than we anticipated.
"What else?" Alex presses, his voice harder now.
Marla has gone completely still beside Sharon, her face draining of color as she processes what her friend is saying. I can see the pieces clicking together in her mind, the full scope of what we're involved in becoming clearer with every word Sharon speaks.
Sharon's eyes dart away from mine, and my instincts immediately sharpen. She knows something else. Something she doesn't want to say.
"Sharon," Russ says gently, but there's steel beneath the kindness. "If you know something, you need to tell us. This isn't a game."
Sharon's hands twist together so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her breathing becomes shallow and rapid, her chest rising and falling visibly beneath her Ivory Wolf t-shirt. She looks at Marla first, then at each of us, her eyes wide with fear.
"I don't want to get anyone in trouble," she whispers.
"You won't," I say, keeping my voice level despite the tension coiling in my gut. "But we need to know what you heard."
She swallows hard, her throat working visibly. Her gaze drops to the floor, unable to meet any of our eyes. Beside her, Marla leans forward slightly, sensing her friend is holding back something crucial.
"Sharon," Marla says softly. "Please."
The silence stretches for several seconds. Alex hasn't moved from his position near the doorway, but I can feel the intensity radiating from him. Russ shifts his weight, his jaw tight with barely controlled impatience.
Sharon's voice cracks when she finally speaks, directing her worried gaze at me. "One of the bartenders said he saw your sister there Saturday night."
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
"What?" The word comes out flat, dangerous.
Sharon flinches but continues, the words tumbling out faster now.
"He said she was at the club late Saturday night.
Right before closing. She was arguing with some men he didn't recognize.
He thought it was weird because she looked really angry, and then a few hours later everyone heard about the warehouse attack and...
" She trails off, her meaning devastatingly clear.
Russ goes completely still beside me. Alex's expression turns to stone.
Arina was at the Ivory Wolf Saturday night, arguing with unknown men just hours before my warehouse was hit.