Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
My pulse sprints as I bump my foot against Monty’s slipper. He’s so engrossed in Rhett’s story that he doesn’t respond.
“I told Alvis I worked for Rurik Strakh.” Rhett sighs. “It was so easy. He thought I was one of Rurik’s henchmen and handed over the flight logs that tracked Denver’s movements. And so it went. Over the years, I collected the logs, learned Denver’s pattern, and tracked him when he flew in to gather supplies.”
Keep talking, you crazy fuck. We need more time, and you’re playing right into our hands.
I nudge Monty’s slipper again, and this time, he nudges back. His gaze remains fixed on Rhett, narrowed on that fucking gun, as he slides his foot from his shoe and inches the slipper toward me.
“I don’t remember you on Kodiak Island.” Monty clears his throat, trying to hide any noise I might make.
It’s not necessary. Silence and stealth are second nature to me.
“My father was Rurik’s accountant for a short time.” Rhett taps his thumb on the butt of the pistol. “He brought me to the estate only once. You weren’t there. But Denver was.”
“You were twelve, and Denver was…” Monty releases a breath. “Seventeen.”
“Yes. While our fathers were holed up in Rurik’s office all night, Denver took me to the wine cellar, let me drink wine with him, and…”
“He raped you,” Monty says bluntly. “And when you were old enough, you hunted him down to exact your revenge.”
“At first, yes. I wanted to kill him. But as I watched him, I became…enamored. I wasn’t that weak twelve-year-old boy anymore. Watching Denver hunt, stalk, and take Kaya and Kodiak without getting caught…” Rhett shakes his head. “He was brilliant. I wanted to be him. I guess you can say I developed a bit of hero worship.”
And look at his hero now.
A pint-sized redhead with a ferocious heart took him down with a lead pipe.
Frankie stares at the ceiling, absorbing the information without moving a muscle. If she has full motion in her face, it would require incredible concentration to keep her expression slack.
I’m so fucking proud of her.
And terrified for her.
We need to keep Rhett talking.
Monty stares at our woman, his jaw grinding. “What’s the meaning behind the Pushkin quotes?”
“When your father paid off my family and moved us out of state, he sent me a gift. An entire collection of books by Pushkin.”
“Rurik was obsessed with the poet.” Monty frowns.
“Yes. The book collection came with a handwritten note. Not signed. Just a quote. He filled a shelf with a small army of books and read and read; but none of it made sense. They were all subject to various cramping limitations: those of the past were outdated.”
“And those of the present were obsessed with the past.” Monty finishes.
“I guess Rurik knew I would become obsessed with the past.”
“Whose handwriting is on the notes you sent?”
“I approached a homeless kid in San Francisco and paid him twenty bucks to write the words I gave him.”
Jesus Christ. To what lengths will this whack job go?
“Did Denver know you were tracking him?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Rhett inhales. “I don’t know how, but he sensed me following him and showed up at my apartment in Anchorage one night. This was around the time I met Frankie.”
“Why didn’t he kill you?” Monty narrows his eyes.
“Same reason I didn’t kill him. Mutual respect. I asked him to mentor me, and in exchange, he asked me to track down Gretchen Stolz. It was a test. One I passed.”
Wolf doesn’t respond to the mention of his mother. Not even the tiniest puff of air passes his lips.
Without moving a single muscle above my ankle, I slowly prod my foot into the slipper Monty passed to me. Size twelve. Same as me. Long enough to conceal a nine-inch fillet knife.
I don’t know how Monty snatched it from the doorframe without Rhett spotting the movement through our cameras. Monty angled his body just right, slipped it beneath his clothes, and kept it hidden until we destroyed our phones.
Walking in here with it tucked inside his slipper was a risk.
But it paid off.
Curling my toes around the knife’s handle, I carefully ease it out of the shoe and lower it to the floor beside Wolf’s foot.
He feels it there, his toes twitching against mine.
My chest constricts, the tension unbearable, as I step down on the blade.
I hold the knife in place, my eyes on Rhett, as Wolf maneuvers the handle between his toes and grips it.
Transferring it from his foot to his hand will be the impossible part.
But he has it. The knife. The element of surprise.
Whatever his plan is, he’s armed.
64
Monty
—
My hands fist so tightly on my naked lap that my knuckles crack.
The cabin reeks with the stench of decay despite Rhett’s assurances that the bodies don’t stink. They do. It’s not a smell that lingers in the air but one that seeps into the soul. The kind of stink that rots the living from the inside out.