Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Follow up with Filip,” I tell him. “Amaranov can’t have my woman, but we can make an arrangement to allow the son of a bitch’s transactions to be hidden.” His corruption runs deep and strong, and we can use his greed to our advantage. “Tomorrow, we’ll discuss our next course of action. But after this phone call, I do not want to be interrupted for the remainder of the evening unless it’s an emergency.”
I end the call and focus on Calina, eager for a kiss to eradicate Amaranov from my brain, when we hit a bump in the road that nearly sends her flying off my lap. I catch her just in time and slide her on the seat beside me.
“What happened?” I ask my driver in Russian.
“I don’t know, sir,” he responds, but then we’re careening out of control. Calina screams, and I shoot my arm out to prevent her from falling. We crash to a stop and she bumps her head.
“You alright?” I ask her.
She nods silently.
Cursing, I try to see what’s happening but I can’t because it’s so black outside the window and we’re far in the inner city now. Were we shot? Was it an ambush? Or just an accident?
“Rynelf,” I shout to the front.
“We hit a pothole, sir, blew a tire. I’m sorry. I couldn’t see a thing and lost control.”
In this area of the city, the roads are poorly maintained. It’s not uncommon for things like this to happen. Still, this timing is unfortunate.
“Call the men. Have someone pick us up,” I tell him, my first thought of Calina. I can handle myself on the inner city streets, but Calina is another story. “I’ll get out and assess this damage.” I turn to Calina. “Stay here until I tell you otherwise.”
But nothing is simple in the brotherhood. I don’t have the luxury of believing in accidents. I have to assume everything has a purpose.
When I open the door I find us in a seedy part of the city I haven’t visited since I was a boy. It takes effort to forget the last time I was here, the day Dimitri recruited me to the brotherhood. I shove all memories out of my mind so I can focus on what’s happening now.
I stand, my palm on the gun tucked into my waist, when three men approach us. Are they our rivals? Were they sent by Amaranov? Or someone else altogether?
In seconds, I observe their tattered clothing that hangs on their emaciated frames. Their eyes are haunted and vacant with dark under circles. This is no rival Bratva, but men who see an affluent car in their neighborhood and come to rough up the occupants for money.
I’m grateful the streetlights are out. They might recognize me if they saw my face, and it’s to my advantage they don’t know who I am. Yet.
“Can I help you, gentleman?” I ask pleasantly in Russian, my hand still on my gun. I’m vividly aware of Calina crouched in the car behind me. The only thing that shields these predators from her is me. And hell, I’m no savior, but if they even fucking look at her…
“In the wrong part of the city here,” the tallest one in the group says. “I think he’ll have to pay his dues, boys. What do you think?”
This isn’t going to end peacefully.
“We blew a tire,” I say. “We didn’t mean to stop here. Someone’s on their way to repair it, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Will you?” the man in front says, taking a step toward me. He cranes his neck and peers into the car. “We might let you get away with trespassing if you pay us off. I haven’t touched a classy woman in months.” He turns to the men. “What do you say boys?”
They laugh. “Like you ever touched class,” one says.
“You don’t fucking touch her,” I say, removing my handgun and cocking it. “You’re going to turn around and pretend you never saw us. We’ll wait for the repair crew to come, and then you’ll never see us again.”
One of the men huffs out a laugh. “He thinks he’s controlling this.”
Oh, but I fucking am.
When he strikes out, I’m ready. I duck the blow, bending, then catch him with my elbow hard, slamming it into his back and sending him howling to the ground. Without a word, I press my foot onto his head and point my gun at his temple.
“Leave,” I tell them, “Or he dies.”
The short, stupid son of a bitch decides it’s worth a fight and lunges at me. I lose my balance, falling to the pavement and hear Calina scream. “Stay there,” I yell at her, which brings their attention back to her. One hauls her out and onto the pavement, which was a big fucking mistake because it sends me right over the edge to near insanity. He touched her. The motherfucker touched her. I launch myself at him, grab his wrist and twist his arm back with an audible snap. He howls in pain, and Calina yells “Demyan!”