Page 26 of Exacting Vengeance

He would get his wife back and everything else owed to him. He still loved her, craved her like a drug he could never get out of his system. She was the key to all that was missing in his life.

“Bad for business my ass.” He hurled the phone against the wall, denting the Sheetrock.

Two months before getting released, he’d been told Gates was in New York City. But violating an order from Nikki—the New York Bratva’s new head guy—would be a death sentence.

Somehow, he would get Vika back and find a way to kill Gates. Quietly. Maybe he would make her watch as he killed the sonofabitch.

“Then she will beg me to take her back. Fuck orders.” There was no way he could let it go. And speaking of fucking…

Yuri tugged out the plastic bag from his slacks on the floor, tapped out an Anadrol, and washed it down with a swig of Beluga.

Perhaps, after he took care of this little business for Nikki, he could pick up where they’d left off in Chicago.

Kidnapping businessmen for ransom, then killing them.

New York was loaded with rich people. He could throw a dime in any direction and hit one of them. Who would miss a few here and there?

That decided, he smirked and went into the bathroom. When he yanked open the shower door, the woman—he thought her name might be Anya—gasped. Without a word, he spun her and pushed her against the wall. Her struggling only made his dick harder. He nudged her legs apart and thrust deep.

Chapter Twelve

When the elevator doors opened, every muscle in Victoria’s body went so tight she swore she could feel the pressure on her bones.

Before going into the hallway, she peeked both ways down the corridor. No one was there. Her heels clicked on the granite floor as she sped down the hall.

During her hasty departure—no, make that her escape—from 26 Federal Plaza, she’d looked over her shoulder at least ten times to make sure no one was following her. Grabbing a taxi hadn’t taken long, but even as they pulled from the curb and driven off, she’d glanced behind them so many times the cabbie had asked if something was wrong.

Wrong? Wrong? Just her entire life.

A short drive later, she pushed open the glass door with the Brad Evans Psychology sign on it. This was her temporary haven—a place where nobody knew who and what she really was.

Tracee, receptionist-admin extraordinaire and best friend, looked up from the monitor on the desk. “How’d it go with the FBI?”

“Fine.” She gripped her briefcase tighter and kept going, craving the privacy of her office. Mercifully, Brad’s door was closed. He’d want an update, something she wasn’t ready to give. At least, not all of it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tracee asked. The brightly colored beads in Tracee’s hair clicked melodically like a wind chime, telling Victoria her friend was right behind her.

“Fine,” she repeated. “Really.” She dropped her briefcase on the floor and sat behind her desk.

As expected, Tracee stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the doorjamb. "I know you’re a private person, but I can tell something happened, and the only place you’ve been today is the FBI office. I’m here if you want to talk.”

She mustered what she hoped actually passed for a smile. “Thank you. I just need some time to decompress after the meeting.”

Tracee nodded, as if she knew full well Victoria had no intention of opening up. She turned to leave but not before sending her a sympathetic look.

The door closed, and she was finally alone. Part of her was ready to call in sick for the rest of the day and crack into that ice cold bottle of Chardonnay in her refrigerator. Then again, day drinking never helped anything, and she really did need to go over her notes. No matter what, she wouldn’t abandon Aly.

Closing her eyes, she pressed three fingers to her forehead, doing her best to massage the tension. Breathe in, breathe out. Think. What did all this mean for her future?

She swiveled her chair to look out the window onto Fifth Avenue. The sidewalks were jammed, people hustling to wherever they needed to be. Taxicabs and buses serpentined from lane to lane, jockeying for position at the traffic lights. Even from her office five floors up, she could hear the car horns as clearly as if they were right down the hall.

Her gaze drifted from the window, over the pale yellow walls of her office to her most prized possession––her master’s degree in social work. She’d busted her ass to get that degree, nearly burning out from the stress of working during the day, followed by as many night classes as she could cram in. One day, she’d hoped to hang her shingle as Dr. Victoria Kelly. Now that was in serious jeopardy of never happening.

She was thirty-four years old and didn’t want to have to start over again in another city. It had been difficult enough getting a full set of new ID the first time. Why did Alex—Kyle—have to come back into her life? More importantly, would he rat her out? Wasn’t he obligated to tell his agency who she was?

The FBI would have to tell Brad. He could lose his government contracts, all because she’d lied about who she was—to everyone. Technically, she hadn’t lied. Her name and all her identification were legal, but the FBI wouldn’t see it that way. When Brad lost all that contract income, he wouldn’t see it that way, either.

She’d be fired. Every dream she’d ever hoped for—her entire future—rested in the hands of one man: Kyle Gates. Correction, Special Agent Kyle Gates. A federal agent sworn to uphold the law, not break it. The way she had. When she’d become a new person, those secrets had died with her former life.