Page 5
“Your assistant? She’s a little”––he paused dramatically––“tied up at the moment.”
Breathe, Zak. Don’t show your cards.
“Our war has nothing to do with my employee. Why involve her?”
My tone was flat. In no way did it reflect the torrent of emotion swirling through my body. Machail couldn’t know the depths of my feelings for Pru. If he did, she was as good as dead. A heaviness settled in my chest as I climbed to my feet. The room felt like a hollow shell without her presence.
“I’ve been watching you for a while, Zakhar.”
“Good for you,” I interrupted.
“You don’t think I’ve seen the way you watch her? Ms. Turner is your weakness.”
Just then, Kas, Mak, and Dimi burst into my office, weapons drawn. The tension etched across their features smoothed out as they realized there was no immediate threat, but it came back tenfold when I pulled the phone from my ear and put it on speaker. Rage lit up their eyes with my next words.
“What do you want, Machail?”
“A trade.”
“What kind of trade?”
Over the next few minutes, he detailed his grievances with a certain FBI agent named Alaina Biggs. Apparently, she’d taken down a profitable drug operation he was running out of West Virginia as well as putting his nephew behind bars. Machail put a price on her head, but he had the patience of a gnat and was equally as annoying.
“I know the FBI contacted you. Bring me that bitch, I’ll give you Ms. Turner.”
I wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d let me walk away unharmed. Machail wanted me dead. The sentiment was mutual. Too bad he wouldn’t get his wish. Not now. Not ever.
“Deal. Now let me talk to her.”
“A picture will have to do. Smile for the camera, cyka.”
The unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh filtered through the line before the call ended and a text message came through. My blood boiled at the image. Pru. My Pru, beaten and bloodied, barely conscious. The phone screen cracked under the pressure of my grip.
“Zak,” Kas started, but I stopped him with a look.
“Machail Bolotov is a dead man.”
No one argued.
Weeks of nothing, yet within minutes of the call, Mak had pinpointed his location. Huntington, West-by-God-Virginia of all places. It seemed Bolotov was done hiding. Fifteen minutes after that, the four of us were in my silver Aston Martin DBX, barreling up I-30 to the private airstrip just south of the international airport. My jet was fueled, the flight plan was filed, and the rest of my men were stocking the cargo hold with enough fire power to level a city block. I wasn’t taking any chances. We were wheels up the second the main cabin door was sealed.
“Get your shit together, Zakhar,” Dimi grumbled after the pilot announced we were at a cruising altitude. Like he had room to talk. I saw the way he spun the silver ring on his middle finger. He was just as anxious as me.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” I seethed, clenching my fists. The urge to pummel something—or someone—into nonexistence rode me hard. Whatever it took to get the image of Pru’s broken body out of my head. All of it was my fault. If I hadn’t fought my feelings, she would’ve been protected, but no more. She was worth every gamble.
“A dumbass, apparently.” He fired back. “We have a limited amount of time to figure out a way to kidnap a federal agent, plus get your girl back without spending the rest of our lives in prison.”
“I don’t look good in orange, brother.” Mak crossed his ankles and winked, drawing attention to his unusual eyes. One hazel, one forest green. In school, the kids called him a freak, now women tripped over themselves to have his striking gaze land on them.
Rolling my eyes, I asked him, “What do we know about Agent Biggs?”
He tapped a few keys on his keyboard, then flipped the screen around for all of us to see as he spoke.
“Agent Alaina Biggs is one of six elite agents making up the small satellite office in Huntington. Her undercover work with the DEA was integral in bringing down Zasha Popov, Machail’s nephew.”
“How do we isolate her from the rest of her team?” I tapped my index finger against my chin.
“Take her to dinner.”
