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He shrugs, his expression folding into a frown. “They took off when they realized they were getting their asses kicked. What does that have to do with anything?” he demands, suddenly impatient with my random line of questioning.
Rather than answering him outright, which could easily expose the truth of my treachery, I hedge. “I think they might be related to the men who ambushed us on the road this summer.” It’s a stretch, but they certainly seemed to know about what happened to my old clan and that the Sakharovs were responsible. It wouldn’t be too outlandish to think they might be related.
“Not a chance,” Viktor scoffs. “You boys have been hunting those snakes down for months. If there were more, you would have found them.” Then he glances at me sidelong. “Out of curiosity, what makes you say that?”
I shake my head. “Just something the guy said before he knocked me out. He… seemed to be aware of the guys we dragged into the basement.” The lie rolls from my tongue with ease, covering my tracks but also giving Viktor motivation to believe they could have a deeper reason for getting into a fight with us last night.
Because the longer I think about it, the more I get the distinct feeling that the two incidents are connected. Those guys were standing between us and our ride intentionally, I’d bet money on it. And though all I know is the blond guy knows about Sascha and what happened to the Nezhit, they also clearly perceive the Sakharovs as enemies.
That could easily give them motivation to go after Alina like they went after me and Viktor’s crew. The theory starts to solidify in my mind—objectively speaking, both Sakharov children were targeted last night. It’s just that Viktor and his crew are so used to drunken bar fights, we didn’t see it for what it was.
Those guys weren’t belligerent drunks looking for a brawl. They wanted to take Viktor. And they did take Alina. So, regardless of their relationship to the men who ambushed us, I do think they’re connected to Alina’s disappearance.
Fire flashes in Viktor’s eyes as we reach Rasputin.
In an instant, his eyes are on Malik and Kristof. “You boys hear anything suspicious from those guys we fought last night at the club?” he asks.
They frown, sharing a glance before shaking their heads.
“What kind of suspicious, Boss?” Kristof asks.
“Orlov here says the guy he fought mentioned the boys in the basement.”
“You think that has something to do with Alina’s disappearance?” Rasputin asks, his black gaze piercing.
I shrug, my tension making me vibrate with the need to do something. I hate talking when I know Alina’s out there, in the hands of men who probably want her family dead as badly as I have. And while I don’t include her in that animosity, not everyone cares about her like I do.
“He didn’t say anything about her directly,” I clarify. “But he knows about what we did, and he sure as hell didn’t consider the Sakharovs his allies. All I’m saying is it feels like a pretty big coincidence that we got jumped on the same night Alina was taken. The same night we dragged five men into the basement. They could have been watching the house—saw us heading to Plastique and thought they might be able to take us, then when Alina left the house on her own, they saw an opportunity they couldn’t pass up.”
“Blyat,” Lenka breathes as the gravity of my words seems to sink in.
“Let’s go back to the club. Maybe one of the bouncers knows who they are.” Viktor’s command is filled with purpose, and we all nod in agreement.
Wordlessly, we head toward Sergio’s black Escalade waiting for us out front. Lenka gets in the driver’s side, Rasputin taking shotgun as the rest of us pile into the back.
As soon as the car’s rolling, Malik is passing out the guns. Not that we’ll need them for the bouncers, but if this lead goes somewhere, men are going to die tonight. And for the first time, I’m more than ready to put a bullet between a man’s eyes. Because I’ll do anything to get Alina back.
My thoughts fill with visions of her. Her fierce blue eyes as she peers up at me. Her full lips curling into that coy smile she levels me with on a daily basis. I can scarcely breathe with the thought of anyone laying a hand on her.
My passionate, independent, brave zlyuchka.
I don’t care if she never forgives me for trying to kill her father.
Her safety is the only thing that matters. I won’t stop until I’m sure she’s okay. I will burn this entire city to the ground if that’s what it takes to find her.
Then, and only then, will I worry about how much she might despise me.
11
ALINA
Shivering with the damp cold and unrelenting draft of this poor excuse for a building, I’m left tied to my chair, alone, for what must be hours. I know because somewhere along the line, while I sat in an exhaustion-induced stupor, the sun rose.
Beams of light now trickle in through the gaps in the run-down walls of the condemned crack house where I’m being kept. They rip holes in the terrifying darkness that surrounds me, softening the harsh light that glares from above my head. And somehow, though I know my situation hasn’t improved in the least, the shadows’ retreat brings me courage.
Groaning stairs announce the return of my captors, which must be what drew me from my state of semi-consciousness back to the world around me. I sit up, straightening my stiff back and ignoring the way the ropes bite into my chafed skin. My wrists are slick with blood after so many hours of struggling to break free of my bonds.
But nothing worked, so here I sit, still gagged and tied to the chair I’m likely going to die in. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of knowing I’ve given up, though, and while my muscles ache from hours upon hours of trembling and my skin is on fire from rope burn, I square my shoulders and lift my chin to show my captors they haven’t broken me.
