I don’t need to spell it out to Lenin. This is as personal as it gets for me, which means me and only me will handle it.
The driver’s eyes seek mine in the rearview mirror when I tap on the back of his seat. “Change of plans. Take me to this garage.” I hand him the business card of my private limousine service.
* * *
We arrive at the garage thirty minutes later. The goons paid to drive my men around know there’s a reason for my visit. I don’t come down here unless I’m hunting a rat. Although Kostya may not have organized Zariah’s sale, he caused her pain. For that, he’llfeelher pain.
I find Kostya twenty seconds later. He is leaning on the front quarter panel of his car. He has a half-smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth and is talking to one of the mechanics repairing a flat tire. My gun is on my hip, but with my humanity obliterated, I snatch the tire wrench out of the grease monkey’s hand, walk up to Kostya and swing it as if it is a baseball bat and his head is the ball.
The crack the wrench makes when it collides with his left temple is as sweet as the moans Zariah releases when she comes. It jerks his head to an awkward angle and cracks open his skull. He falls to the ground with a thud, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He’s down for the count before he even grasps what’s hit him. He will most likely bleed out within a few minutes, but I add additional blows to his body and face with the tire wrench for good measure. It caves in his face as efficiently as darkness burrowed into my heart when both my mother’s and Bear’s claims were found to be facts.
When I return the tire wrench to the young, wide-eyed mechanic, I accept the grease-stained towel he’s holding out for me. As I make my way back to my idling car, I clear Kostya’s blood from my face and hands. My hands are shaking from the adrenaline I still have to disperse. I’ve never felt more unhinged.
After tossing the bloody rag into a trash can, I yank open the driver’s door. He startles, making me wonder if I need more than a towel to clean murder off my face. “Clean this shit up.”
“Y-yes, boss. I’ll get right on it.”
He’s barely slipped out of his seat when I take his place. My speed is frantic, but I’ve got to do something to dispel my energy before I reach Zariah. I warned her I was on the brink of insanity before we fucked. Now I’ve fallen over the edge.
As I take a corner too dangerous to be classed as safe, I call Lenin. I don’t bother issuing a greeting when he connects our call. “Where is she?”
“In her room—”
“Her room or mine?” It’s the same fucking room, but for some reason, Lenin’s reply is detrimental to my sanity. I’m dealing with more emotions than I’ve ever had, and just the thought of Zariah not in my room waiting for me adds to the madness.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens when Lenin replies, “Hers. She’s asleep.”
“Have Bahrain send the feed from her room to the video feed in this car. I’m only twenty minutes out, but I can’t wait that long to see her.”
Knowing Lenin will follow my instructions to the T, I disconnect our call.
Images of Zariah huddled in a ball in the middle of her bed play through the console of my car a few minutes later. I can barely see her since she hasn’t lit a candle, but the rise and fall of her chest is enough to settle some of the agitation sitting heavily on mine.
Not a lot, but it’s better than none.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I climb the stairs of my compound. Lenin is waiting for me at the door. “Has she moved?”
He shakes his head. “That may be more from fear than choice.”
I freeze, my brow arching up in silent demand.
“I told her she wouldn’t get far if she ran.”
My jaw tightens so fast, it cracks.
“Not to scare her into staying, but because the fuckers out there are more dangerous to her than any here.” He points to the door I just walked through.
Although I agree with him, I can’t help but retaliate. “But she doesn’t know that, does she?!”
Guilt lines his features before he once again shakes his head.
“So you made her feel imprisoned after she just found out she was sold.” I breathe out deeply, fighting with all my might not to punish him as I did Kostya. I would if I didn’t understand why he did what he did. Zariah is safer here, but he should have explained that without threatening her.
I let go of my anger for a more appropriate time. “Any news on Stepanov?” I sent my men out to find Zariah’s father the instant Matvei handed me her sale documentation.
“Not yet. He’s gone off the grid.”
