“Demi wouldn’t want that. She didn’t want me to be a part of this world.”
“But she’d want this?” He backhands me in the chest while apfftvibrates his lips. “When your woman has been done wrong, you don’t take down a handful of names and call it a day. You destroy the entire fucking world, so not a single soul on this hellhole doubts what she means to you.” He takes a moment to complete by saying, “I will give you resources and men, anything you need to find her, but I need your word that when you’ve done what needs to be done, you will come back here and start a new list.” I shake my head, but he acts as if he doesn’t see it. “It wasn’t a suggestion, Maddox. There were more than two people in that room watching Justine’s attack, which means there are more people left for you to punish.” My smirk takes on a new meaning when he mutters, “I also promised Justine she wouldn’t be hurt again.” He bounces his eyes between mine. “Thiswould hurt her, and I’ll kill a thousand men before I let one break my promise to her.”
When he holds out his hand for us to shake on our agreement, I weigh up my options. I get what he’s saying, and in all honesty, when my grief really hits me, I do feel like I could take down the world, but I struggle imagining a life without Demi in it, especially here, in the Ravenshoe/Hopeton area. Her family stamped their legacy here, but because she was a part of it, not all their legacy leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
Nikolai’s inflated chest collapses when I slap my hand against his before briefly shaking it. I’m not above a little white lie if it greatly benefits me, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about becoming an uncle, so I’ll agree to his terms now, then reflect on them deeper when I’m alone.
“I’ll make some calls. Get you what you need. While I do that, you need to speak with my second-in-charge, Trey.” He scribbles a cell phone number onto a notepad on the refrigerator before preparing to leave.
Before he can leave, I draw his focus back with a secret that isn’t mine to share. “Dimitri isn’t as bad as he seems. He’s…softenedthe past couple of years.” He scoffs like it isn’t the first time he’s heard those words the past twenty-four hours. “He didn’t mean for Justine to get hurt. Technically, her punishment falls on my shoulders, so if you are looking for someone to blame, you’re looking at him.”
The firmness of Nikolai’s jaw would have you convinced I’m seconds away from having my throat slit, so you can imagine my surprise when he says, “If you keep your word, we’ll be even.”
“If I don’t?” I ask, forever curious.
Nikolai smirks a grin that exposes his killer insides before he drags his thumb from one ear to the next. Certain I’ve got the message, he pushes through the swinging door of the kitchen, conjuring up memories of the many times I searched for Demi through the swing of the door at Petretti’s.
Today, the memory doesn’t hurt me like it usually does.
It actually makes me smile.
33
Maddox
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”
Agent Machini’s eyes pop up from the milky beverage she’s drinking, hissing when she spots the bruises smattering my face. There aren’t many people I trust anymore, but she gained both my respect and trust when she kept quiet on what really happened to Agent Moses.
While running her index finger across a bruise on my cheek, she whispers, “You’re not fighting again, are you? You only got out of jail a couple of days ago. Don’t push your luck.”
It’s the fight of my life not to laugh at the fret in her tone. If she thinks a bruise from a three-day-old wrestle between Saint, Landon, and I can replicate the injuries fighters gained from Col’s underground fight circuit, Agent Brahn clearly kept her chained to her desk.
A black eye was child’s play on that route.
After slotting my backside on the empty bar stool next to hers, I signal for the bartender. “What are you drinking? Can I get you another?”
I slant my head to the side and arch a brow when she mumbles out nervously, “It’s milk… plain old ordinarymilk.”
The shame in her eyes clears away when I say with a chuckle, “Whatever floats your boat.”
Her giggle is unexpected when I order two glasses of milk from a big burly bartender, but it’s nice to hear. I didn’t copy her order to douse the tension radiating out of her. I’ve got so many tidbits of information coming at me at once, the last thing I should do is muddle my head with alcohol.
The photograph Agent Machini snuck into my jumpsuit five days ago kickstarted my campaign to track down India, but within a couple of hours, Rocco, Smith, and I hit a stalemate. Since India has men on both sides of the law assisting her, she’s clever at hiding her tracks. That isn’t surprising considering how long she’s been doing this. She’s had a lot of time to practice—almost as long as I’ve had to grieve.
After tipping the bartender for our generous schooners of milk, I twist my torso to face Agent Machini. “Have you been waiting long? Traffic is worse than I remembered.”
“All right, Maddox, enough with the small talk. What do you want? Why do you want it? And for how long do you want it?”
I’m glad to see neither her suspension nor taking the wrap for murder altered her feistiness. She’s still a firecracker.
“I need your help tracking down India.”
As she sips on her fresh serving of milk, she slings her eyes across the bar. Once she’s confident we’re not being eyeballed by anyone with the same characteristics she exudes, she mumbles, “I gave you everything I could.”
“I need more, Macy. What you gave me wasn’t enough.”
I was hoping to butter her up by using her real name, but it seems to have the opposite effect. She slams down her glass, spilling milk, before snatching her briefcase from the sticky countertop and slipping off her bar stool.
