While hissing through a possible cracked rib, I retaliate to both Trey’s aggression and the painful memory bombarding me by pole driving Trey onto the dirty, blood-soaked floor. His back colliding with the concrete makes the sameoomphnoise my mouth does when I put my weight behind my hits. I act ignorant to the damage he’s doing to my midsection while slamming my fists into his face. I get in three or four decent hits before the ricochet of a gun stills both my heart and my fists.
When it happens another two times, I clamber off Trey and race in the direction the bangs came from while screaming Justine’s name on repeat. “J!”
Trey’s winded breaths expose he’s hot on my heels. His speed is so fast, he almost beats me to Justine being rolled down the hill by a man spraying bullets at insurgents sprinting his way like their last gig was in Iraq.
The stranger seems to have a handle on things, but just in case, Trey takes down the final two men lurking in the rugged bushland before he aims his gun at the confused crinkle between my brows. With flaring nostrils and a red, bloodied face, he stares at me for several long seconds. His eyes belong to a murderer, but before they can execute his every wish, he slowly lowers his gun. I don’t know if it’s finally dawned on him that I’m not the enemy or if he’s afraid what Nikolai’s response will be when he discovers Justine was pinned to the ground by the crotch of a man with a thick Russian accent.
“If you want to make it out of today alive, Ox, stay the fuck away from me,” Trey warns before instructing his men to search deeper into the woods.
Although he looks like he’s still itching for a bloodbath, he shifts his focus to Justine instead of the carnage only one hundred feet away. He doesn’t bombard her about her reckless behavior like my brothers and I would have when she was a teen. He simply relays his disappointment with the same smothering glare I’m giving her.
I’m still pissed at his insinuation I am anything like the fools India has at her beck and call, but no amount of anger would have me overlooking the respect he gives my sister. From the range of looks she’s garnering from Nikolai’s crew, she needs as many men on her side as possible. Trey isn’t an idle candidate, and I’d rather Justine not be in this environment at all, but I realize now that trying to pull her away from Nikolai would have been the equivalent of me not reacting to a fifteen-year crush when Saint pulled his signature move on Sloane instead of Demi.
As Justine is aided from the ground by the dark-haired, Russian-accented man, Nero returns from the woods. “Any signs of Maxsim?” Trey asks him, hopeful.
A man with burnt orange hair a similar color to Justine’s standing next to Nero shakes his head. “No, but I bet she knows where he is.”
He yanks forward a petite woman so aggressively, she falls to her knees. She’s shuddering like she is in an ice bath. Her scared response reminds me so much of Demi’s state of mind when she stumbled out of her uncle’s Audi. She’s scared, but not all her focus is on herself.
“I don’t know anything—” Her words are cut off by the butt of the ginger’s gun impacting with her temple.
I’m tempted to pole drive him into the ground like I did Trey only moments ago, but Justine beats me to him. “Don’t!”
He doesn’t appreciate Justine’s snapped command, but before he can announce his disgust, the dark-haired stranger growls something to him in Russian. I don’t know what he says, I’m not fluent in multiple languages like Justine, but it has the ginger-haired man backing away from Justine in an instant.
After swallowing harshly, the brute who gets off on beating women mutters, “Nikolai’s?”
“Yes,” several men answer in sync.
The man was already in fear for his life. Now, he looks set to end it himself. I can’t say I blame him. It will be less painful that way. I’ve seen how protective Nikolai is of Justine. It’s another reason I’d never rib her about their relationship like Saint did earlier this week. Everyone has their place in the world. Justine’s happens to be at Nikolai’s side.
When the red-haired man withdraws toward the forest, Justine approaches the petite brunette. It’s clear they’ve met before because Justine has barely reached her side when the cowering woman whispers something to her in a foreign language.
“Who promised you, Maya?” Justine asks, her tone oddly composed for how hard her chest is rattling. “Maxsim?”
Tears join the blood streaming down one side of Maya’s face when she nods. Her wordless confession sees Justine sucking in her first lung-filling breath of air since she woke early this morning.
After another three big breaths, she continues her conversation with Maya. Since they don’t want their conversation overheard, they talk in a foreign language I believe to be French. Although I can’t understand a thing they’re saying, several names are distinguishable. The most prominent—Nikolai’s.
“Nikolai? He was here?” In her shock, Justine expresses this question in English.
When Maya nods, Trey steps forward. “When?”
“Il y a trois jours.”
“Three days ago?” Justine half questions, half confirms. She chokes on her spit when Maya nods again. “Was he okay?”
I watch Justine for signs of distress when Maya’s head bob switches to a shake. “He wasn’t well,” she murmurs, her accent an odd combination of Russian and French. “How do you not know that? You were with him. You were the last person to see him alive.”
A combined hiss breaks the pin-drop silence surrounding Justine and Maya. Like the glares she’s getting could get any worse, Justine is hit with a truckload at once. They’re brimming with suspicion, and they have Justine responding in a manner she would have when she was a teen. “If I knew where he was, I’d tell you.” She sneers at the men staring at her through narrowed, skeptical eyes. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t remember anything!”
When she clutches her head like her brain is about to explode, the voice I heard earlier trickles back into my ears. “She needs to be seen by a doctor, Maddox. Knocks to the head cause many underlining issues you can’t see from the outside. If her brain is bleeding, she could suffer irreparable damage.” Agent Machini stops to catch her breath before adding to her plead. “Please, Ox, I’m begging you to seek urgent medical attention for your sister now.”
Although shocked the device I slipped into my ear hours ago is still functioning, unanimity is my strongest emotion. Justine is struggling, and as much as I wish the cause of her suffering would miraculously reappear, I know as well as anyone that the possibility of that happening grows less likely the longer he remains missing.
“It’s me,” I whisper when Justine stiffens from me curling my arm around her shoulders.
As I guide her back to the fleet of SUVs, I sling my eyes to Trey, where I wordlessly tell him Justine’s help with his search is now over. She needs rest, and if Nikolai were here, he’d agree with me.
