“Lead me to India. I’ll do the rest.”
“Attaboy,” Rocco cheers down my earpiece, wrongly assuming I’m on his team.
I’m not doing this for Dimitri or Nikolai.
I am doing this for me and my family—all of them.
As Smith and Rocco guide me toward the private airstrip, I search the cab of the Range Rover for a better weapon than the one shoved down the back of my jeans. India rarely travels alone, which means I need to weapon up.
I’ve only just pulled a machine gun off the back-passenger side floor when Smith demands me to brake. I lock them up so fast, I add to the bruises my tussle with Trey caused my ribs.
“What?” I asked, confused as to why I’m parked half a mile away from the woman they’ve been targeting for half a decade.
Smith clicks on his mouse a couple of times before informing me, “I piggybacked onto the satellite feed the Feds are using to track India’s Benz. It isn’t traveling toward the airstrip Maxsim is at. She’s heading in the opposite direction.”
What. The. Fuck?
After executing a three-point turn, I ask, “Has the Feds’ cover been blown?”
The woosh of a headshake drowns out Smith’s frantic tap on a keyboard. “I don’t believe so. She sent correspondence to Maxsim saying she needed to tie up loose ends and that she’ll meet him at Bora Bora within a couple of days.” Smith curses under his breath before adding, “If the video file I extracted from her phone is any indication of who she’s after, she’ll only need one bullet to end two lives… perhaps even three.”
I’m about to ask what the fuck he’s on about, but before I can, my phone dings, indicating I’ve received a text message. I dig it out of my pocket so fast, I veer onto the wrong side of the road.
A head-on collision is the least of my problems when I watch the footage playing on the screen on my phone. It is of a pregnant lady being bound to a chair by two brutes. Balaclavas are covering their faces, and they’ve weaponed up like they’re going to war. Although the female is conscious, the stream of red careening down one side of her head exposes she may not be for long.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Rocco and I murmur at the same time, revealing Smith is updating Rocco on the fly along with me.
“Who is she?” Rocco’s tone indicates he’s unaware of her identity, which is shocking since he seems to know everyone.
“Trey Corbyn’s wife,” I answer on Smith’s behalf. I only saw the quickest glimpse of her profile when Trey carried her out of the Popov compound earlier today, but it was enough to make a positive identification. “He said he sent her away to keep her safe, so how the fuck did India find her so quickly?”
“Nikolai has a snitch.” Rocco’s swift answer reveals today isn’t the first time he’s contemplated this. “And if the niggle in my trigger finger is anything to go by, it could be the same man that’s had Dimitri running in circles the past five years.”
Smith hums out an agreeing murmur before announcing the feed India is watching is untraceable. “She’s using a server similar to the one Vladimir used when he auctioned Justine. I need an invitation to log in, and even then, access would be limited.”
“Hold on, what? My sister was sold?” Nothing but shock highlights my tone.
“To Dimitri,” Rocco fills in like it’s old news. “That’s how Nikolai found her when Vladimir kidnapped her. I told you about this.”
“Like fucking hell you did,” I snap out, pissed as fuck but still primed with enough adrenaline from an earlier win to push it to the back of my mind. “We will have words about this later, but for now, can you send me India’s current location. If she’s anything like her file states—”
“She’ll tie up the loose ends herself,” Rocco interrupts, hitting the bullseye.
Like magic, the Range Rover’s dashboard switches on, and a map of Las Vegas brightens the screen. “She’s the orange dot. You’re the blue,” Smith advises before he continues tapping on his keyboard.
The several miles between India and me become less obvious when I plant my foot on the gas pedal. I race through the desert valleys of Vegas while racking my brain on what I plan to do when I reach India. No matter how strong my wish for revenge is, I can’t sit back and watch India put another man through what I went through. Losing a child is hard enough, but when you lose the woman you love as well, grief alone destroys the strongest man.
It ended me.
I won’t have it do the same to Trey.
My speed is so relentless, I’m shocked when my sail past a stationary police cruiser doesn’t see me being chased down by blue and white flashing lights.
I discover why when Agent Machini exerts her frustration about a mass casualty shooting via Smith’s microphone. “They were told to hold! How hard is it to follow orders?”
Smith may have blocked her from my feed, but he’s keeping tabs on every word she speaks. Trust is no longer a strong point of mine, and it appears to be the same for Smith.
“Now we may never get her.” Agent Machini’s growl barely drowns out the line of police cruisers darting past me. They’re lit up like a Christmas tree and driving as recklessly as me.
