We’d sometimes stop by for a quick bite once she was off work at the Banshee and I was freed up from training or clan business.
Returning with Lochlan serves as just another reminder she’s not here. She’s seemingly nowhere to be found.
We slide into the usual booth we occupy and wait for the college-aged waitress to pour us some of the infamous shitty burned coffee.
Lochlan checks the time on his phone. I’m irritated off the bat, still lost as to what the hell we’re doing here.
“I’m not in the mood for breakfast,” I grumble. “If that’s?—”
“He’ll be here any second,” Lochlan interrupts simply. “I reached out to him yesterday about it, once I heard from Sean what you were up to. Didn’t get a chance to tell you before the meeting started. But this’ll probably help.”
Another four or five minutes pass before the diner door dings as it opens and some skinny, wiry fucker I’ve seen once or twice walks in.
I glare at him and realize where I’ve seen him before—the sandy-haired, knobby-throated asshole was on Lochlan’s revenge crew. He usually stuck out like a sore thumb because he looked so inadequate compared to the other men.
Now’s no different as he fidgets and glances around the diner, eventually spotting our booth and then beelining over.
“Killian, this is Robby Wójcik, NYPD police officer. He’s got some decent resources considering his position. Figured he could help.” Lochlan pins Robby with an expectant stare. “Did you bring it?”
“Yeah, I got it. You know me, Loch. I always come through for you, don’t I?” Robby pulls out his phone, his fingers twitching as he swipes through the screen. “Wasn’t easy, you know. CCTV footage isn’t exactly public access. I had to call in a few favors, pull some strings?—”
“Just show us the damn footage, Robby.”
The cop swallows hard and turns the phone around so we can see the screen.
The footage is grainy, black and white, the time stamp in the corner showing the night I broke up with Jhene.
Tension clenches inside my chest watching the scene play out.
Jhene walks down a dark street a few blocks down from my building, then she’s approached by a man wearing a half mask. He emerges from the shadows and blocks her path forward.
The Deathless.
Even in the low-quality footage, I recognize the bastard. They have a short exchange before he escorts her to an unmarked car idled at the curb.
Jhene looks defeated, shoulders slumped. She crawls inside the back seat and then the car pulls away into the night.
Gone. Just like that.
“She went back to them,” I mutter aloud. Though I’m speaking only to myself.
“Looks that way,” Lochlan says.
I stare at the frozen image on the screen, heart pounding in my ears. Part of me wanted to believe she’d somehow gotten out from under the Bratva. That she’d found somewhere safe to hide, despite no longer having my protection.
But the knowledge that she didn’t have the chance fucks with my head.
The Bratva showed up right as she left, proving they’ve been watching her closely all along.
…did she ever have a choice?
As much as I’ve told myself she did, what were her options? Fight The Deathless and be killed on the spot?
Could she have rebelled against Fedorov even if she wanted to?
The girl’s been in his custody from the time she was fourteen. He molded her, groomed her to be what he wanted for years. She told me how he used her and how she had a debt she’d never truly pay off.
I think about Ma and how she can’t ever seem to disentangle herself from my father, no matter how many times he’s beat the shit out of her. Her identity’s so tied up in him, she lives for him at this point.
