The situations’s different, but some of the effects are the same—Jhene’s trapped by the Bratva in more ways than just physical captivity.
Fedorov’s done a fucking number on her. Emotionally. Psychologically.
“Fuck,” I grunt, eyes closing. Then I slam a fist on the table. “Fuck!”
“Figured it wasn’t good news,” Robby says awkwardly. He pockets his phone. “I mean… not sure what’s going on, but it didn’t look too good anyway.”
Lochlan clears his throat and changes the subject. “How’s Sorcha doing?”
“She’s, uh, she’s good. Matter of fact, we’re actually having dinner tonight. So I, uh, you know… should probably go.”
“Good—and remember what I told you. Treat her right or else.”
The twitchy cop fervently nods and then excuses himself from our presence.
We’re back where we started, alone at the booth with our burned coffee and laminated menus we’ve got no intention of ordering from.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I don’t know what the fuck to do. She’s back with them… and I’m the one who sent her there.”
Lochlan sips from his coffee, taking a second or two longer to answer, mulling over every word before speaking them.
“I know about huge fuck ups,” he says. “And about questioning loyalties. Trust me on that.”
Extremely true.
He almost destroyed his own flesh and blood over it.
“Sometimes when you’re on a mission, you get tunnel vision,” he explains. “You’re so focused on the goal that you lose sight of everything else. It sounds like that’s what happened to the stray. She was so desperate to save her sister—the same way I was desperate to avenge Eddie—that she lost sight of the whole picture.
“She did whatever she felt she had to, even if it meant hurting people she cared about. You said the girl’s been through some shit,” he adds, meeting my gaze. I nod in answer. “Then maybe it isn’t what it seems. The girl was probably trying to survive the only way she knew how. Maybe second chances are in order.”
“When you put it like that…” I admit with a frustrated glower.
“Think about it.”
Lochlan slides out of the booth and drops a few bills on the table to cover the coffee neither of us really drank.
I stay put for a long time after he’s gone, alone with my thoughts and the conflicted feelings I don’t knowwhat to make of.
Second chances might be in order, but it’s not so easy when the Bratva’s involved. When the woman involved is once again in their clutches…
The next couple days are a fucked-up blur of more training, searching, and sleepless nights.
I throw myself into finding Fedorov’s property on Long Island, the one Aleksei mentioned when we met at that dive bar weeks ago. Apparently it’s his main estate and also where the old bastard keeps his “pets” locked away from the world.
If Jhene’s anywhere, that’s probably where she’d be.
But tracking down the exact location is easier said than done.
Fedorov’s paranoid for a reason. The man doesn’t exactly make his address available for public record.
I try Aleksei’s number at least half a dozen times. The phone rings before going to voicemail, and the Russian never calls back.
For all I know, he’s dead in a ditch somewhere, or he’s decided helping the Callahans isn’t worth the risk anymore.
Either way, I’m on my own.
Ronan’s made it clear the clan’s resources are going toward fighting the Bratva,notfinding Jhene. I don’t bother asking for his help anyway.
