Adrenaline shoots through me as I take a couple lumbered steps forward then break out into a jog. Jhene’s only half a pace behind me, obviously alerted to the same discovery I’ve made.
What the hell am I looking at? Is that really who I think it is?
“Teagan!” I shout. “What the fuck happened to you?”
I kneel at his side, my hand clamping down on his shoulder to roll him over. He’s only half conscious, his body limp but heavy as he’s turned onto his back.
Jhene gasps and covers her mouth.
I can’t say I blame her—it’s a gruesome sight even for me, let alone most civilians off the street.
Teagan’s been beaten to a pulp.
He’s had the shit kicked out of him, his eye knocked out of its socket and the blood vessels on his face busted.
The bone’s sticking out of his shin, having broken the skin, and the crotch area of his pants is dripping slick crimson.
But it’s what’s carved into his bare chest that’s caught my attention more than anything else. Etched into his skin as if his chest was paper and the blood they drew was the ink.
Return whatbelongs to us.
Every muscle in my body coils tighter. My gaze snaps over to a puzzled Jhene who’s standing at my side.
There’s no question what the Russians mean; they’re talking about Jhene.
They’ve burned down the Banshee and almost killed Tom in the process. Now, even after our retaliation, they’ve doubled down, beating Teagan within an inch of his life.
Leaving this message for us to see and making it clear they won’t be giving up any time soon.
They want Jhene back, and they’re not going to take no for an answer.
TWELVE
Jhene
I’ve seena lot of terrible things in my twenty-three years. Teagan’s battered body on the sidewalk is now on that list.
It’s been a couple hours since we found him crumpled outside Killian’s building, and I still can’t shake the image no matter how hard I try.
Violence isn’t exactly new to me—I did spend ten years in Fedorov’s custody, witnessing the atrocities he committed against my family and others.
He once dug a man’s eye out of its socket with a soup spoon.
But that doesn’t make what’s happened to Teagan any less jarring. He’s been transported to Brooklyn General, and I’ve been dragged by Killian to the charred remains of the Banshee.
…can’t exactly leave the target alone after they’ve dumped a body in front of your building with a warning about what they want.
Return what belongs to us.
I know exactly what that means, and so does everyone else gathered in this burned-out husk of a pub.
The Banshee is still in shambles.
It looks about as good as I feel, which is obviously not so great. The fire gutted most of the interior, leaving behind charred beams and blackened walls and the persistent smell of smoke. It’s inescapable, embedded into every crack and crevice of broken furniture.
I’m tucked into what was once a booth on the far side of the room. The pleather’s now melted and deformed, and the table wobbles any time I rest my elbows on it.
Across the barroom, Killian and his men huddle together.
