“Simon’s hurt. My brother and father did some pretty nasty stuff to him. He’s recovering. He’s alive.”
The line goes quiet and the last thing I need is the Kozlovs turning on me too.
“Dima, are you there?”
“Yes. I’m just trying to decide if we should leave you alive after this. What the fuck were you thinking, going there? Did you know this would happen?”
“Of course I didn’t fucking know!” I shout. “I would never intentionally put my man in harm's way. But you gotta look at the bigger picture here. How are three men supposed to take on twenty? Would you have done it?”
Another stretch of silence.
“Listen, Dima. I just want to get us all out of here and kill the fuckers. But I need help for that, which I’m arranging. Having you here too will make it easier, but this isn’t New York. Things are different here.”
“Obviously,” he mutters down the phone.
“How long until you land?”
“Another two hours. We’re trying to find somewhere to stay nearby.”
“Good, I doubt my father would welcome you.”
“No shit. It's lucky for you we have contacts to be able to get out to you.”
“Whose plane is it?”
“Tyler’s brother-in-law. That crazy ass, Noah. Can’t believe the guy owns a fucking jet.”
“Text me when you land and I’ll come over.”
“And what about Si? He is all we care about, Carlos. Don’t forget that. We’re here to help him home.”
“He’s in our private infirmary. Lucas is sitting with him.”
“You better protect him, Carlos. Or I fucking swear I’ll have Lev skin you alive.”
“Dima, if something else happens to Simon, I’ll sharpen the knife for you.”
All I get in response is a grunt before the line goes dead.
“That went well,” I mumble to Mark and Lucas.
“At least we will have more support. We are gonna need it,” Lucas says, and I agree.
We leave the beach and go off in different directions, all with our own tasks.
My task now is to work out what I’m going to say to the Marins.
Then plan my family's deaths.
29
SIMON
T his room is like a white coffin, a sterile, white coffin closing in on me, like a breath waiting to be exhaled. The hum of the
lights and the ticking clock on the wall sound so loud in a room where pain has carved itself into every surface. I wonder
how many people have died here, or suffered. I’m not the first and sure as hell won’t be the last.
