Page 93 of Queen of Ruin

I leave the kitchen sprayed in blood from three dead bodies and dab at my split lip where one right hook landed before I could block it. Ruslan joins me a minute later, wiping sweat from his brow. Two dead guards litter the bedroom he’s just come out of.

“How many more?” I ask in a low voice.

Ruslan shrugs. There’s no way to know for sure, but as long as we get the real scumbag here, the rest will be easy.

This is our city.

We spill our blood, sweat, tears, and sanity, keeping this insane balance that keeps the world turning. Then these assholes think they can sneak it, cause trouble, and let someone else take the fall? Worse than that, they dare think they can use children as some kind of fucking currency?

We’ve worked hard to stamp out the skin game in New York, and I’m not foolish enough to believe it’s gone for good, but that doesn’t mean I’ll turn a blind eye.

The lounge is empty and through the glass bay doors, a glittering pool shimmers under the midday sun. Music blasts from several black speakers near the bar, and a couple of guards linger near the perimeter of the pool overlooking the city.

My target rests on a sun lounger with his protruding belly turning brown under the sun. Smoke rises from the thick cigar caught between his fat fingers and his balding head gleams like a mirror with sweat.

I twirl my knife and pad closer with Ruslan behind me. He swaps his knife for his silenced weapon and takes aim as I drop down and move behind the sun lounger holding the last man in this city intent on kidnapping children and shipping them overseas to be child soldiers.

We act at the same time. I sweep around the sun lounger and land in the man’s lap, silencing his cry of alarm by pressing my blade to his fat throat while Ruslan fires three perfect shots and kills each of the guards.

“What the?!” He croaks hoarsely and his cigar drops from his fingers. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You don’t know me,” I say shortly, and I accept Ruslan’s phone when he offers it to me. “I’m looking for her.”

Tabitha flashes up on the screen and a flicker of recognition passes through the man’s eyes. I adjust my knife just enough that a trickle of blood begins rolling down his neck.

“Where is she?”

“I have no fucking clue— Guards! Guards!”

“He’s thick as shit.” Ruslan snorts as he takes his phone back. “I’ll call the others.”

“Where. Is. She.” I press the knife deeper with each word, but this fucking asshole doesn’t even flinch.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” he croaks. “You have no idea who you are messing with.”

“Did you sell her?” I stare into his eyes, unblinking as I study the micro-changes across his expression. “Are you still using her? She’s good, isn’t she? One of your generals caved and told us that you use her for bait. Did you get rid of her when things were drying up?”

The hints across his expression are tiny, but I get my answer. He hasn’t sold her, nor has he gotten rid of her. Despite that, he isn’t going to tell me where she is, either.

“You kidnapped the wrong woman,” I snarl. “I would gladly spend weeks taking you apart, peeling the flesh from your bones for everything you’ve put these kids through, but you’ve taken enough from me, you understand?”

“I don’t even⁠—”

His words die in a gurgle and splutter as I drag my knife swiftly across his throat. Blood splatters the tiles next to the lounger and I clutch his shoulder, forcing him to stay down as he gurgles and drowns on all the blood bubbling in his throat.

“Hey, Val?” Ruslan’s cautious voice takes my attention and I glance up, then follow his line of sight to the bay doors leading back inside.

A small boy stands there in a dirty T-shirt and cargo shorts, his hair all messed in different directions. He stares at me with wide brown eyes until Ruslan quickly steps in the way to block his line of sight to the sun lounger.

I step away from the body as that bastard takes his last, wet breath. “There are children here,” I murmur as I approach Ruslan. The boy’s face crumples and his lower lip wobbles, then Ruslan darts toward him.

“Hey kiddo. Hey, it’s alright. It’s alright. We’re the cops, see?” Ruslan pulls out his little black card and flashes it at the child. “My name is Ruslan, what’s yours?”

The child’s wide eyes flood with tears as he stares up at Ruslan. “I-I want to g-go home.” His voice shakes and trembles, and my heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

“We can take you home,” Ruslan replies with a gentleness I’ve never heard from him before. “You’ll have to tell me your name, though.”

“C-Cameron.”