Page 35 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

Not finding her isn’t an option.

I haven’t met anyone else whom I think might give me some answers, and I’m not so naïve that I don’t think my curiosity will get back to the Petrovs. Leonid has eyes and ears everywhere. The Sicilians also. Why would it be any different for the Petrovs even if this isn’t their city?

When I arrive at the Iroquois Landing, I ignore the containers behind the quayside where I met Finn and focus instead on the ship pulling into the harbor as I step onto the dock. I’ve seen plenty of ships moored up at each harbor over the last forty-eight hours, but this one raises the hair on the back of my neck before I even seek out any of the crew members with my eyes.

I don’t understand why until a memory that I’ve tried to whitewash out of existence comes flooding back, hitting me like a blow to my gut, and stealing the air from my lungs.

Eight-year-old me being dragged out of the back seat of a car by a man in a smart black suit and with darkness in his eyes. The ramp that bounces underfoot as he drags me into an open container. The frightened eyes watching me from inside the foul-smelling cell, and the ship beyond it with its rusty nets hanging from the side, the hull discolored from the seawater, and the silent men turning a blind eye to the cargo they will be transporting.

I’m not sure if this is the same ship, but every instinct is telling me to turn around and get the fuck out of here. Only, my feet refuse to move. I scan the ship’s deck, searching for the faces that have been imprinted behind my eyelids for seventeen years, my pulse accelerating too quickly and making me feel lightheaded.

Even when I know they aren’t on board the ship, I remain still, like my feet have planted roots in the quayside. Those men who paid the matron to hand us over and caused my sister to lose the hearing in one ear might be dead by now. I pray that I’m wrong. I hope that the universe wouldn’t cheat me out of my revenge for what they did to us, or that it at least ensured they got the slow painful death they deserved.

When I finally drag my eyes away from the ship and search the men on the dock waiting for it to drop anchor, I find the same serpent tattoos coiled around the same necks I saw yesterday.

They must work for the Petrovs.

These docks have been controlled by Leonid and the Sicilians since they reached an alliance five years ago, which means that the Petrovs have convinced the authorities to look the other way while they offload their illegal cargo.

But how?

I should inform Leonid. He told me to observe and report back to him, but he would want to handle this now. The longer they continue to operate in plain sight, the harder it will be to stop them because, unlike mine, their roots will be permanent. And unstoppable. But I was so distracted in my pursuit of the white-haired woman that I forgot to bring my radio, and I don’t use a cell phone.

Fuck! I’ve allowed Finn to interfere with my focus and I’m already making mistakes.

“Hey!”

The voice penetrates my thoughts, and I realize that someone has been trying to get my attention. A woman. I turn around and spot her at the far end of the harbor, the woman with almost-white hair peeking out from underneath a white hard hat.

From this distance, it’s difficult to see her clearly, but I think she’s gesturing at me.

I start walking towards her as a hand clamps over my mouth from behind to stop me from crying out, and I’m dragged backwards, my boots scraping across the dock. I slide my hand inside my jacket pocket, but my attacker pulls me back against his chest so that my feet leave the ground and pries the gun from my hand as he swings me around.

He isn’t alone. The other man facing me, arms spread wide and knees bent in a fighting stance isn’t wearing PPE, but he does have a tattoo coiled around his neck.

My attacker has my arms pinned to my chest, one hand still smothering my mouth. I can smell his overpowering cologne and something else, something foul, like dirty dishwater, or damp clothes on sweaty skin, and I fight the urge to gag. Instead, I draw my lips away from my teeth and bite down on his palm, tasting blood.

He curses me in Russian. “Suka!” Bitch! before his fist meets the side of my head.

Pain rings through my skull like a siren, sending stars floating before my eyes. Everything else is blanked out behind the flashing lights and pulsing pain, the busy dock, the trucks driving in and out, the workers who won’t interfere because they don’t fancy their odds against two men attacking a woman.

Fucking cowards!

As the second man approaches, I draw my knees towards my chest, relying on my attacker to support my weight and give me the leverage I need. He does so, and I lash out with my feet at his friend, kicking him in the jaw.

He barely reacts apart from flaring his eyes and nostrils in anger.

I need to act quickly. I draw my knees back towards my chest to try knocking my assailant off-balance and cross my ankles close enough to my pinned arms to drag my blades out from my boots. I’m only going to get one chance, and I can’t afford to miss. My right hand is too restricted, but I manage to grip the handle of the dagger in my other boot with my left hand and hurl it at the second guy.

It lands in his groin, and he doubles over, the wide-eyed look of shock on his face sending a frisson of satisfaction through me.

But it isn’t enough.

I’m swung around like a rag doll, and bile rises in my throat when I face an open container.

Adrenaline floods my veins. My heart thuds dully against the man’s arm around my chest, as panic takes over. I bash my head back against his chest, ignoring the sickening pain in my skull. Again. And again. But his hold doesn’t loosen, and we’re only a few steps away from the container now.

I struggle to move my arms within his grip, but he is made of fucking metal, and all I manage to do is get squeezed tighter, the air being forced from my lungs. I throw my weight forward instead, legs flailing, my heels colliding with his shins, but nothing is going to stop him.