Page 27 of Barinov

Home

Trying my best not to murder Mortal Kombat.

5 days since Bella’s kidnapping.

“…and none of this would have happened if you two would have just gone with her into Roman’s office,” Laing smarts off for what has to be the thousandth time.

I swear to God I’m about to break the fucker’s nose again before Nate cuts in.

“Back down, Laing.”

Laing rolls his shoulders like he’s itching for it anyway.

“Bloody hell,” O’Malley scoffs from across the table. “This is going great.”

“Where is Ivan?” Khoza’s voice booms over the others.

“And Marisol,” Briggs adds. “They should be here by now.”

“Ivan’s not picking up and Marisol is being Marisol,” Tex answers.

Five days.

Five days since our girl was taken.

Five fucking days and no word from Luca. No coordinates for where the hell we’re supposed to go in Costa Rica. And not one single clue as to what Cade is going to be forced to do in whatever sick-ass trial that’s waiting for him down there.

Nothing.

Only a lot of fucking silence.

Okay, not exactly silence.

Our apartment has been a complete madhouse. Sabine, Laing, and Kenji showed up two days ago. Laing immediately unleashed the entire Red Silk Triad’s tech arsenal on all of our phones and laptops. His cables sneaking across the table like a nest of vipers.

Didn’t do shit.

Which tracks, considering Tattooed-Dragon-Dick is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. All that useless, expensive hardware and we’re still sitting here like jackasses twirling our thumbs while our girl is out there bleeding and getting branded by her brother.

Sabine’s been the real one. She’s been tearing apart every possible chemical configuration, desperately trying to map out every shitty scenario Zeke could have done to those collars.

Shock. Poison. Internal burns. Delayed detonation.

All of them suck ass.

Khoza and O’Malley arrived yesterday afternoon, sitting in silent observation. Gearing up and getting ready to burn the world down with violence and loyalty until we find our girl.

I love those guys.

Briggs has still been here since Ellie called him in. That situation is a whole separate problem Cade and I haven’t had a single minute to unpack yet, but we will.

Top all of that off by cramming a fuck-ton of people into the mix. This place has officially stopped feeling like our home and is starting to feel more like a damn war bunker.

There is nowhere to breathe. I can’t even take a shit without someone barreling through one of the doors.

Ellie and Haley haven’t left once. They’ve been sleeping here—our bed, the couch, the cold floor, or wherever they drop when exhaustion finally wins. Knox too. He hasn’t left the kitchen table in what feels like days. The guy has just been rotating between coffee, code, and staring holes through Luca’s poems.

Nate’s been working upstairs on the Project Dylan servers trying every angle we can to find her. Him and Tex moved back into their old rooms in the penthouse on the 41st floor. Close enough to hear if shit goes sideways.