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I look up with a frown. “What does that last part mean?”
Pyotr translates. “It meansmy kindred spirit. His soulmate.”
My chest tightens and my eyes suddenly well with tears. I miss Luka so fucking much right now. “Take care… I don’t understand.”
“We’ll do right by you,” Mikhail explains. “It’s our little brother’s way of asking us to welcome you into our family, and therefore our protection.”
“What if I don’t want it?” I ask, purely out of reflex. “Have you forgotten I’m an FBI agent? I don’t think we’d mix very well.”
“We will honor our brother’s request,” Dimitri says lightly. “It’s not a question of what you want.”
Pyotr takes the paper from me and tucks it into the back pocket of his pants. “You need to tell us everything. Every word spoken, every face you saw, every minor detail.”
“I’d rather let the FBI handle this.”
“Do you want to see Luka again?” Mikhail asks me sternly.
“Of course I do.”
“Then you need to work with us here, Agent Harper. If we wait for you and your cowboys to do things by the book, I guarantee you Luka will be dead by the end of the week. We’re taking matters into our own hands, which means you’re going to have to mute that moral compass of yours until the job is done.”
I swallow hard. “Job? What job?”
Mikhail’s face hardens, impassable like stone. “All these years, I’ve been far too lenient. I don’t believe in killing, but I see now that was a mistake. No more half-measures, no more mercy. We spared our enemies once before, but it won’t happen again. This time, we’re going to put an end to The Trinity once and for all.”
The air rushes from my lungs, dread sweeping through my veins.
“You mean you’re going to kill them,” I mutter.
Mikhail nods. “Damn fucking straight.”
Chapter 30
Luka
Iwake to the sensation of poking and prodding. The moment I open my eyes, I’m blinded by searing white lights above my bed. The walls and floors are white, too, amplifying the brightness of the sun through the room’s singular window. My head throbs. My retinas burn. This is as torturous as my time spent in the dark.
It takes me a while to completely regain my senses. Everything smells of chemical cleaners and plastic. I hear the hum of a distant air conditioning unit, along with the huff and hiss of the oxygen machine I’m strapped to. My skin burns, rubbed so clean it’s almost raw. The bed sheets I lay upon are scratchy, but thankfully, they’re warm.
I try to lift a hand to rub my eyes but find that I can’t. The metallic clink of handcuffs against the frame of the bed rings in my ear. Upon closer inspection, I realize something’s off. There are bars over the windows, and an armed guard is posted at my door, watching me like a hawk.
Definitely not a hospital room.
I don’t remember much of what happened after I left Dani in the hopes of buying her some time. I remember the dogs, their lips curled up to expose their yellow, gnashing teeth. I remember the armed men and their guns, swarming around me like a kicked hornet nest. One of them lunged at me and then—
Nothing.
I doubt I put up much of a fight since I was already weak and practically on Death’s door. I’m not trying to be dramatic, but whatever illness had taken over me was seriously dragging us down. I must admit I feel better now—it doesn’t hurt to breathe, and I think my fever’s finally gone—but I’m nonetheless sick to my stomach, a myriad of questions plaguing my mind.
Did Dani make it out okay? Is she safe? Did she manage to get help? I don’t think I’ll be able to rest until I know what happened to her.
I struggle against my restraints, blinking away the last bit of sleep from my eyes. “Where am I?” I croak in the guard’s general direction. I don’t recognize him. Jerome and Calvin are nowhere in sight. When the guard doesn’t respond, I try again. “Hey! Who the hell are you? Where am I? What’s going on?”
He doesn’t pay me an ounce of attention. Instead, he reaches for the radio strapped to his hip, pressing theTALKbutton. “He’s awake,” he announces before promptly rising from his chair and walking straight out the door.
Not even thirty seconds later, a stout old man waddles in, practically swallowed up by his large, white doctor’s coat. He ignores me outright, too, as he checks me over. Pulse, breathing, the readings on the strange monitoring machine I’m hooked up to.
“Is anyone here going to give me answers? Or do I need to make a scene?”
