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He gives me nothing. Only keeps rubbing my foot, which admittedly feels great.
“I know that,” he says after a long silence. “You couldn’t have predicted the way Jeffers would react.”
“Why would he even go to Rustik in the first place?”
“Fear,” Liam muses. “Everyone in this city’s terrified of Rustik right now. They’ll be even worse once news of what happened to Jeffers gets out.”
“God, that’s so frustrating. Isn’t there something we can do?”
“Yes and no.” He considers, head tilted. “There’s always a limit.”
“Explain what you mean.”
“People will be afraid, and they’ll act out of fear and self-preservation, but only to a point. Eventually, they’ll get sick of being terrorized, and some might even fight back. I’m curious how close we are to that point. The men and women Rustik’s been bullying aren’t gangsters and thugs—they’re regular people, not used to this kind of treatment.”
“You mean like, the industry rising up against him?”
“Something like that.” Liam shrugs glancing at me. “It’s hard for me to judge.”
An idea strikes. I pull my foot away and sit up, leaning toward him. “I can talk to people.”
“Alisa—”
“No, hear me out. I don’t need to leave the house to do it either. I can make phone calls, send emails, that sort of thing.”
He hesitates, considering. I can tell he’s not happy, but he nods slowly. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“But I need you to do something for me first.”
His expression softens. He seems genuinely delighted. “Now you’re starting to understand how the game’s played.”
I poke him in the ribs. “I’ve known since the start.”
“Okay then, wife of mine. What do you want?”
“I told you. I want revenge for Liliya. I want to know what really happened to her, and before I start to lobby on your behalf, I need you to find the truth for me.”
Liam considers that. I can tell he doesn’t like it. But eventually he grunts and nods again. “I’ll dig deeper, but it might end up that only Rustik knows the truth.”
“I don’t think it’s only him.” I stand, pacing away. “I think my father knows more than he’s letting on.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The last time I saw him. Something was wrong. He seemed… nervous. Worse than usual. And every time I mention Rustik in connection with Liliya’s death, he’s so quick to defend the guy, as if he’s not the most obvious killer in the world.”
“I’ll speak with your father then.” Liam stands and comes over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulder. I ache all over, my body bruised and battered from the truck ramming our SUV. “Come upstairs with me.”
“I’m not sure I can handle a spanking right now.”
“No, not that. You need a warm bath. Then you need to sleep.”
“And food?”
He kisses my neck. “And food. But tonight, you’re in my room. In my bed. I am going to keep a very close eye on you from now on. No more danger. No more foolishness.”
I close my eyes. I’m exhausted, worn down by the excitement of the day, and hurting like hell. Getting some much-needed pampering sounds incredibly good, even if it’s coming from Liam.
“All right, fine.” I turn to face him. “But don’t get any ideas.”
“Too late for that.”
I try not to smile as I follow him upstairs.
Chapter 29
Liam
The pungent scent of burning marijuana fills the air.
It’s nearly choking. Thick plumes gust into the sky with each breeze. I can barely see the stars, and the full moon’s a black circle. I stand well back from the flames with Sean at my elbow. Orange and red flames lick along perfect rows of plants, catching and spreading in the direction of the wind. Nearby, my men run around, throwing more Molotov cocktails into the field, starting more blazes.
Soon, the entire farm will burn to ashes.
And ten others just like it in northern Oregon will burn as well. Multiple farms hit, all in one coordinated attack on Rustik’s suppliers. These are Rustik’s closest business associates, and nobody will be confused about why they were attacked.
I tried to avoid this, but it’s time.
“What are you thinking?” Sean asks as I walk away from the scene back to where we parked the cars a mile off the main road.
“Nobody’s going to mistake this little revenge,” I say, putting the stench of burning weed behind us.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ll see it for what it is. Petty and desperate.”
Sean grunts in response. “Why do it?”
“I couldn’t let an attack on my wife stand.” My hands curl into fists. I keep seeing her face moments after one of Rustik’s lieutenants rammed our SUV, dazed, terrified, pained. I pulled her from the accident myself and killed more than one of his soldiers that day, but it’s not enough.
No, not even these fires are enough.
Rustik hurt my wife. He hurt the mother of my child. Which means that now he has to die a horrible, painful death, one which will echo throughout the country as a warning.
