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We practically sprint back to the SUV, pulling out of the dirt road and speeding back to civilization.
As we drive, I say to Jasper, “Quick, text Zigor.”
Jasper stares at me blankly. “He’s not gonna answer …”
“I’m aware. Text him something like,Where are you?Then do it again in an hour.”
“Oh,” Jasper says. He pulls out his phone, typing the message one-handed while holding the steering wheel with the other. He presses send, then says, “I don’t think Lev is gonna buy that.”
“What else are we supposed to do? He’s got no proof of what happened.”
“He won’t need proof,” Jasper says darkly.
That’s too true to argue. It’s not a court of law, and it’s pretty fucking obvious something hinky went down.
“Drive faster,” I say. “We need to tell Adrik.”
Jasper presses the gas, even though both of us are dreading that conversation.
* * *
30
ADRIK
The phone call I’ve been expecting comes two days after Jasper shot Zigor.
I pick up, trying to keep my tone casual.
“Privet,” I say.
“Adrik Petrov.” Lev’s voice is low and rasping. Every time he takes a breath on the other end of the line, I hear a rattle deep in his chest. It should give the impression of age and sickness, but instead, the sound is menacing, like a diamondback slowly shaking its tail in warning.
Preempting him, I say, “I’m glad you called. I haven’t been able to get hold of Zigor. We missed a shipment.”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the line.
Then, low and furious, Lev hisses, “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
I wait to hear what he knows.
His anger is palpable. It seethes through the line, a heat I can feel against the side of my face.
“I’m going to give you one chance,” Lev says. “And one chance only. Give me the man who shot my son. Turn him over to me, and he will receive his punishment by my hand. That will be the end of it, I’ll seek no other revenge. I know it was one of your Wolfpack.”
I pause for what I hope is the appropriate amount of time to indicate shock and confusion.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Zigor is dead?”
I hear a creaking sound—perhaps the phone shaking with rage in his hand.
“I thought better of you, Adrik. I thought you had honor.”
Now my temper rises.
“What kind of honor is that? Handing over one of my men to your pliers and blowtorches? Never. I’m sorry for what happened to your son, I truly am. But these are my brothers. Even if one was responsible, I wouldn’t sacrifice him to you.”
“Is that your final answer?”
