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He shouts in Russian again.
Dimitri appears. My blood runs cold.
Fuck.I swallow. It does nothing to relieve the dryness in my mouth.
“You have been selling women. You have been putting the organization at increased risk, and you did it without authorization. You’ve also not shared in the profits, entered a partnership with an unstable street gang, and attracted the attention of police and the other families. Your side project has negatively affected our primary goals.”
Dimitri seethes. “This lying Irish whore isn’t reliable. Don’t trust a thing she says.”
Volkov casually walks around to the front of the desk, his vodka loosely in his left hand. He leans against the desk, the picture of relaxation.
Dimitri is yelling in Russian and gesturing wildly.
Lost your cool, buddy. I can see that Volkov sees it too. I hear Boris’s name mentioned. Is he trying to pass the blame?
“You know, Dimitri, I was always so shocked when a man who had been as loyal as your father turned out to be a traitor to the organization. What, exactly, would I find out if I sat down with Detective Reynolds for a little chat?”
I see the briefest flash of fear in Dimitri’s black eyes. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. I see the nervous swallow, the sweat gathering on his forehead. I look back to Volkov; he might as well be carved from stone for all the emotion he shows.
Then all hell breaks loose. Dimitri pulls a gun.
Before he can even get it leveled at Volkov, a dark red stain is spreading across his chest. For some reason, my brain doesn’t actually register the sound of the gunshot until after I see the effect. Volkov stands there, his vodka still in hislefthand, and his gun in his right.
“Holy shit,” I blurt.
He gives me an incredulous look. “That’s not the reaction I expected from a woman.”
“Probably brain damage setting in. You people keep hitting me over the head.”
He laughs. Setting his gun on the desk between us, he holds out his glass of vodka to me. Gratefully I step closer to reach for it.
The door slams open, and Boris bursts through, yelling in Russian and holding a gun, which he points in our direction.
I don’t think. I just react. Instead of grabbing the vodka, I drop my hand to the gun. I haven’t fired a gun since I left Texas. But I am a born and raised Texas girl.
I don’t fucking miss.
Volkov looks at a very dead Boris, then at me. I set the gun back down, return to my sofa, and flop down.
“Nice shot.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I lose track of time. I’m intently staring at the ceiling. Some of Volkov’s men cycle through, presumably taking orders from the man himself. A phone rings.
“Da?” Volkov answers. He gives a low chuckle. “Da.” I hear him set the phone down. “We should go to the porch. It seems the entire Irish Republican Army just turned down the drive. I’d hate for your Irishman to shoot up the house looking for you.”
CHAPTER42
It doesn’t take long to find them. Between the details Tasha remembered, the rough geolocation off the brief phone call, and satellite maps, there is only one location that makes sense. A horse farm about an hour out of the city.
Hold on, baby.
Fuck. I prayed for the first time in a very long time.Don’t be too late.
We load up every man we have, and the vast majority of our considerable weapon supply. Declan and a few of the other lads with more military experience handle most of that. I need every man operating at his peak, which includes acknowledging that others might have knowledge about a tactical raid that I don’t.
