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And if that’s true, then I made a terrible mistake. I would feel absolutely horrible for pushing Efrem away if he had nothing to do with Ben. I’ve thought terribly of him and said the most awful things to his face—including telling him he could drop dead.
My stomach knots as I consider just how nasty I’ve been to him since Ben died.
29
EFREM
The door to Pyotr’s office flies open, the sudden motion making my hand go automatically for my gun. I have it halfway up before my eyes meet the fierce green gaze of Pyotr’s pretty-boy captain. I’m half tempted to take aim at him just to teach him a lesson. He should know better than to burst into Pyotr’s office without even knocking.
Val seems just as aggravated, his own stance defensive as we fill the doorway, barring Gleb from entering.
“Get out of my way,” Gleb commands, his eyes snapping with pent-up fury.
But I don’t take orders from him. And from where I stand, he can calm the fuck down before he speaks to the pakhan.
“Let him pass,” Pyotr states evenly from his seat at his desk.
Grudgingly, I step aside. I don’t like Gleb’s brazen attitude. I don’t care how important he thinks his audience with our pakhan might be.
“What is it?” Pyotr asks, his sharp gaze calculating as he assesses Gleb.
The typically cool captain, who I’ve always considered more feline than human in some ways, practically vibrates with tension, his hands fisted, his nostrils flared as he appears to struggle with keeping himself restrained.
“He broke the ceasefire—Mikhail,” Gleb says. “Zhivoder men just raided Imperia.”
“Blyat,” Pyotr states, his voice low, his gaze instantly furious.
My stomach knots at the implication of Mikhail’s actions. Just days after agreeing to a ceasefire, he’s at it again. He never intended to accept peace. He saw it as an opportunity to take a bonus swing. Once more, proving Mikhail Sidorov is the farthest thing from a man of his word.
“How bad is it?” Pyotr asks, rising from his chair as he watches Gleb closely.
“The men are dead. The product is gone. This time, he didn’t bother leaving a note.”
“But you’re sure it was him?”
Gleb nods solemnly. “That’s not all.”
“He hit more than one club?” Pyotr asks, his brow furrowing.
Gleb shakes his head. “He found the girls’ house,” he states, his tension ratcheting up another notch. “Mel and the girls who stayed with you for a while after we took them off Mikhail’s hands.”
The blood drains from Pyotr’s face. “And?”
“He took them. Killed their guards. The girls are gone. There’s no sign of them.”
Silence falls heavy on the room as my stomach transforms into a block of ice. After what happened to the strippers Mikhail kidnapped, I’m sure the girls will meet a similar, horrible fate. If not worse since they were all originally intended to be high-priced auction pieces.
Pyotr’s jaw works furiously, and I can see his rage mirrored in his captain’s body as Gleb’s arms flex, the tendons straining. It’s the same rage that turns my vision red. I’m ready to kill every last Zhivoder piece of shit. But Mikhail, I want to suffer. He deserves a slow, agonizing death.
“Get them back,” Pyotr commands Gleb. “Whatever it takes.”
With a head jerk of acknowledgment, Gleb is on his way back out the door before he’s even been excused.
“Gleb,” Pyotr says, bringing his captain to a stop.
Gleb turns to look at the pakhan, his eyes nearing haunted in their uncharacteristic anxiety.
“You can’t fail this time.”
