Page 29 of Ruby Menace

Rage courses through my veins, and I want to break something. And that will be Zoya’s neck as soon as I get back here. But there’s no time for that when every second counts. I must find Tiana. Because the worst thing about this isn’t the fact that Zoya sold me out. It’s who she sold me out to. There is only one man who has the resources to pull this off. And that man is very angry at me right now for killing his nephew.

“Petrov.” Dima comes up behind me, muttering the name on my mind.

My blood runs cold and then bubbling hot. And after what I did to Ivan Petrov, I don’t want to think about what his uncle will do to Tiana.

“Fan out into the neighborhood!” I yell to my men, who come running at the sound of my shouting. “Check every building in the area. I want any scrap of information you can find!”

My men scramble to obey, but a part of me already knows it’s useless. Petrov’s men wouldn’t have stayed in the area. They would have made sure that I can’t find her. She’s gone without a trace, vanished into the night. And that fucker Petrov is going to contact me with his demands. Or he’s going to try to lure me into a trap. It’s a waiting game now and I fucking hate waiting especially when there’s so much at stake.

You can’t lose your shit, mudak.

Not when Tiana needs you.

I clench my fists, willing myself to stay in control. I take several seconds to slow my breath… until Dima reappears.

“Boss.”

I turn to look at him. His expression isn’t just grim, it’s filled with dread.

“One of the men found this.” He holds up something. Peering at it in the darkness, glare at the white framed image in Dima’s hand. And I feel my heart stop.

It’s a Polaroid of Tiana, unconscious and bound in the back of a van. Written across it in bold red letters are the words:

“She’s with us now.”

Chapter Eleven

Tiana

I wake up groggy.

My head is pounding and my vision is as blurry as one’s vision can get. The first thing I’m aware of is the smell of diesel… apart from the violent throbbing in my head.

Holy freaking shit!

What happened?

I do a quick rundown of the events after I walked out of the restaurant, and into the alley. I was moving quickly because the shadows seemed to be alive – when something hit me from behind. My head rang, and then I’d crumpled to the floor.

You got yourself kidnapped again, girl!

But by who? The FBI? Am I in their safehouse? If Agent Asshole is going to be in my face again schooling me about how I shouldn’t have left, he’s got another thing coming.

Except it doesn’t seem like them to take me by force. They’d grabbed me last time, but there’d been nothing rough about it. This time, I was hit. And I must have been hit really hard because my head is still swimming and throbbing. The stabbing pain behind my eyes is making my stomach roil.

Then I hear the sound of men laughing and talking in a language I don’t understand. I recognize it, though. I try to sit up, but my body feels heavy and unresponsive. I’m on my back, staring up into the metal girders of a high ceiling.

Dammit, girl!

What did you get yourself into this time?

I roll onto my side, and try to take in my surroundings, but my head is still in a daze. The floor I’m lying on is bare concrete, and the walls of the space are covered with a metal sheeting. Almost empty, aside from some racking, shelving and a stack of crates to one side with letters stenciled onto them. Framed in the bright light of a wide doorway stands a shiny black van. It’s clear that I’m in a warehouse of some sort, but I have no clue where.

There’s another peal of laughter, and I turn my head to see a group of heavyset men standing several yards away. Dressed in denim and leather, they look nothing like Agent Thomson and his FBI team. My head pulses again, and I try to fight down a groan. They turn to face me.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of the men says in heavily accented English as he looks over at me. “Just in time to join the fun. We have big plans for you, suka,” he leers.

“What… what do you mean? Where’s Agent Thomson?” I immediately regret mentioning the name. I already suspect they’re not FBI, but still I’m scrambling to make sense of my surroundings. My head is still pounding. I don’t know what they hit me with, but it feels like I was kicked by a donkey.

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