Page 54 of Sexting the Silverfox

“You’ve pushed me past my limits not once but twice.”

He shrugs and lets out a sigh. “I do not care for you. Frankly, I do not care for Audrey, either. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“See, this is insulting. It’s making my trigger finger itchy,” I say.

“Mr. Winchester, have you ever considered the possibility that maybe the Fedorovs are the ones who tried to take her? I’ve heard about the incidents, and frankly, if I really wanted to hurt Grigori, I’d simply find Anton or Vitaly in any of their New York brothels and send their heads over on a silver platter.”

I find myself somewhat confused by his words. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m an efficient businessman, Mr. Winchester. If I wanted to kill Audrey, I would’ve killed her. I can see why someone might want to grab her, perhaps thinking that they’d be doing me a favor. An action I certainly do not condone, I might add. But I heard about what happened at the hotel the other night, and I assure you, that wasn’t us.”

“Who was it, then?”

“Isn’t it a coincidence that as soon as the little pup Anton set foot in Chicago, there was an attempt on Audrey’s life?”

“You’re telling me the Fedorovs tried to kill one of their own?”

Arkady shrugs in an almost dramatic fashion. “Meh, I wouldn’t say kill her, per se. More like scare her enough for her to go running back into her daddy’s arms.”

My blood runs cold and my stomach drops as I begin to understand the implication behind his words. And now, it’s starting to make sense. Grigori Fedorov is a cold, ruthless man. His sons are either his accomplices or his pawns. Either way, that whole shootout at the hotel could very well have been staged.

How do I prove it, though?

“Would you be able to point me in the right direction? I’ve got a bone to pick with the people who shot at Audrey,” I say. “If you are innocent, Arkady now’s your chance to send this hunting dog as far away from your scent as possible.”

“I can tell you where they’re staying, but I would advise against going in there half-cocked like this,” he replies, somewhat amused. “Grigori is in town on business, and he never travels light.”

“He’s in town on business with you.”

He chuckles lightly. “You could say that. I got his message loud and clear. He’s a fool to think he can make me kneel before him.”

“How many people does he have with him?”

“Expect at least thirty, and all of them excellent marksmen,” Arkady replies. “But I should warn you—tonight’s not a good time to try anything. Morning is your golden hour, during the guard’s shift change.”

“You seem to know quite a lot about their movements,” I say.

“Of course. A good general learns everything they need to know about the enemy.”

That’s unsettling but logically correct. I know I’m not going to get much more out of him. Something tells me Arkady is doing me quite the courtesy already. He probably has a panic button under his desk, and if he wanted me out of here sooner rather than later, he would’ve pressed it by now.

He didn’t, which further proves that Arkady was not responsible for the hotel attack. Therefore, it strengthens his theory. Grigori and Anton—either one of them or both—orchestrated it, then swooped in to grab Audrey from my place.

I have to get her away from them and fast, one way or another.

Chapter 22

Audrey

I’ve yet to figure out a way to escape. Security is too tight. Along with the two guards constantly outside my door, the entire floor has been strategically occupied, and they’ve got armed men on every level handling the staircases and elevators, making sure no one suspicious slips past them.

Anton comes in every other hour, bringing me food and drinks. He’s careful not to say anything about our father’s movements, each time trying to strike up a more casual conversation instead, but I tell him off every time. I’m too angry with him to do anything else.

“Vitaly is here,” he says as he brings me a fruit salad from the hotel’s restaurant. “He would like you to join us for dinner downstairs this evening.”

“What’s he doing in Chicago? Who’s manning the mothership back in New York, then?” I frown as Anton sits across the table from me, watching as I scarf the salad down, one juicy chunk at a time. “And I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to leave this room, so how am I supposed to join you for dinner?”

“Our father is due to meet with Arkady in about an hour,” Anton replies, “to put an end to this whole skirmish and negotiate a ceasefire. We’ve done enough damage to get the bastard interested in peace talks, so that’s a good thing.”

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