Page 39 of Wicked Embers

RADOMIR

I storm out of the pool area, my thoughts a chaotic mess. My skin still burns where hers brushed mine, and I can’t shake the memory of how I lost control. I never lose control—ever.

Yet Leigh—Leigh fucking Dalton—pulls strings I didn’t even know I had, and it’s pissing me off. She makes me feel things I’ve buried under a decade of blood and violence. Things I’ve never felt before or ever wanted to feel. And I know she’s fucking lying to me about knowing the Vasilikis’s. I saw recognition in her eyes when I said Nikolas’s name—I will find out why.

I shove the door to my study open and strip off my wet towel, tossing it aside. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I scowl. My fists clench. The man staring back at me looks the same on the outside, but inside, something is changing.What the fuck is that woman doing to me?I knew she was going to be trouble! I hate to admit it, but my cousin might just be right—I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

At the bar cart, I pour a double shot of vodka and down it in one go. The burn steadies me, clears the haze.Fuck that. I can’t let that auburn-haired, green-eyed seductress in the form ofanangel derail me. There’s too much happening around me with the fucking Greek bitch closing in on us.

I head into the bathroom of my study, take a cold shower, and change into a suit. I’m just about to down another vodka when my phone buzzes on my desk. Reaching for it, I see that it’s Gunner.

“What is it?” I snap, my patience razor-thin.

“Another truck’s been hit. Same pattern. Shipment from the port. All our men are dead except one. He’s been shot and is banged up, but he’s alive.”

I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles whitening. “Where?”

He rattles off the location—a back road cutting through the desert to avoid the main highways. We just changed the route after the last truck was hit.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I end the call, tossing the glass back onto the bar. It doesn’t shatter, but the sound is satisfying enough before I storm out to find Viktor and Fredrik.

Arriving at the location of the hit, the scene is worse than I expected. The sand is soaked with blood, pooling around the lifeless bodies of my men. The truck is riddled with bullet holes, its back torn open, completely stripped of its cargo. Daniil, the lone survivor, leans against a tire, his face pale as death, his shirt soaked in blood.

I crouch in front of him. “What happened?”

He blinks at me, struggling to focus. “They… left me alive to… give you a message.”

My jaw tightens. “What message?”

“The leader… dark hair, grey streaks. Green eyes—cold as death.” He winces, coughing up blood. “He… he wants journals… and a… golden key.”

Books and a key?The words swirl in my head, senseless and yet somehow dangerous.

He coughs again, forcing himself to continue. “The man spoke Greek to his men, who called him Monarch. I couldn’t make out much more.”

Fuck! Now the Matriarch has a goddamn monarch—Jesus.

“That’s his message?” My brow furrows. “He attacked my truck and left you alive to tell me he wants books and a golden fucking key? To what? The city?”

Daniil draws in a ragged gurgling breath and shakes his head. “Dalton… he wants Dalton, who has the books and key.” His head starts to loll.

“Daniil.” I take his face and steady it. “Stay with me.” His eyes are barely open. “Why come after me for Dalton?”

“They think you’re hiding… Dalt…” Daniil’s head drops forward, and his body droops.

I feel for a pulse. It’s barely there. “Fredrik. Take Gunner’s car and get Daniil to the hospital.”

My teeth grind as I stand, fury coursing through me as I glance at the empty, damaged truck. “Gunner, Temur. Clean thisup and get the truck back to the warehouse.” My tone leaves no room for argument.

Viktor falls in step beside me as we head back to the SUV. My mind races, connecting dots I don’t like the shape of as, once again, they draw an image ofMark fucking Dalton!

I climb into the back of the SUV, and Viktor takes the wheel. Viktor drives in tense silence. The desert outside stretching endlessly, a calm oasis, while the tension inside the SUV coils tighter with every mile.

“What?” My eyes meet Viktors in the mirror. “You’ve got that look that says you’re skeptical and suspicious.”

“It’s Daniil.” Viktor stares straight ahead, navigating the sandy road with practiced ease.

“Let’s hope he makes it.” Three of my men will not be going home to their families today. Those Greek fuckers were going to pay for this, as will Mark Dalton when I find him. This time, our meeting won’t be held in my office.

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