Page 95 of Resurrection

“I know,” I say. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Longing has been my constant companion today. “If you hear from him, tell him I miss him.”

Jay’s lips purse together. “I’ll be out here talking to my wife. This shit you two are going through right now makes me miss her more than normal.”

“Tell Sofia I said hi.” I shut the door and lean against it. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my chest fills with hope. My mother’s name appears on the display. With a sigh, I send it to voicemail. I can’t deal with her drama on top of everything else. I flip the lock into place on the door as I hear the soft murmurs of Jay sweet-talking his wife. When we leave Russia, he should be with his family for a while or prioritize moving his family to wherever we’re relocating.

My phone is almost dead, so I plug it into the charger over by the window and move around the room, getting ready for bed. It’s impossible to keep my mind distracted enough to avoid thoughts of Finn. If we don’t make it out of this together, I’m not sure how I’ll survive. Having him gone today has been a slow form of torture, and I’ve realized Lucas won’t be enough. I need them both.

Sliding under the sheets, I pull up the covers and stare at the ceiling. My meditation classes are going to come in handy tonight. I’m starting my breathing and visualization pattern when a chorus of loud, aggressive voices drift in the window.

“Carys,” Jay shouts through the door. “I’m heading downstairs to see what’s going on. Lock yourself in the bathroom until you hear from me.”

Heart racing, I throw back the bedding. “Okay!” I yell in response. Grabbing my gun from the bedside table, I’m halfway to the en suite bathroom when I remember Lucas. He can’t be left unprotected. I grab my robe off the bathroom door and shrug it on, pushing my gun into a pocket.

As I rush to the door, a few loud pops echo. Outside or inside?

Lucas.

Unsnapping the lock, I peek out the door and draw my gun from my pocket. Gunfire somewhere. Keeping my side against the hallway wall, I point the gun toward the stairway as I creep to Lucas’s room.

An agonized scream streaks through the house, and my hand shakes. Whatever is happening, the noise sounded inhuman. More popping erupts.

The door to Lucas’s room is ajar. My fingers squeeze my gun to keep it steady, and I use my free hand to open the door more. Heavy footsteps pound up the stairs behind me, and I whirl with the gun raised.

“Carys.” Jay is out of breath, his white shirt stained with blood. “Don’t shoot.” He raises his hands, his gun high in the air. “We gotta get the fuck out of here. It’s chaos down there. I don’t understand what the hell is going on, but if I survive this and you don’t, I might as well be dead.”

“Are you hurt?” The gunfire and shouting drift up the stairs, through the windows, surrounding us, but distant enough my heart isn’t booming out of my chest.

“No, no. Not me. We gotta move.” He strides past me and my gun raised toward him. “We’ll grab Lucas—”

“Wait.” More pops sound below. Lowering my gun, I slip through the door behind him. “How are we going to—” My voice trails off when my gaze lands on the crib.

There, in the middle of the room, gun trained on us, is my father, Lucas cradled in his arms. “I need you to trust me,” he says. “I can save us, but you have to trust me.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Finn

The kid who has been driving me around Russia for the last several hours is greener than a hill in Ireland after excessive rains. There were a few times when I worried he’d piss his pants at some of the hotshots I met. People don’t mess around in Russian politics without consequences. Thanks to Hagen, I got facetime with important senior officials. Even if Hagen was a total dick on the phone, he gave me decent leads. Two favors to him is bad business, but I’ll deal with that when he tries to cash them.

“Hey, kid.” I lean forward from the back seat to yell over the music he thinks keeps him calm.

We’ve spent the day together, and I haven’t bothered to ask his name. There’s no spark of promise in him. The desire for this life is the money, not the danger, not the violence. He’s nothing like me.

He turns the dial on the stereo, and his gaze catches mine in the rearview mirror.

“We’re headed to the house. You got no reason to shit your pants, so keep the music low, will ya?” I ease into my seat. “Your incoherent racket is giving me a headache.”

“Sorry, boss.” His English is heavily accented.

I thought we brought our security from Switzerland, but Jay must have picked up a couple of Russian kids at the airport when I demanded more muscle. He came in handy a few times when those Russian asshats tried to talk behind my back.

My lips quirk up with the hint of a smile. All day he’s been calling me boss. Technically I’m not the one signing his cheques, but it’s so good to be in charge. To beleadingthe charge.

Out the window, the scenery around Volgograd races by us, eaten up by the car, by the darkness in the middle of the night. I hoped to return earlier, instead it’s almost three in the morning. Jay better be camped out at Carys’s door, or he’ll experience my wrath whether or not Carys likes it.

“Uh, boss?” The kid says, as the car slows.

I meet his gaze in the mirror.

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