Page 65 of Lethal Alliance

Fuck.I grind my teeth. I’ll need to fix that straight away. Dimitry deserves better from me.

They all do.

Darya touches my shoulder softly. “We’ll get the girls back, Roman. I know we will.”

I cover her hand with my own, try and fail to smile. “Of course we will.”

But even if we manage to get Ofelia and Masha back in one piece—which, given the fucking arsenal Vilnus has guarding that basement, is no certainty—in what condition will we find them?

With how many bloody knife cuts scarring their bodies? With how much emotional damage that can’t be undone?

Every minute we wait, Vilnus could be sharpening his knives. And why is there still no ransom demand? What the fuck is he waiting for?

We remain silent for the entire drive back to the penthouse, our interlinked hands at least some form of comfort. It hurts me to leave Darya at the penthouse. Right now I don’t want her out of my sight, not even when she’s safely in my fortress. I don’t like not being able to see her, to touch her.

I ride the elevator to the penthouse, checking it myself before I allow her through the door. I wrap my arms around her, trying not to let my tension show. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, okay?”

She nods against my chest, clinging to me in a way that makes me curse Nikolai, Dimitry, and even Abby to the lowest hell.

The elevator dings, and I spin around, my hand going straight to the holster under my jacket. Then Abby steps out, her face pale and drawn. With an inarticulate cry, Darya runs to her friend, and Abby holds on to her like she’s a buoy on a stormy sea.

I leave the two friends wrapped in each other’s arms and go to find out what the fuck Nikolai has to say.

The warehouse isright at the end of the industrial port, with the sea on one side and a vacant block on the other. It’s stacked high with rusted old shipping containers that do a good job of concealing it from view. The warehouse is isolated enough that it doesn’t matter how loud anyone screams, and is easy to escape by boat if the authorities get too curious.

Dimitry is waiting outside it, and by his stiff stance and grim face, I’m lucky I’m still walking after what I said about Abby.

Men like us don’t joke about the safety of our women. It was wrong, and I know it.

“Abby’s safe.” I greet him with my hand out.

After a brief pause, he takes it.

I grip his shoulder, hard enough to leave marks.

He nods.

Thank fuck for that.

At least one thing in my life is uncomplicated.

We turn toward the warehouse. “Nikolai?” I make the name a question.

“I ripped the fucker up as much as I could without making him lose consciousness.” Dimitry shakes his head. “He said he’s only allowed to deliver his message to you. Someone obviously scared him enough to make him actually hold out until I agreed.”

“He’d better make it quick. I have a bullet with his name on it just itching to be fired.” I rip back the sliding wooden door on the warehouse with enough force to almost take it off the rollers.

Nikolai is sitting in the middle of the vast concrete floor, althoughsittingmight not be the correct term. His naked body hangs from chains suspended from an overhead steel strut, his wrists dripping blood where the steel has cut through the flesh. His torso is a sea of red, evidence that Dimitry has indeed ripped him with fist and knife to the point where he’s barely able to lift his head.

Dimitry is more of a blunt-punch kind of man, and this kind of torture isn’t usually his style. Not that I’m complaining. I couldn’t give a single fuck.

Nikolai is a dead man regardless of what he has to say. And the more he suffers before that bullet comes, the better.

“Put some pants on him,” I snap at one of my men. I have no desire to interrogate Nikolai while his dick is hanging out. Even the thought of it being inside Inger makes me physically sick. The two of them disgust me to the core.

Nikolai’s head rises slightly as he’s forced back into the bloodstained suit pants he must have been wearing ever since the night of the ball. I take a closer look at the marks on his body. Not all of the wounds are fresh. I remember that Abby found him beaten almost senseless outside Pillars. Close up, I can see she wasn’t exaggerating. Dimitry might have opened a few of the cuts with his fists, but most of the knife wounds are crusted over, days old, and the rainbow bruises on every part of his body have clearly been building up for some time.

“Cut him loose and sit him down.” I kick a chair across the floor, and Nikolai slumps into it, rubbing his lacerated wrists. I throw him a plastic bottle of water, and he gulps it greedily.

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