Page 97 of Unspoken

Rage boils up inside me, white-hot and blinding. Before I can think, I gather what little moisture I have left in my mouth and spit right in Shtyk's face.

The blow comes out of nowhere, a vicious backhand that snaps my head to the side. Pain explodes across my cheek, stars bursting behind my eyes. I slump against the wall, head spinning, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth.

Shtyk looms over me, face twisted with fury. "You'll pay for that, you little shit." He straightens up, wiping my spit from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Kolya!" he barks, eyes neverleaving mine. "Poidi syida.Prismotry za etim pidoromwhile I sort out the next step.Da?"

Kolya is a bold stocky figure that appears in the doorway, all muscle in tight clothes. Shtyk turns to leave, pausing to glance back at me over his shoulder. "Don't go nowhere,mal’chik. Me and you, we got unfinished business."

The door slams shut with a finality that sends ice through my veins. Kolya looms in the corner, leaning against the wall, silent and watchful, massive hands folded across his chest.

I close my eyes, trying to calm the panic rising in my throat.

Think, arsehole, think.

But thoughts won’t come. Instead, a fresh wave of despair crashes over me. I'm alone, at the mercy of a madman with a grudge and I don’t even know what that grudge is about. And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I'm actually truly terrified I might not make it out alive.

CHAPTER 33

LOGAN

Two days. Forty-eight endless hours since Sasha vanished into the jaws of the people working for Toro, leaving only a void. Sleep is a stranger and worry is my sole companion as I stare at the peeling paint in the corner of my apartment ceiling.

Every muscle in me is tight and my teeth clenched like a vise when I call Stan, asking him to meet at our old spot. Maybe he can dig up something, anything, to point me in the right direction.

The sports bar is a dingy refuge from Vegas's manic glow and stepping inside is like crawling into the belly of a dying whale—dim, cavernous, the air is all cheap alcohol and dashed hopes. Stan's already there, tucked in a back booth, two beers set in the center of the table. I slide in across from him, the worn-out vinyl of the bench sighing under my weight as if greeting me.

Stan grabs one of the beers and eyes me over the rim of the bottle. "You look like ten miles of rough road, brother. What's good? What are we doing here?"

I match his gaze, unflinching, while some old rock tune is rattling from the crippled speakers in the background. "Got a situation. Need some additional intel on Toro and Vlad’sbusiness. And need to know where Shtyk is holed up these days. Anything you can shake loose."

"Hell, you're thick as thieves with Solovey these days, ain't ya? Since you’re in his employ. Figured you'd have the better inside scoop on the Russians."

"I need deep background, Stan. The kind of dirt that doesn't see daylight. Toro and Vlad...there's history there. Bad blood. You know it. And Shtyk is in the middle of it all now."

Stan sits back, his bench creaking. He sweeps a hand over his close-cropped hair, frowning. "This is heavy shit, Logan. The kind of skeletons made men don't want rattled. I told you to keep to yourself before, right? If Toro's soldiers and the Arellanos go to war, everyone in between will be done for."

"Yes, yes, I do understand. But things have changed. And I gotta know what I'm stepping into here. Before the bullets start flying and the bodies stack up." I lean in, my voice low and urgent. "C'mon, man. For old times' sake."

The seconds stretch out, taut as piano wire. Finally, Stan blows out a breath. "Alright. I'll see what else I can dig up. I'll do what I can. But no promises, brother."

I feel a trickle of relief, the first in two days. It’s not much, but it's something. A scrap of hope in this festering wound of a city.

"Thanks, brother. I owe you one."

"Shit, you owe me a damn sight more than that," Stan grumbles, but there's a glint of our old camaraderie in his eyes. "Watch your six out there, y'hear? I ain't lookin' to attend your funeral."

I muster a grim smile. "Roger that."

Stan takes another swing. His brows furrow, eyes studying me intently. "Why the sudden interest in Shtyk’s whereabouts? What's this really about, Logan?"

I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat like shards of glass. But I need any help I can get right now, and that meanslaying my cards on the table. "It's Vlad's little brother. Toro’s crew snatched him. Vlad’s certain it’s on Shtyk’s orders."

The atmosphere in the bar seems to thicken even more, the gloom pressing in around us as Stan processes the news. He leans back, shaking his head. "Vlad kept his bro under the radar, no?"

I nod. "He’s not part of the ‘family business’ if that’s what you’re asking."

"Hell, no one remembers Solovey Senior had two sons. They hid the bastard well."

My stomach twists at the tone of Stan’s voice. "He’s an innocent bystander," I reply, feeling the need to protect Sasha’s image even now. "Not like the rest of them."

---