Page 72 of Imperfect Desires

Now, lying here in the dark, I repeat those words like prayer.Pain is not your enemy. It’s the part of you that refuses to die.

I close my eyes, pulling memories close like armor. I think of Lev’s breath against my ear, the night he held me like I was something sacred.

I whisper to the child in my womb, words that are only half-formed thoughts: "I won’t let them win."

I don’t sleep, not really. I close my eyes and drift, but my body remains alert. Every creak in the walls, every breath of cold air, jolts me halfway back to awareness. At some point in the night—though I can’t be sure it’s night—I hear a faint thud. Not near my door. Somewhere distant, muffled. My heart stutters in my chest. I hold my breath and listen. Hoping that someone is coming to rescue me.

But no one comes charging through the door. Maybe it was a dream. Or a rat scuttling in the vents. But then I hear it again. A subtle click, the kind a heavy door makes when it’s unlocked slowly.

I lie back down, but I don’t let my body relax. I keep one hand on my belly, the other pressed to the concrete floor, grounding me. I breathe through my nose, steadying myself because If something is happening, I need to be ready.

And if it’s nothing, I still need to be ready.

I think of what Kazimir taught me about fear.“Control it, or it will control you. Fear is an instinct, but you can channel it as a survival skill."

26

Lev

I call Anton to find out what he’s learned. Within thirty minutes, we’re sweeping through the Bronx, tapping his low-level street rats for intel. The streets of New York are darker than usual tonight. Or maybe it’s just me. I sit in the passenger seat of his blacked-out SUV, my eyes scanning the road as if it’s going to give me answers. It won’t. I already know that. But sitting still drives me insane. And insanity is too close for comfort.

Anton hasn’t said much. He doesn’t have to. He’s one of the few men I can trust to ride with me through hell without asking questions.

"Still nothing from your guy?" he finally asks.

I shake my head. "Felix says he’s working on another angle, but it’s cold. The burner lead went dead."

Anton mutters a curse under his breath, turning down a side alley. Neon lights flicker overhead, casting jagged shadows across the wet pavement. We’ve been driving for hours, stopping by every lowlife joint, cartel-affiliated bar, and underground gambling den I’ve ever known. So far, it’s been a whole lot of dead ends.

I roll down the window and lean out, scanning a corner where two men huddle close, exchanging something. I know the signs. Drug drop.

"Pull over."

Anton brakes, and I’m out of the car before he even shifts into park. I stalk toward the men, moving fast and low, my gun tucked beneath my jacket. They start to run, but I’m faster. I grab the taller one by the collar and slam him against the brick wall.

"You hear anything about a girl being taken in the last twenty-four hours? Russian. Dark hair. Twenty-five."

He shakes his head rapidly. "Nah, man, I swear! I don’t know anything!"

The other guy tries to slip away. Anton catches him easily, pinning his arm behind his back.

"We’re not asking again," I growl.

The guy against the wall whimpers. "Please. We didn’t hear about no girl. Just some shipment delays. Cartel’s been jumpy. That’s all."

Jumpy. That’s something.

I slam him once more for good measure before stepping back. Anton also releases the other guy, who bolts without a word. We get back in the SUV. My knuckles ache, and I flex my hand, resisting the urge to punch the dashboard.

"You believe them?" Anton asks.

"Yeah, they don’t know anything. If they did, they’d be more scared."

Anton nods. "Where to next?"

I stare out the windshield. The city stretches endlessly, a maze of shadows and secrets. Somewhere out there, she’s being held. Hurt. Alone.

I shake my head. "Nowhere. Not tonight."

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