Page 41 of His Hold

“There’s plenty I’m not telling you.” I watch her, the way her gaze drops to my hands, the suspicion simmering just under her words. “But you’re right. I did see something.”

“So, tell me,” she insists, voice sharp. “Unless you enjoy dragging this out just to piss me off.”

“Not everything’s about you.” I tilt my head, letting the silence fester just to see her twitch. “Irina was talking to a man outside a club. One of the last times I escorted her. Didn’t think much of it at the time. He had a tattoo on his neck—a snake wrapped around a rose.”

“A snake…” Her voice trails off, eyes narrowing. “That’s not just a tattoo, is it?”

“No. It’s an insignia.” I rub my hands together, the cold seeping into my bones. “Belongs to a rival Bratva faction. The kind that dabbles in trafficking, extortion… and worse.”

She’s staring at me now, the disbelief giving way to something harder. “And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?”

“Didn’t think it was relevant.” I shrug. “And I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t care.” She repeats the words like they’re poison. “Even when you saw her talking to someone?”

“I was paid to keep her alive for those jobs. Nothing more. Didn’t matter who she talked to.” I shrug again, but the guilt creeps in. “But I remember her wearing something. A locket. Silver, with a symbol on the back.”

Her breath catches. “Irina’s locket.”

“You know it?”

“I found it at her apartment after she disappeared. The chain was broken. Like it had been ripped off.” Her fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, her knuckles white. “I didn’t recognize the symbol.”

“I did.” I pull out my phone, relieved when the signal bars flicker back to life. “It’s a Double-Headed Eagle. Old Russian symbol. A lot of Bratva factions use it. But this one… it’s different.”

“Different how?”

“It’s twisted. The wings look… clipped. Like they’re broken.” I scroll through old files, hunting for the one that matters. “Trafficking and extortion are their specialties. If Irina got tangled up with them, it’s not good.”

“But she was working for Kirill.” Katya’s voice shakes. “Why would she be talking to someone from a rival group?”

“Maybe she was playing both sides. Or maybe someone else was pulling the strings.” The truth clicks into place, a bitter taste in my mouth. “I’ll ask Kirill. See if he knows anything.”

“You’d do that?” Her suspicion returns, but there’s something else there, too. Hope. “Why?”

“Because you’re not going to leave me alone until you get your answer,” I say it like a joke, but the truth’s tangled up in there somewhere.

“And if you find something?” she presses.

“Then we deal with it.” I lean back, my shoulders pressing into the creaky headboard. “Together,” I say, but the word feels hollow. Not even a minute passes before I’m regretting it. “Or not. What the hell do I care? I’m here at Kirill’s orders, not to play hero for some girl’s fucked-up family drama.”

Katya’s eyes harden, the flicker of hope extinguished. “Right. I forgot. You’re only in this for yourself.”

“You didn’t forget.” I keep my voice flat, clinical. “You just wanted to believe I could be something I’m not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not here to hold your hand and play nice. I’m here because this might be tied to Kirill’s daughter.” I shift against the headboard, arms folded like I’m shielding myself from her words. “If this links back to her death, it’s my business. That’s all.”

Katya’s face goes still. No anger, no sadness. Just a blankness that pisses me off more than anything else. “Right. Because it’s not like we were just screwing each other senseless, right? It’s only ever business.”

“Don’t pretend it was more than it was.” I snarl. “You wanted a warm body to make you forget about Irina. I gave you that. Don’t act shocked now because I’m not offering you a fucking fairytale.”

“You’re right.” Her words come out cool and measured, but I can hear the fracture in them. “It was nothing. Just a distraction. I don’t know why I expected anything else from you.”

“Good,” I snap. “Keep it that way.”

She gives me a look, something brittle and resigned, like she’s already boxed me away in her mind as just another brute. Maybe she’s right. But it shouldn’t feel like I’ve been gutted by a rusted knife.

---