Page 20 of Wrath
“Fire. Here,” Evan said in a hushed voice, eyes darting around the dining room. “Had to warn you.”
When?Wyatt wrote on his notepad.
“Don’t know. But if you can put a time on the picture in the kitchen, and I drew that a few months ago—it might give you an idea of the time frame between sketch and eventuality. Then again, nothing about these dreams are predicable. It might not mean anything at all. Plus, there’s this…” Evan’s voice trailed off as he pulled out yet another sketch.
Wyatt wasn’t sure he wanted to look, but forced himself. The picture was of a tall woman with long white hair talking to a man who looked remarkably like the golden man in the suit. They stood together in a what looked like a nightclub, Misha was in the background. It was all connected.
“The Syndicate is involved.” Evan stabbed the white-haired woman.
Wyatt’s finger trailed her familiar face. She was the one who’d shot Sara, cleaning up the Syndicate’s mess, execution style. Wyatt’s heart clenched. Sara had confessed everything in her final moments. She’d wanted forgiveness. She’d told Wyatt she’d held back vital information from the Syndicate. As far as he could tell, they knew nothing about their powers being triggered by a person embodying their sin’s opposing virtue, and in a twisted way, they had Sara to thank for that. That was months ago. Who knew what the enemy knew about them now?
Wyatt looked wistfully out the window. All he needed to do was stop fucking around with excuses, get his bike fixed and piss off. No pressure, no expectations, no regrets. No fucking Syndicate dominating his world.
“I know what you’re thinking, and you should stay,” Evan said, tone somber. “You’ve got the chance for something good here, Wyatt. Don’t throw it away.”
Wyatt scrunched up the papers. If Misha was involved with the Syndicate, he wanted nothing to do with her.
“I’m serious, bro. You haven’t been around, but both Griff and I are fucking sitting sweet. I’m in love, he’s in love. I know it sounds sappy, but we can go out every night and be who we’re meant to be. Hell, it feels fucking amazing. Liberating. We’ve never been happier. You can have it too if you just stop and think about it for a minute.”
He unfolded the paper he’d scrunched and wrote on the back.You just said M is involved with the Syndicate.
“What? No. That’s not… shit, I’m fucking this all up again, aren’t I?” Evan slipped out another piece of paper from between the scrunched lot. “See here?”
It was a sketch of Misha being threatened by the golden man, his hand around her throat. Such a brutal picture, so similar to how he’d attacked her only hours ago.
“She needs your help, Wyatt.”
Wyatt wasn’t ready for this. Too much had happened today. He needed to get out, clear his head.
As he walked out the front door, he caught Evan’s shouted words over his shoulder. “A Lazarus never quits.”
Too bad he already had.
Nine
Still coatedin a layer of fury, Dimitri entered his office and stood before the snake terrarium. The mesmerizing flick of the forked tongue calmed his mind.
Misha was becoming harder to handle, and she was a threat to everything he’d built since high school. Her performance that morning was the last and final straw.
Filthy whore defied me, again.
He roared and swiped the contents of his desk to the floor.
Their meeting hadn’t gone as planned. His staff noticed her disregard for his orders and rules. She was his weakness, and for what? His insistent need to savor his revenge? Her incessantly bubbly outlook on life threw his ridged rules back in his face.Enough!
If she didn’t come up with the money her family owed by the end of the week—no, a week was too soft—in forty-eight hours. Yes, that was more like it.
Dimitri picked up his fallen intercom from the floor and buzzed his assistant.
“Notify Misha Minski the terms of our arrangement have changed. She now has forty-eight hours to pay her debt. Make sure she understands.”
Without waiting for a response from his man, he let go of the intercom button. Initially, he’d sought to keep Misha’s defiance between the two of them. That was why he’d attended her in person. But after she claimed her family was not responsible for his men’s medical bills, he was done with her. The way she put their needs before his made him sick. No filthy Minksi whore would put anyone before him. Restitution was required—nyet, demanded!
He pushed his intercom button. “Send someone in to clean thisgryaznyymess.”
A knock at the door almost immediately.
“Voydite.” Dimitri smoothed his hair and sat down at his desk.
