Page 42 of Unrequited
But I don’t destroy the Kopolovs. The Kopolovs never come.
It’s my chance. My chance to enact what I’ve been plotting now since I first heard the rumors.
I know why my men followed me to Russia. To undermine me. I see every step they’ve taken to usurp the throne.
Mythrone.
But I’m the son of Keenan fucking McCarthy, and I’m not giving up a damn thing.
By the time I empty the Wolf and Moon of all its occupants with a fire alarm trigger, I know my time has come. Herbrothers aren’t here and aren’t on the way, but my boss will think they are.
When I arrive, it’s just me and the traitors.
Excellent.
But when I get there…she’sthere.
Zoya,my willful little lass, toe to toe with fucking Finnegan. The big fucker has the goddamn nerve totouchher.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
My voice cuts through the chaos. They freeze. She doesn’t move, just turns, her eyes wild and a bit guilty, her lips parted like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
I draw my gun and start with the fucking redhead who has the goddamn nerve to touch her.
No warning. No speech. One shot to the skull. He drops. Zoya stifles a scream she doesn’t release.
The rest panic when they see him go down. Some reach for guns, others run, but it doesn’t matter.
“Stay back,” I growl to Zoya, making damn sure she’s out of the line of fire while I send every last one of the motherfuckers to hell where they belong.
“For betraying me.”Bang.
“For your lies and theft.”Bang.
“For laying fucking hands on her.” I put a bullet through Finnegan’s skull to finish him off.
That one I take slow. I make ithurt.
When the last one drops, the silence rings louder than the gunfire. She’s shaking, pressed to the wall like her legs won’t hold her. The blood on her face isn’t hers. Her breath stutters.
My phone rings.
Boss.
I lift a finger toward her.Wait. Don’t speak.
She nods, just once. Swallows.
“Yeah.”
His voice is thunder on the line. “What the fuck happened?”
“Bad intel,” I say, calm as the grave. “Handful of Russians. I tried to hold them off. Couldn’t.” I let a thread of grief weave through my tone. “They’re dead. All our men.”
His voice splinters. I hear it, the shock, the loss. It’s real. “Anysurvivors?”
I know what he means.
