Page 54 of Inevitable Endings
But my mind is slipping.
Maybe they’re old members who crossed the line. Maybe enemies of the family who got too close and never left. Maybe even something worse; people who learned too much about us and decided to take us down from the inside.
The fact that they know about the tattoo, about the cross, means they’re not just dirty feds or basic street criminals. They know the kind of power the mark holds. They know what it means. They’ve studied the Bratva from a place closer than the average outsider would. But again, anyone could have given them this information. Nothing is sure in here, and I’m slowly slipping.
The guard’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Well, I hope you enjoyed the services,” he sneers, clearly proud of the destruction he’s caused. “Maybe you’d like another design while we’re at it?”
He doesn’t expect what comes next. My words, low and thick with defiance, slip from my mouth without hesitation.
“Why not?” The words land heavy in the room, colder than I feel, and I feel a shift in the air. The guards falter, the confidence in their stance cracking, just for a second. It’s a moment of doubtthey can’t hide. And I revel in it.
I see their confusion, their surprise, as I keep my gaze locked on the first guard, the one who’s so proud of his work. His eyes widen behind his mask ever so slightly, the arrogance in them slipping for just a moment. He stumbles over his words as he tries to regain control, trying to understand what just happened. What was supposed to be his victory, his triumph over me, has suddenly been turned back on him.
“What?” His voice cracks, and I know he’s lost his edge. I can feel it.
I lean back in the chair, the straps cutting into my limbs, but it doesn’t matter. The pain isn’t real anymore—not like this. My chest tightens, and I take in the room with a slow, deliberate breath. The only thing that matters now is taking back control.
“Write on my chest,” I say, the words like a challenge, like a test. My voice is hoarse, but steady. “I.M.B.”
I don’t explain. I don’t need to. I don’t have to spell it out. This isn’t about explaining. It’s about making them realize just how far I’ll go. How far I’ve already gone.
“I.M.B.” I repeat again, my voice cold and final, like a command.
I see the shift in his posture, the hesitation creeping in. I’ve thrown him off balance. And for the first time since they dragged me here, I can feel it. I can feel my power, my presence, slipping back into my bones like it’s always been there, waiting. It’s small, temporary, but it’s here.
The guard looks between me and the others, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his dark eyes.
He simply steps forward, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he picks up the needle once more. The machine hums back to life.
And as the needle presses against my chest, I finally allow myself to smirk.
Chapter 24
The Devil Behind the Files
Isabella
The clinic feels hollow today, the usual hum of patient chatter replaced by the quiet whir of Ada’s laptop and the occasional rustle of paper as Sawyer flips through last night’s files. The blinds are shut, blocking out the gray morning light, leaving the space washed in artificial fluorescence. It smells like old croissants and stale coffee, a scent that clings to the back of my throat.
I sit on the edge of the desk, twirling a pen between my fingers, watching Ada’s face harden with frustration. Her laptop screen bathes her in an eerie blue glow, the reflection bouncing off her blue-light glasses as her fingers fly across the keyboard.
“There’s nothing,” she mutters, leaning back in her chair with an exasperated sigh. “No records, no aliases, nothing. This ‘Nick’ doesn’t exist.”
I tilt my head, frowning. “That can’t be right.”
“Yeah, but if I can’t find him in any databases, then either he’s a ghost, or someone scrubbed him clean from the internet.” She pushes her glasses up, rubbing at her eyes. “And scrubbing someone from the system like that? Like someone does not exist. It takes power.”
Sawyer, who has been quietly reading through last night’snotes, tosses a file onto the table and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “If he’s this well-hidden, that means he’s important.” His sharp eyes flick between Ada and me. “Either that, or he is truly that unimportant.”
I suck in a deep breath, ‘‘He is one of the last people we have seen close to Aslanov.’’
A moment of silence passes before Ada straightens. She hesitates, then speaks. ‘‘Yes, but the accident files describe more names. And his isn’t part of that list. We have no idea what went down after his arrest. It is most likely he isn’t an opening we need, he finished his job. Making sure Aslanov was back behind bars. To get to the core we need to follow another lead, also because there is no lead when looking at Nick.’’
“There’s someone who might help,” she says carefully, like she’s still deciding if it’s a bad idea.
I raise a brow. “Who?”
She exhales, looking at me now. “Viktor Karpov.”
