Page 190 of Toxic Salvation
I give him a wave as he storms away from us, taking his men with him. I stand there, the picture of calm as they drive away.
Every second that ticks by makes me want to pull my hair out. The moment the last police vehicle disappears down the road, I run to my car.
Osip and Pavel follow behind me. “Brother, we need to find out where they are first,” Pavel reminds me, jumping into the passenger seat beside me. “That will take time.”
“No, it won’t,” I insist, turning the engine on and stomping on the accelerator. “Call in a team. I want backup ready if we need it.”
“We don’t even know where Ihor is keeping them,” Pavel insists.
“I do,” I mutter as we pick up speed. “I know exactly where they are.”
65
VESPER
I promised Kovan just this morning that I wouldn’t do anything reckless. I told him I’d keep a low profile and do my job. I swore to him I would absolutely not, under any circumstances, ditch my guards.
Now, here I am, breaking every single promise I made.
But there’s no guilt clawing at me. Guilt is for people who regret their choices. Guilt is for people doing something wrong.
I don’t regret this. And I’m certainly not wrong.
Not when that psychopath has my son.
Standing outside my old apartment building feels like stepping into someone else’s life. The person who lived here was smaller somehow. Quieter. She accepted whatever scraps the world threw her way and called it enough.
That woman is dead.
I killed her the day I decided to fight for my family.
I left my phone in the car I stole to get here—a black Honda Civic that some poor college student is probably reporting missing right about now. Auto theft—I can add that to my growing list of crimes.
Kovan would be proud of how thoroughly I’ve embraced this Bratva lifestyle. If I survive today, I’m demanding full membership in the brotherhood. After that impressive bit of carjacking, I’ve earned it.
The building’s hallway smells like disinfectant and other people’s cooking. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting everything in sickly yellow. I take the stairs two at a time, my medical bag clutched against my chest like battle armor.
Of course, the door to apartment 4B stands wide open.
I pause at the threshold, expecting to be ambushed the moment I step inside. But nothing happens. No one shows up. Nothing but cold air drifts out to meet me.
Cautiously, I step inside. The apartment feels hollow, abandoned. Like a stage set waiting for actors to bring it to life.
And then…showtime.
A tall figure blocks the doorway behind me.
“Hello, Vesper. Nice to see you again.”
I spin around and bite back my scream.
Ihor Makhova looks remarkably put-together in his dark blue suit. But expensive clothes can’t hide the fact that he’s lost significant weight since our last encounter. His cheekbones jut out sharply, making his dark eyes appear sunken. Hollow. Like he’s already halfway to being a corpse.
“Where’s Luka?” I demand.
A muffled yell echoes from the bedroom.
My entire body jerks toward the sound before Ihor’s palm slams against my sternum, stopping me cold.
