Page 147 of Sire
Sheremetev!
That’s it. The intel we got from The Six about his enemy. The one on our shores. The one he keeps sending me to destroy.
“No, you don’t want mutual destruction.” The ground shifts. There is an escape. I have the upper hand. “You want victory. Pride. Power. You want Valentin Sheremetev. That’s why you’ve been sending me notes. So I can seek and destroy his operations here.”
“So you can seek andrescue,” he snarls, nodding toward Wren. “You should be thankful.”
At the mention of her past, Wren squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back.We’re okay. I got you.
“Since when do you give a damn about human suffering?” I condemn, “You cause it.”
There it is again.
Pain ghosting his eyes.
If I didn’t know him so well, his DNA corrupting my body, I’d miss it.
I’d miss his faltering compassion.
I press, “Sheremetev controls the East Coast. Trafficking women and girls, and why do you care? And don’t tell me it’s for the money. You have plenty, and you wouldn’t risk your operations to be caught by U.S. authorities, so why do you give a shit?” I trap his bitter stare, reading his reaction. “Is your heart finally beating as your kidneys die? Do you finally care about someone other than yourself?”
Bullseye.
He winces.
I’m onto something.
“Your kidney for my grandson,” he bargains coldly. “You may have him six months a year, while you and your brothers continue to work for me.”
Work to rescue sex trafficking victims? We already do it, so what’s the catch? There has to be one.
Wren’s hand twists in mine. She senses it too. This is the end of the lie about Axel’s son, but the beginning of something else.
Of what?
“My brothers and I work forourqueen,” I smirk at the irony. “If you want our help, you need to look her in the eye and beg for her permission.”
I don’t know what my father really wants, but I want to give my mother this: a chance to stand before her throne, surrounded by her loyal sons, and spit in his face.
Shockingly, he doesn’t protest.
Ruslan gestures to his right, to the stocky man looming in the shadows. “I will leave Yakov here. He is my new Sovietnik. He will oversee your tests and preparation before you fly to Moscow for the surgery. And when I have recovered, I will return with my grandson and meet with my wife.”
“She’snotyour wife,” my bark is instant. “You forced her to marry you.”
“Yeah, Nadine hates you,” Wren chimes in. “AndCuntya? That’s your wife’s name, right? You married Axel’s second-hand pussy? Oh, she’s gonna be ill as a hornet to know another woman still lives rent-free in your mind.”
Ruslan clenches his teeth at Wren. “If you weren’t my daughter, you’d be dead for speaking to me that way.”
Wren mocks, “Yeah, well, I’mnotyour daughter. I’m Dolly and Nadine’s, so I’ll speak however I want, and you can kiss my country ass about it.”
How does she do it? Every. Damn. Time.
My angel swoops in with her bravery, butterflies, and filterless mouth, and my heart swells, my lips fighting a smile.
“Yakov stays.” I take control. “I’ll pick my doctors and communicate through him, and when I’m ready, I’ll fly to Moscow for the surgery and return home with my nephew in my arms.”
Wren insists, “And I’ll go with him.”
