Page 97 of Stalked
“I need to head out soon,” I say, checking my watch. “Meeting with Knox about some shipment issues.”
Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, I wonder if she knows. If somehow she's figured out what we really do. But that's impossible. We've been careful.
“Will you be late?” She asks.
“I shouldn't be too late.”
I grab my keys and phone, pulling her against me for a kiss that she returns, but without the fire I'm used to. I hold her a little tighter, a little longer, trying to recapture that connection.
“I love you,” I say against her lips.
“I love you too,” she whispers back.
But as I walk out the door, I can't shake the feeling that something's broken between us. And I have no fucking idea how to fix it.
I slam the door behind me, my mind still on Lia's distant eyes. Something's wrong, but I'll have to deal with that later. Right now, there's business waiting.
The morning air hits my face as I climb onto my Kawasaki Ninja. The engine roars to life, vibrating between my legs like a living thing. This—the power, the speed—always clears my head.
I weave through Ravenwood's streets, leaning into curves, pushing faster than I should. By the time I reach the east warehouse, my thoughts of Lia have retreated to a dull ache in the back of my mind.
I park next to Knox's bike, its neon blue paint job unmistakable even with mud splattered across it. My brother never could keep anything clean.
Inside, the warehouse echoes with a strangled scream. My lips curl into a smile. Knox started without me.
“About fucking time,” Knox calls out when I push through the door. He's standing in front of Orlov, sleeves rolled up, knuckles bloody.
Orlov hangs from chains bolted to the ceiling, his expensive suit torn and soaked with blood. His left eye is swollen shut, and his breathing comes in wet, gurgling gasps.
“Didn't want to wait for me, little brother?” I shake my head, pulling on leather gloves.
Knox grins, that wild, unhinged look dancing in his eyes. “The piece of shit asked about Bianca. Wanted to know if she enjoyed their time together.”
“And you still left his tongue attached?” I laugh, circling Orlov like a shark. “You're getting soft.”
“Nah.” Knox tosses me a pair of pliers. “Just saving the best parts for my favorite brother.”
I take the pliers from Knox, testing their weight in my hand. The metal feels right—cold and purposeful.
“You know what these are for, don't you, Ilya?” I whisper, leaning close to his ear. His one good eye widens, pupil shrinking to a pinpoint. “For every lie you told my brother Xavier, I'm going to remove something you'll miss.”
Orlov tries to speak, but all that comes out is a wet gurgle. I grip his jaw, squeezing until he whimpers.
“Shh. Don't waste your breath on begging. Save it for screaming.”
I grip his pinky finger in the pliers, applying just enough pressure to make him feel it. The fear in his eye is intoxicating—better than any drug. I twist slowly, feeling the bone resist, then snap. His scream bounces off the warehouse walls.
“One lie,” I say calmly, blood dripping from his mangled finger. “Nineteen more to go.”
Knox laughs behind me, the sound echoing. “Fuck, bro. You're taking your time today.”
“I've been looking forward to this.” I select Orlov's ring finger next. “Been dreaming about it.”
I don't pull this time—I twist, rotating the pliers in a full circle. The finger doesn't detach, just hangs by a thread of skin and tendon. Orlov's scream turns into a high-pitched wail that makes my skin tingle with satisfaction.
“That's for sending your men after my brothers,” I whisper. “The next one's for what you did to Bianca.”
I press the tip of the pliers against his eye—the good one—applying just enough pressure to dimple the surface without breaking it. Orlov thrashes against his chains, voiding his bladder in terror.
