Page 98 of Stalked
“Please,” he finally manages to choke out.
“Please?” I repeat, pressing harder until a thin trickle of fluid leaks from the corner of his eye. “We're just getting started.”
The pliers aren't enough anymore. I set them aside, reaching for the hunting knife I keep in my boot.
“You want to see real pain, Ilya? Let me show you what happens when you fuck with my family.”
I press the blade against his cheek, slicing down in a slow, deliberate line. Blood wells up immediately, running down his face in rivulets. His scream is weaker now—he's running out of energy.
“Hold his head,” I tell Knox.
My brother grabs Orlov's hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. I trace the blade down to his ear.
“This is for trying to move on our territory,” I whisper, sawing through the cartilage. The ear comes away with surprising ease, a small, bloody trophy in my hand. I hold it up in front of Orlov's face. “Should I mail this to your wife? Or maybe your daughter?”
A soft sound—plastic against metal—breaks my concentration.
I freeze, head snapping toward the warehouse door that should be locked. It's ajar now, a sliver of daylight cutting across the concrete floor.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, dropping the ear and moving toward the door.
That's when I see it—a small gold bracelet with an emerald charm. Lia's bracelet.
“Fuck.” My blood runs cold as I bend to pick it up, fingers trembling. “FUCK!”
I burst through the door in time to hear an engine start around the side of the building. I sprint toward the sound, heart pounding so hard I can barely hear anything else.
Knox is right behind me, grabbing my arm. “Vane, stop! We're not done here.”
“Lia was here,” I snarl, showing him the bracelet. “She saw everything.”
“So what?” Knox shrugs. “Let her go, she'll come around.”
“This isn't a fucking game, Knox! This is different.” My voice cracks with panic. “She'll leave me again.”
“We have a job to finish,” Knox insists. “Xavier will?—”
“What would you do if it were Bianca?” I demand, grabbing his shirt. “What if she saw you like this and ran? Would you just let her go?”
Something changes in Knox's eyes—understanding, maybe even sympathy.
“Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Go to her. I'll finish with this piece of shit and clean up.”
I race around the warehouse, finding a rusty tap on the exterior wall. The cold water runs red as I scrub frantically at my hands, trying to wash away Orlov's blood from under myfingernails. It's not working fast enough. All I can think about is Lia.
Lia saw what I really am.
I jump on my bike and gun the engine, weaving through traffic at speeds that should get me arrested. Red lights become suggestions as I blow through intersections, cars honking in my wake. I don't care. I need to get home before she does something stupid. Before she runs again.
Fifteen fucking years. I'm not letting her leave.
I screech to a halt in front of our building, abandoning my bike in the no-parking zone. The elevator takes forever, each second stretching into an eternity as I watch the numbers climb.
“Lia?” I call out the moment I burst through the door.
Silence answers me. The penthouse feels empty in that unmistakable way. I check every room anyway, flinging open doors, hoping to find her crying, angry, anything.
Nothing.
