Page 65 of Surprise Quadruplets for the Mob

For once, I think he’s telling the truth.

“You really are a pathetic son of a bitch,” I mutter. “I can’t believe I trusted you for so long.”

He sighs and looks up at me from the corner of his eye. “Just get it over with.”

I pull the trigger and take a step back as his body tumbles off the bed and onto the floor. Holstering my gun, I make my way back downstairs.

“Want us to take care of him?” Lev asks, gesturing at Dima.

I shake my head. “Nah. He can clean this mess up. We have more important things to do.”

Chapter 29

Abby

Ifeel sick as I sit here, surrounded by my crying babies and staring at the dried bloodstain on the floor. There’s no telling who it belongs to or how long it’s been here, but I’m willing to bet it’s not a good sign.

The room they’re keeping us in is small and windowless. It’s barely a closet, really, with no ventilation and no source of light except for a dim bulb that hangs from the ceiling. It’s hot and stuffy and it smells like a mixture of sweat and urine.

I can’t imagine what the Irish want with me or my babies, but I’m guessing it has something to do with the Bratva. They want to get back at Maks for something. Maybe for interfering in their operation.

But whatever the case, I know I’m not leaving this room alive unless someone helps me. Unless someone rescues me.

As if reading my mind, one of the babies starts to cry and won’t stop, and I feel my stomach sink as I realize we’re running out of time. I gather her up and try to feed her, but Olga is completely uninterested, and I tuck my shirt back up and try my best to comfort her.

The door swings open, and I’m suddenly face-to-face with one of my captors. Light brown, shaggy hair. Pale blue eyes. And a sneer on his lips that twists his face in a way that draws more attention to his slightly crooked nose, as if someone had broken it and it never set straight.

“Shut it up,” he growls, gesturing toward the baby.

I don’t respond, but I don’t make a move either, only glaring up at him. I’m already holding Olga and rocking her, I don’t know what else he thinks I can do to make her stop crying.

He steps into the room and looms over me when I don’t move, and I know that’s a threat. “I’m not asking. If you cooperate, Imightkeep you alive.”

“Who are you?” I ask. “What do you want from me?”

“Brennan Kelly.” He holds out a hand as if I might shake it, then shrugs when I just glare at him. “Pleasure to finally meet the woman who has fucked up so many of my plans.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything to you or messed up any plans.”

“But you have,” he says, shaking his head. “So many plans that were years in the making.”

I still don’t know what he’s talking about, but I sort of recognize the man’s name. I’ve overheard Maks grumbling to Lev about how this Brennan guy wants to reignite some kind of turf war between the Irish and the Bratva. I just don’t understand where I fit in.

“If you’d just been content to mind your business,” he continues. “You probably could’ve avoided a lot of this trouble if you’d simply left poor Booker alone.”

“Booker?” I stare at him in disbelief. “That’s what all this is about? Some money he scammed from a few people?”

“Some money?” He shakes his head again. “He was working for me, you know. Had a sweet little racket going, but then yougot involved. Your little foundation, investigating him, getting the word out.”

“He’s a con artist,” I hiss. “He stole from innocent people. From children. How could you condone that?”

“It’s called business, lass,” he says, giving me a wink. “But enough chitchat. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“Wait.” My eyes go wide with a realization. “You’re the one who broke into my office?”

“There it is,” he says with a smile. “I was wondering when that would click into place for you. Yes, those were my guys. We found a lot of interesting stuff, but nothing particularly useful for my needs.”

I almost wanted to just hunch into myself and ignore him, hope he leaves or gets on with whatever he plans to do, but it occurs to me that if—ifanyone is going to come for me, if anyone knows I’m even missing, then I might as well keep this man talking and try to bide for time.

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