that this isn’t just the Albanians or the Irish coming at my family again, like they’ve done every now and then over the years whenever they work up the courage.
This is something different. Something worse.
I shove my dark thoughts deep down and merge onto the road. With the thrum of the engine between my legs, the rip of the wind past my ears, I feel alive, completely in tune with the machine.
I lean, it leans, we turn. I crouch, it slides beneath the resistance of the air, and the speedometer ticks up just a few more notches.
One hundred.
One twenty.
One forty.
Faster, motherfucker, I growl in my head. You have to get there faster.
The roar of the pistons fills my hearing completely. There is only the motorcycle and me—and, waiting at the end of this journey like a fucked-up pot of gold at the conclusion of a rainbow, is God only knows what kind of nightmare.
I see the peaks and turrets of the abandoned car factory rising in the distance. Just a few more minutes now. Three, maybe less.
I replay what I know in my head. Someone took Brianne. I don’t know who or why or what they want.
So in summary, I don’t know a fucking thing. If anyone of my lieutenants charged into a situation like this, knowing as little as I do now, I’d have him stripped of his rank for sheer foolishness.
But there is no time now to reconsider, to wait for backup. I heard the panic in my brother’s voice. I know what his wife means to him. She is my sister-in-law, a member of my family, a ward of my Bratva.
Anyone who touches her has crossed me, too.
That’s why I came roaring here like a bat out of hell.
That’s why whoever has done this won’t live to see the dawn.
I burst onto the property and lower the speed to a quiet cruise. A few hundred yards separate the main warehouse from me. I halve the distance, then cut the motor and park. From under my jacket, I pull out my silenced pistol.
Creeping towards the warehouse, I spot Dmitry’s car. The driver’s door is open. He didn’t wait for me. If we get out of this mess alive, I will kill that son of a bitch, I swear to God.
I walk faster, gun drawn, looking in every direction. My senses are on high alert.
But there is nothing to be seen. Nothing to be heard. Even when I make it to the entrance of the warehouse, it’s quiet. Far too quiet for my liking.
I take a step into the building. Darkness greets me. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, I see a flash of movement to my left.
I spin around, finger on the trigger, ready to kill.
But I’m too late.
It’s Dmitry. He’s seated slumped against the wall, holding his stomach. I start forward, only stopping when he opens his mouth. Thick, oozing red blood spills out, coating the front of his shirt.
“Dmitry!” I bellow, rushing forward. I drop to my knees in front of him, grabbing his hand. It’s slick with more blood.
He tries to form words, but only the dull, low moan of pain escapes. He sounds like a wounded animal caught in a trap.
My little brother is dying in front of me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, pulling him close. “You’re not going to die on me. You hear me, you bastard? Not tonight. Not tonight.”
I pull my jacket off and press against his stomach where the wounds are. He groans in agony, but I don’t stop the pressure. If I do, he’s as sure as dead.
“Look at me,” I demand. His head slumps forward and he starts to close his eyes. I slap him hard, startling him. “Look at me, brother. You’re not going anywhere. You have to take care of Brianne and Nikolas. Your son, Nikolas! You remember Niko, yeah? You’re going to see them both soon, okay?”
Dmitry opens his mouth, but a piercing shriek from behind me echoes off the metal walls before he can speak.
I recognize the voice. It’s Brianne. She’s screaming at someone to get off of her, to leave her alone.
Shit. I put Dmitry’s hand on top of my jacket. “Keep applying pressure,” I order.
He nods weakly. Then I stand up and take off after the sound of my brother’s wife.
I burst around the corner of a large metal structure into the open area at the center of the warehouse.