11. Alik

11

ALIK

I scroll through the information on Vitaly’s cellmate, my eyes stinging from staring at the screen for so long. It’s been six hours straight of this, which is six hours more than I care to spend on my old friend, and I have a feeling I’m far from finished.

He was arrested too soon upon arriving in Russia to make meaningful connections I could use to find him now. It’s fitting for his karma but problematic for my search.

My eyes clench shut as my headache pounds, and I rub my thumb and index finger over my lids. It’s two in the morning. I won’t stop until this is finished.

Opening my eyes, I search through the cellmate’s information again, focusing on his resources on the outside. Wherever Vitaly is, it’s connected to this man. I know because using people is what Vitaly does best, and I guarantee this unfortunate soul believes he’s found a long-lost brother. If I have to kill him to get this information, I will, although I bet he’ll die willingly. Everyone Vitaly touches seems to die for him willingly.

I blink away the thoughts pushing against my mind and focus on the mission. My past doesn’t matter, but it’s getting in the way, clouding my judgment. Everything has been clouding my judgment lately.

At that thought, my eyes draw to the page I ripped from Olive’s sketchbook. I let myself stare for a moment, distracted yet again.

When a whirring sounds in the hallway, I turn my head that way, my lips curving into a frown. I immediately recognize the sound of a drill, but I still get up and walk to my door to press my good eye against the peephole.

Two men wearing ski masks crouch at Olive’s door, one with the drill, the other standing guard. When they get the lock disengaged, they go inside, the tall one’s hand reaching behind him for his gun.

Pulling away from the door, I take out my cell and dial my Irish contact, an enforcer named Finn Walsh. He answers on the third ring.

“Well, if it isn’t my little, red-eyed demon friend,” he sings, a characteristic smile in his voice. It’s never from kindness. The bastard is sick. “How are you, gorgeous?”

“You lied to me.” My grip on the phone is tight, but my tone is even. It’s best to never let anyone in this world know when something is important to you.

Is Olive important to me?

“Lied to you?” He chuckles. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You said you would tell me when your organization planned to take out Olive Solace. I’m watching you in her apartment now.”

“I said I would tell you when I was given the order. Hold on a second…” The line crackles before muffled voices sound and then music. Club music. When he speaks again, I can barely hear him. “Does it sound like I’m about to do a hit?”

My eyes close.

They didn’t choose Finn.

“Actually, I am.” He laughs. “Some rich blond douche with a ring on every finger. Gotta go, love.”

When the line dies, I slowly bring the phone down and slip it into my pocket.

My eyes pause on the door, even knowing she isn’t in there, but then I go back to my computer. I look over the information but can’t seem to read any of it. I can’t get her image out of my mind.

When my eyes find the picture she drew, I pluck it from its spot on my desk and slam it in the bottom drawer, then I go back to my computer.

It’s useless.

All I see is her.

With a growl, I slam a fist on my desk then lean back in my chair, trying to get her out of my head. I can’t. And I’m starting to fear I never will.

I am not only valuable to the Bratva because I’m a killer. I’m destructive, but I’m not a bomb. I’m a missile. I can find information as well as I execute plans based on that information because I’m detail oriented and obsessive about my missions.

I thought I liked the hunt more than I liked the kill, but I’m realizing now it’s because I like puzzles. Solving them, finding them, weaving through mysteries, unraveling complex problems. It scratches an itch for me that a bullet never could.

And what Olive Solace is doing to me is puzzling. I don’t understand her. I don’t understand why she’s been watching me, why she suddenly shifted from panicked to smirking today, why she’s never been afraid of me, and most importantly, why she’s capable of hitting parts of me I never knew existed, pulling emotion from me I didn’t think I was capable of.

She’s a riddle inside a mystery, a puzzle wrapped in an enigma. She is intriguing and magnetic, and if she dies, I will never be able to solve her. I’ll never be able to have her.

She’s a mission I’ll never be able to complete. An obsession I fear will never die, even if her heart stops.

I want her. I want to tie her to my kitchen chair so I can study her for days. I want to tear apart her apartment until I can figure out who she is, why she hides, why she draws such vivid gore, where she learned to draw in the first place. If I can learn who she is, maybe I can understand why she makes me so weak.

I’m going insane thinking about it, thinking about her.

If I take her and get caught, I’m dead. There are no justifications this time, no way for me to make sense of it.

But if I don’t take her… How long until she’s out of my mind? How long until I can focus again?

I’ll be lucky to find Vitaly before he escapes our clutches for good. If there’s one thing Nikita care’s about, it’s getting to Vitaly.

This will get me back on track. This is the only way I’ll ever be able to focus.

I grab my gun from my desk drawer and tuck it into my waistband before pulling on my jacket and heading to the door, my mind made up.

I have to solve this puzzle.