29. Alik

29

ALIK

W himpers.

Pleas.

They grate my ears and grind my teeth as I pop the trunk to Nikita’s Lincoln. I don’t even know who the man in the trunk is. Didn’t even research him, follow him, do the necessary work to prepare for a mark.

Normally, I hate being unprepared, but in this moment, I couldn’t care less who he is or what his life looks like. I was given a name and an address and picked him up with careless ease. I could’ve been spotted. Hell, I could’ve gotten the wrong guy.

And I still don’t care.

The man wiggles like a worm dangling in front of a hook as he cries through the tape over his mouth. I pull out my knife before ripping the bag off his head and putting the blade to his throat, leaning in close enough that I can smell his sweat.

“Shut the fuck up.”

His eyes are bugging from his skull, and the breaths he inhales through his nostrils are annoyingly loud, but his pleas cease.

Nikita comes around the car and places a hand on my shoulder. After I captured the mark, I transferred him to Nikita’s car which we then drove to the warehouse. “ Manners , Alik.” There’s a sick satisfaction in Nikita’s voice that is more grating than the man’s whimpering.

I jerk away from Nikita’s touch and grasp the man, Cedric who-gives-a-shit, by his shirt to yank him up. Taking his shoulders, I haul him from the trunk then drop him onto the gravel lot. He groans, his eyes clenched as he shifts to work away the pain while I bend and slice the tape around his ankles, ignoring his protests when blood coats my knife.

“Get up,” I sneer, nudging his leg. When he hesitates, a jolt of frustration shoots down my spine, and I kick his ribs. “Get the fuck up!”

He whines like a dog, slowly shifting onto his knees. When he tries to stand, he falls, unable to use his tied hands to help his balance. It’s pathetic. I can’t fucking wait for his miserable life to end so I don’t have to see this.

I grab his shirt and yank him up when he goes to try a second time, then I shove him forward to start toward the door. When I leave here, I’m finished for the night, so I’m not sure why I’m in such a hurry.

I spend every second of my day angry, but when I get home, it’s the worst. The anger fades on the drive and turns into something I won’t put a name to. It makes my chest feel as if it’s going to collapse and tightens my muscles to the point I question if I’m made of metal.

I don’t eat. I don’t sleep.

I lay down on a fresh mattress far too soft and a blanket too warm in a new apartment on a better side of town. I lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling, wishing my mind would shut off. Wishing I’d no longer see her face while at the same time dreading that inevitable day. The day I put that second chair at my kitchen table on the curb. The day I throw this mattress out and replace it with something firm and undesirable, unfit for a woman’s company.

The day I quit hoping to see Olive Solace’s face again.

The day I stop searching for her outside my window while I smoke my evening cigarettes.

The day I accept that she’s gone. For good.

Accept that the only woman I’ve ever cared for, ever loved, walked out my door and never came back, just as my mother had. I thought myself unlovable every day of my life until Olive, and I can’t decide whether or not I wish it had stayed that way. Back then, I didn’t know I wanted love. I didn’t know I needed it.

Ignorance is bliss.

Cedric shuffles his feet, nearly slipping on the gravel, and I can’t explain why it pisses me off, but it does. I shove him from behind, sending him tumbling to the ground. A whine muffles past the gag as gravel leaves faint red lines across his cheek.

My foot slams into his leg, but it isn’t on my command. Once I start kicking, my body has full control, and I don’t stop. My teeth are bared, and my blood runs hot, my heart thumping hard to push my rage through my veins.

Pathetic.

This man is absolutely pathetic.

And I hate him for it.

“ Alik ,” Nikita drawls, putting his hand on my shoulder. My hand clenches into a fist, and I have to fight the strong urge to swing.

Nikita tilts his head at me. “You know I love the enthusiasm, but won’t it be easier to get him downstairs if he’s able to walk?”

He looks at me with so much curiosity spilling from his eyes that I look away, instead aiming my gaze on the mangled man. Cedric groans, yelping as he goes to curl into a ball but abruptly stops. I think some of his ribs are broken.

I clear my throat. “Get up.”

He doesn’t obey.

I grab his shoulders and haul him to his feet, but he teeters and falls, letting out more cries.

Shit.

When I look at Nikita, he has an I-told-you-so smirk playing on his lips. I grab Cedric’s heels and start dragging him toward the door while he protests.

“How is um…” Nikita searches his mind. “Olive doing? That’s her name, right? Olive?”

I don’t answer. Hearing her name on his tongue makes me want to cut it out.

“I imagine she’s incredibly grateful for your efforts to work with her father. You saved her life.”

I still don’t answer.

It wasn’t difficult for Nikita to see the pathway to getting Arthur Solace and the DEA off our back. He agreed to lifting the hit on Olive before he was released, and afterward, we didn’t speak of it. But he isn’t stupid. He knows I had more invested in her than the Bratva’s best interests. Maybe he knew all along. I’m not sure. This is the first time he’s mentioned her.

“Has she had the opportunity to express that gratitude?”

I look up at him when we get to the door of the warehouse and drop Cedric’s legs so I can knock three times. A guard opens it right away.

“I’d rather not talk about the girl,” I mutter, lifting Cedric’s legs once again to drag him inside.

We get all the way to the staircase that leads down to the cellar before Nikita speaks again, his hand circling my bicep stopping me from descending.

“To be honest with you, I’d rather not talk about her either. Women make men weak. I mean, look at this sorry sack of shit.” Nikita waves to Cedric. “He’s married.”

“We aren’t together,” I say, my lip curled. “No one is making me weak , sir.” My voice is a low growl.

“Oh.” Nikita purses his lips while he nods. “Well… That explains the moods .”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” I drop Cedric’s ankles, letting them bang on the floor.

Nikita’s brows raise. “I said , you’re cranky. And a bit unhinged. Is there something incorrect about that statement?”

I grumble under my breath and look down at the man. He looks like he’s inching away from me. As if he’d ever be able to make it out of here. I grab his leg and yank him toward the stairs until he tumbles down them, landing in a mangled heap on the concrete. I don’t hear his groans this time.

Nikita leans toward the stairs to peek at the man. “Great. Now he’s unconscious.” He shakes his head and looks at me. “I honestly can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Do you need some time ?”

“No.”

“Hmmm. I think you do.”

“For what?” I snarl, lifting my hands at my sides. “If you don’t like my work, do something about it.”

“Alik.” He sighs and looks around at the men talking loudly in Russian, counting money, packaging drugs. “You’re the only person I trust in this entire building. In the entire Bratva . Believe me, if I could afford to kill you, I probably would. But … as it stands, you’re needed here. Sane .”

Nikita calling someone insane. What a fucking joke.

“Go home,” he says, standing straighter. “Make things right with the girl, if you want. Or don’t, but either way, don’t come back until you’re fixed.”

I laugh. “I’m not broken.”

My voice raises high enough that the room quiets as people look our way. I sound outraged. Defensive. And more than anything, I wish he was wrong.

But he isn’t.

Someone bangs on the warehouse door, and it makes my jaw tic, distracting me for a moment. When the banging doesn’t stop, I turn my head that way.

“Shit,” one of my brothers, Fox, says, staring at the monitor we keep for outside surveillance.

“Open the fucking door!” a voice shouts from the other side of the door. I go to step toward the monitor to see who it is when a gun goes off outside, blasting the lock. The fact that no one is doing anything about this tells me it must be someone untouchable.

The door flies open with a kick before Arthur Solace bursts through, his eyes wide, his face red. “Where is she?” he yells, swinging his gun at my brothers who’ve raised their own weapons.

“I’m assuming you don’t have a warrant,” Nikita says, stepping Arthur’s way. My eyes narrowed, I follow close behind him. “Did you bring backup? Or are you content with suicide?”

Arthur’s eyes find Nikita with fury, but when he spots me behind him, his eyes go manic.

“Where’s my daughter?” he demands, stomping toward me.

Olive?

Where’s Olive?

Why does he not know the answer to that?

Did she run away?

“Tell me, you son of a bitch, or I’ll fucking kill you.” He stabs me with his gun as he approaches, and several of my brothers close in on him as well. But no one touches him. No one says a thing.

They all know who he is to me. It was only a matter of time before the rumors flew, but it isn’t until now that I realize they’ve reached everyone.

“I don’t know,” I say to Arthur, shaking my head.

“Liar!” He rears his gun back and swings, but it’s clumsy in his rage, so I easily duck. When he stumbles forward with his momentum, I use the opportunity to rip the gun from his hand.

“Tell me where Olive is,” he says, desperately gripping my shoulders. Fox and Zinovy yank him backward, each holding an arm.

“I don’t know,” I repeat, my heart quickening. “Why don’t you know?” I blink, trying to understand this. “Did something happen?”

Why is he here? Why is he so scared that he’d show up at our warehouse with a useless gun and a rage-filled head?

“You took her,” he insists, kicking his feet. “I know you took her, you piece of shit!”

“Why do you think that?” I ask, trepidation raising the hairs on my arms. I shake my head, trying to shrug off my worry. “If she ran away, it was her own doing. I haven’t?—”

“She didn’t run away!” he roars, pulling forward so Zinovy and Fox have to bring him back. “She would’ve left a note. She wouldn’t have done that to her mother.” Tears start to fill his eyes. “Where is she?”

“I don’t have her… Which means she’s fine, Arthur. She’ll be?—”

“She left her sketchbook open,” he says, his voice a broken whisper. “She would’ve hidden it from me. All her things were knocked off her living room shelf. There was a struggle, and I was right downstairs.” His face twists with agony. “Please just?—”

“I would never hurt Olive,” I say before he can finish. I open my mouth to go on but close it when his face turns white.

“It wasn’t you,” he seems to realize out loud.

It wasn’t me.

Not she must’ve run away .

Not she’s okay .

Just it wasn’t you .

Which means he thinks it was someone else. Olive is truly in danger.

My stomach falls to the floor.

“Creeper,” Arthur says, his knees wobbling. He pushes to stand up straight then looks at me with a plea in his eyes that isn’t necessary. My feet are already pointed toward the door.

I don’t wait for Fox and Zinovy to release Arthur before I stride that way, my anger channeled into determination.

I’m gonna kill him.

I’m gonna enjoy killing him.

And he’s going to beg to go back to the day before he ever met Olive. Before he ever laid a hand on my girl.

I drop Arthur’s gun on the ground as I walk and clench my fists when Nikita calls my name.

“I’m leaving,” I bark at him, spinning on my heel to face him.

His brows bunched, he nods. “I know… Take backup. Use all the resources you need.”