Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Ollie

There are two types of people in this world: those who lie well and those who are shit at it.

Santiago Morales is the latter.

The goddamn pussy kneels on the rain-soaked ground, a thin trail of blood trickling from a wound in his forehead. His cheeks are hollowed, his dark-brown eyes haunted and gaunt. Isabella Morales's first cousin is a walking skeleton, haunted with terror of the devil he serves, in the custody of the devil he fears.

Sucks to be him.

But Jesus. Even I would feed the men who worked for me. The guy looks like he's subsisted on bread, water, and a steady diet of waterboarding. Carlos Carrera was a fucking narcissistic tyrant.

"Please," Santiago begs in broken English. "I don't know."

The shifting storm clouds over the late afternoon sky reveal his terrified eyes. I fucking hate the way he trembles. He knows where Renata is, and he deserves to die.

Blood thrums in my veins.

Renata Carrera is mine, and I'll burn this fucking world to ash before I let anyone harm a hair on her head. Others might say to let her go, to let her run and hide, but the beast in me wants her chained to me.

I walk in a circle around Santiago as his bloodshot, widened eyes track me. He licks his dry, cracked lips and swallows as if trying to gather up his courage.

"You have to understand," I tell Santiago in a deceptively calm voice. "The entirety of our operation hinges on finding Renata. If we don't find her, we're at an impasse. She has information on us that's incredibly time sensitive." I lean over and pat his cheek. He flinches as if I'm wielding a whip. "Doesn't that make sense to you? Hmm?"

At eight o'clock this morning, back in The Cove, our men holding Renata in custody were found dead with bullets between their eyes.

Just as well, really. I would have had to kill them for letting her go.

Renata's more than just a pawn in this game. She's the queen who slipped through my fingers, and every second I don't have her, the more my need to have her grows.

"I don't know. I swear to God, I don't know!" he sobs. I clench my jaw and glare at him. Jesus motherfucking Christ, let me go out of this world with my balls intact, no matter the circumstances.

I narrow my eyes and stand in front of him, my arms crossed. Emotions like this never move me. Some people think I'm the quiet one because "still waters run deep" or some poetic shit like that.

I keep quiet because I don't give a fuck about playing Mr. Nice Guy. It's just easier to shut the fuck up. Makes people wonder.

"You can kill me," the pussy says, looking away. Bluffing his fucking mouth off. "Do whatever you want to me; I swear I don't care! But you have to believe me, I don't know."

I sigh and shake my head.

A dog barks, and an angry woman screams something unintelligible at the market behind us. Worked out well that the marketplace was in full swing today because the muffled sounds of the people behind us mask our job. Even if they did see us, they'd keep walking. No one in this neighborhood gives a fuck about us, and they know better than to go anywhere near business involving the cartel.

I stare at him and shake my head again.

I don't care that he's covered in blood. I don't care that I'll instruct my men to make an example out of him, to bury him in pieces all over the place and spread the news of his death far and wide. All I care is that I'm looking for answers, and I'm going to find her no matter what.

In the distance, a siren wails, momentarily blocking out the chatter of the market.

I let out a belabored sigh. "It doesn't have to be like this, Santiago." The two men I brought with me stand stoically behind me. Loyal to the Morales cartel, they're now loyal to the Romanov Bratva by association since my brother's marriage to Isabella.

The one to my left has short gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His clothes are pressed, and the ink on his upper right arm indicates his affiliation with Fuerzas Militares de Colombi a—the Colombian military.

The guy beside him is younger but larger, his muscles flexing when he clenches his fists. He reminds me of my brother Viktor—bulky, muscular, fearless. Both of these men hate traitors, and I don't fucking blame them.

One speaks in rapid Spanish to the other, and they both shake their heads. I speak Spanish, but poorly, so I only catch the gist. They said something about this taking too long. They would be happy to help me.

There was a time when the man bleeding out in the rain, begging for his life, considered these two his brothers. They would've died for Santiago and his family.

They want justice.

They don't care where she is. All they care about is making an example of this asshole so no one else gets the wrong idea again.

"If you tell me what I need to know, I'll make it worth your while." Now I'm the one lying. He's getting a bullet between his eyes no matter what he does.

"?Por favor, se?or! No puedo decirle nada. Carlos fue el que me lo dijo. ?él es el que la persigue, es a él a quien debe encontrar!"

Carlos? Even though I know Spanish, I shake my head. This doesn't make sense. "Carlos Carerro is dead."

Carlos Carrera was found dead before I came down here. Confirmed. We buried him beside Javier.

He realizes his mistake and quickly shakes his head. He jabbers on in Spanish so broken and rapid I don't quite get everything. It doesn't help I'm fixated on what he said either.

Carlos.

Carlos fucking Carrera.

Renata Carrera's brother. Our mortal enemy. If Carlos is alive, we've got bigger problems than we realized.

I take a step toward him and grip his hair. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid? You mean to tell me Carlos is still alive?" He's made a big fucking mistake telling me this.

The two men look at each other in wide-eyed terror. I can see the whites of both of their eyes. One of them whispers a rushed prayer as if on instinct. If Carlos is alive, they're fucking dead.

I don't want a sliver of misunderstanding between us, so I speak to them in their native language. My voice booms in the narrow alleyway so loudly that they both jump. " ?Alguno de ustedes sabe algo sobre esto! "

Do either of you know anything about this?

" No, se?or, " they say in unison.

Santiago cries to himself. I turn and stare into his eyes. "You're lying. I know you are." I speak softly, almost gently, making sure he hears every damn word I say. "Carlos Carrera is dead. And you know exactly where she is and who took her."

He shakes his head, his full body trembling. "I don't!"

Jesus, he's stubborn. I glare at him. "Show him," I snap at the men.

In seconds, they pull up screenshots from Santiago's phone showing Renata's arrival. "We've been watching. We know," the older man says, his voice cold and unwavering. Renata's beautiful face is evident despite the grainy resolution. "This was taken today."

Santiago pales now that the evidence of his betrayal is undeniable. He turns his head as if looking away will make this all go away. The coward.

I hate cowards.

"You thought you could hide her and get away with it. You thought you could be a hero for those who wish to betray us." I lean in closely. "You thought you could lie and survive."

He sobs, shaking his head from side to side.

"Do you know what happens to those who betray us?"

"No! No!" The whites of his eyes remind me of a rabid animal. I shake my head and stand up straighter.

I'm done. If Carlos is actually out there, we've got to fucking move . We're goddamn sitting ducks.

I nod to the men behind me. The gray-haired one pulls out his Sig Sauer P226 Legion and hands it to me. I love the heft and weight of it and how easy it is to pull the trigger. I love the feel of the cold metal in my palm and barely restrain myself from caressing it.

I aim the gun at Santiago's head. He babbles on and on in Spanish and then begins to plead in broken English. "No! No, please, I have family. You can't?—"

I spit on the ground. "They're better off with you dead than knowing you're a traitor."

"I didn't— I'm not?—"

The gunshot echoes through the alley. Santiago falls to the ground. His head hits the pavement with a sickening thud, blood splattering his gaunt face.

I'm told this is the part where I'm supposed feel something. Remorse, perhaps? Regret? Something, anything that makes me human and not a robot conditioned to react and never feel… but no. I'm only mildly relieved one more traitor's gone and definitely pissed off we didn't get more from him.

I want Renata Carrera for myself.

Frowning, I turn to leave.

"Clean this up. You know what to do with the body. Make sure everybody knows what happens to traitors."

"Si, se?or. Should we speak to Isabella first?"

"Yes. Ask her the best way to communicate this message, and do not take all fucking day doing it."

"Si, se?or, si."

I walk into the shadows as the sun sets, rain beating down on Santiago's pathetic, lifeless body behind me.

It's all fucking behind me.

She's here. I know she is. I can fucking feel her here. And when I find her, she'll find out what happens to traitors too.