44. Chapter 44

44

Dimitri

M y thumb swipes across the phone screen for the hundredth fucking time. Nothing. No new messages. No sign of her. Blyat , what the fuck is wrong with me?

I should be focused on business, not waiting for a goddamn text like some lovesick chyort .

"D, you trying to burn a hole through that thing?" Erik's voice cuts through my thoughts.

I tear my eyes away from the screen, glaring at him. "Shut your fucking mouth and drive, mudak ."

Erik's sprawled in the driver's seat like it's his personal throne, one arm draped over the steering wheel. His blonde hair's pulled back in that stupid man-bun he thinks looks so cool. Fucking peacock.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" he asks, that cocky eyebrow of his shooting up. "Wren not texting you back?"

My fist clenches, itching to connect with his smug face. "You want to walk home, suka? Keep talking."

Erik holds up his hand in mock surrender, but I can see the laughter in his eyes. Yob tvoyu mat , I hate how well he can read me sometimes.

I drag my eyes back to the fucking encrypted messages on my screen. My muscles tense as I shift in my seat, thinking about how fucked we are. And then I catch sight of last night's text from Wren. Suka . Just what I need, to be distracted by that hot piece of ass when I'm already neck-deep in shit. I grit my teeth. She's fucking with my head. I can't afford to think about her every goddamn two seconds.

" Blyat, " I growl, shoving the phone into my pocket. "Someone's fucking with our shipments. Big time."

Erik's eyes flick to me, then back to the road. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, a steady rhythm that grates on my nerves. "How bad we talking?"

"Bad enough to make me want to put my fist through something," I snarl. The leather seat creaks as I shift, my hand instinctively moving to the gun at my waist. "Three shipments hit in the last week. Whoever's doing this, they're organized. Professional."

Erik goes quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but I know that he's spinning his gears, thinking, plotting. Suddenly, his lips twitch into a half-smirk.

"Skull Collectors, huh?" he drawls, the words dripping with amusement. "They're not some street gang looking to make a quick buck, I'm guessing."

"No fucking kidding," I mutter, watching the city blur past the window. The afternoon sun glints off glass and steel, making me squint. "Where the hell are you taking us, anyway?"

That smirk plays at the corner of Erik's mouth. "What's wrong, D? Don't trust me?"

I snort, folding my arms across my chest. "About as far as I can throw your ass."

"Fair enough," he chuckles, taking a sharp left that has me bracing against the door. "Got a friend who might have some intel for us. Figured you'd want to hear it firsthand."

My eyes narrow. "What kind of friend?"

"The kind that keeps his ear to the ground," Erik says, his tone casual but his grip on the wheel tightening. "Word is, there's been some unusual activity back in the motherland. Might be connected to our problem here."

That gets my attention. I turn to face him fully, studying his profile. "Spill it, mudak . What've you heard?"

Erik takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself. "Someone's been digging into old records. Asking about places and people that haven't been relevant in years. The camp came up."

The camp? Memory flashes of concrete walls, the smell of blood and piss, boys screaming in the night. I clench my fist, nails digging into my palm, using the pain to ground myself in the present.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I hiss at him, my knuckles white on the armrest. "The camp? That shit's ancient history."

Erik's eyes flick to me, then back to the road. "Why don't you ask him yourself and save my saliva, mudak ? We're almost there."

" Yob tvoyu mat ," I snarl. "You better not be fucking with me, brat ."

He takes a sharp left, tires screeching against the pavement. I grip the door handle, teeth clenched. Behind us, our convoy of black SUVs follow suit, their engines growling as they weave through traffic.

The city morphs around us, sleek skyscrapers giving way to older buildings with more character. Graffiti-covered walls and neon signs flash by. My eyes narrow as we pull up to a block that looks too fucking pristine for this part of town.

" Chto za khuynya ?" I growl, eyeing the high-end storefront. It's all glass and chrome, dripping with diamonds and shit that costs more than most people make in a year.

Erik just smirks, that smug suka . "Our new meeting spot."

I take in the barely visible cameras, the reinforced glass, the guards trying to look like they're not guards. This place is a fortress pretending to be a jewelry store.

"When the blyat did you set this up?" I demand, my thick eyebrows pinching together.

Erik shrugs, cool as ice. "Oh, you know. I suddenly took an interest in… fashion ."

I snort. " Pizdets ."

Erik pulls into a narrow alley behind the building, killing the engine. One of our govnoed bodyguards materializes, taking the keys to park the car. Erik's out before I can blink, striding toward a nondescript metal door.

I grunt as I step out of the car, taking in the cleanliness of the alley. " Zasranit, " I mutter. A fucking spotless alley? Unheard of. Most back-alley shitholes reek of piss and rot, but this place could be in a goddamn brochure. A bit too perfect, if you ask me. I narrow my eyes, scanning the area for anything out of place.

"Move your ass, D," he calls over his shoulder.

He's already at the fucking door, eyeball jammed against some fancy scanner like he's in a spy movie. A soft beep and the door clicks open. Then he turns, flashing that fucking smile of his. It's the kind you'd see on some pretty boy model selling overpriced watches—all white teeth and bullshit charm.

"All the windows are bulletproof. Walls too. Could withstand a goddamn missile strike."

I roll my eyes. Cocky mudak .

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it. There's no time to deal with distractions when Erik's got something up his sleeve. A nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it's gonna be a real doozy of a surprise.

"Fascinating," I growl, shoving past him. "You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on, or do I have to beat it out of you?"

Inside, six guards stand at attention, armed to the teeth. Their eyes flick between us, hands twitching near their weapons. I narrow my eyes, tension coiling in my gut.

Erik must catch my look because he smirks. "Relax, brat . A shipment just came in. This is so secretive that almost everyone involved… well, let's just say they won't be talking."

I can't help the grudging respect that wells up. Fucking Erik, always two steps ahead. "When the hell did you set this up?"

He shrugs, leading me down a sterile white hallway. "After our little… problem started. Figured we might need somewhere off the books to conduct business."

I follow Erik silently, my boots echoing on the polished floor. The hallway stretches on, gleaming white and stainless steel. It's too clean, too sterile. Makes my skin crawl.

We pass rooms filled with screens and blinking lights. Shit that looks like it belongs in some sci-fi movie. Erik stops at another unmarked door, punching in a code.

"Welcome to my office," he says, that goddamn grin plastered on his face.

The door slides open. I step inside, eyes narrowing as I take it all in. Shelves line the walls, glittering with diamonds and gems that'd make most men drool. Paintings I recognize from FBI heist lists hang between them.

"Nice decor," I grunt. "Planning on opening a museum?"

Erik just chuckles, moving to a desk that probably costs more than most people's houses. He taps something, and a soft hum fills the air.

"The fuck is that?" I growl, hackles rising.

"Relax, D. Just some extra security measures."

Before I can tell him where to shove his security measures, a panel slides open in the wall. Behind it, a sleek elevator waits.

"After you," Erik says, gesturing with a flourish.

I step in, shoulders tense. Erik follows, pressing his palm to a scanner. The doors whoosh shut, and we start descending. It's smooth, quiet. Not like the rickety deathtraps I'm used to.

"So," I drawl, leaning against the wall. "This where you keep your gimp, or what?"

Erik snorts. "You wish. Just wait and see, brat ."

The lift comes to a stop, doors sliding open with a soft hiss. I blink against the harsh fluorescent light, taking in the room beyond. It's bigger than I expected, maybe twenty by thirty feet. Walls of polished steel reflect the light, making my head spin. The concrete floor is dark, stained in places.

"What, you build yourself a little funhouse down here?" I growl, stepping out.

Erik doesn't answer; just whistles some annoying tune as he strides to another door. He presses his thumb to a scanner, and it slides open with a soft click.

The stench hits me like a fucking freight train. Blood, sweat, piss. My nose wrinkles, stomach churning.

In the center of the room, strapped to a metal table, is a man. Blood oozes from cuts across his chest, his face a mess of bruises. But it's not him that catches my eye.

Off to the side, trussed up like a pig for slaughter, is a familiar face. The brick shithouse from the other night, the one who got away when I rescued Wren. His face is even more fucked up now, swollen and purple.

As soon as he sees us, he starts thrashing against his restraints. " Mudak !" he roars, spittle flying. "I'll fucking kill you! I'll tear your fucking hearts out!"

I step closer, a cold smile spreading across my face. "Looks like you're not in much of a position to be making threats, suka ."

The man's eyes bulge, veins standing out on his forehead. "Fuck you! You don't know what you're dealing with!"

"Oh, why don't you tell me all about that?" I purr, circling the table. My eyes rake over the pristine tools laid out nearby. Leave it to Erik to keep a torture chamber as clean as a fucking operating room.

I pick up a wicked-looking blade, testing its weight. "Start talking."

The brick shithouse spits, a glob of blood and saliva landing at my feet. " Idi na khuy !"

My fist connects with his face before I even realize I've moved. But Erik's faster, his knife flashing out. The man screams as his pinky drops to the floor.

"Kill me, you ublyudok !" he shrieks, thrashing against his bonds. " Yebal'tye sukin syn !" he sputters, spitting blood and tears as he laughs hysterically. "Dead! All of you will be fucking dead! They're coming, you hear me? Coming for your fucking throats!" He cackles like a madman, his eyes rolling back into his head. "And there's nothing you can do about it!"

I grab his throat, squeezing. "Who's coming, you piece of shit?"

He laughs, a bloody cough racking his body, staining his shirt and face.

"…Zimniy… Ale… na," he gasps. "They're… going to tear your… world apart."

My blood runs cold, the names triggering a thunderstorm in my mind.

I squeeze harder, my vision going red.

"D!" Erik's voice cuts through the fog. "We need him alive."

I glare down at the bloodied mess that used to be a man, reveling in the rush of rage coursing through my veins. I don't give a shit if he's gasping for his last breath; he deserves every fucking bit of it. He brought this on himself; this is what happens when you fuck with the wrong people.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don't hear it.

All I hear is the pounding of my heart and the screaming in my head, begging me to do more, to finish him off.