47. Chapter 47

47

Dimitri

" M udak , you nearly killed the clue I worked so hard to find," Erik grumbles, shouldering past me into the attached bathroom.

I follow, my hands sticky with drying blood. The bathroom's all sleek chrome and white tile, spotless as an operating room. Fucking freezing, too. My boots echo on the hard floor as I join Erik at the oversized sink.

" Idi na khuy ," I mutter, cranking the hot water. Steam rises as I scrub my hands raw. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

Erik snorts, lathering up with some fancy-smelling soap. "Barely. A few more seconds and we'd be fishing information out of a trup ."

I glance up, catching my reflection in the massive mirror. My eyes are wild, pupils blown. There's a spray of blood across my cheek. I look like a fucking zhivotnoe .

Good.

"He'll live," I growl, splashing water on my face. "Unfortunately."

Erik dries his hands on a plush towel, eyeing me. "You gonna be able to keep it together? We've got company waiting upstairs."

I bare my teeth in something that might pass for a grin. "I'm the picture of fucking calm, blyad' ."

"Right," Erik drawls. He tosses me the towel. "Clean yourself up. You look like you've been rolling around in a skotoboynya ."

I wipe my face, tossing the now-bloodied towel in the trash. " Vot . Beautiful as always."

Erik rolls his eyes, leading the way out of the bathroom. We pass the main torture room, the smell of blood and piss still hanging thick in the air. My fists clench, that familiar itch for violence crawling under my skin.

The elevator ride back up is silent. I can feel Erik watching me, probably wondering if I'm about to snap. Yob tvoyu mat . I'm fine.

The doors slide open, revealing two men waiting in Erik's office. I recognize them immediately: Oleg "Frost" Arsenyev and Saveliy "Vortex" Kozlov. Our top-tier muscle, the kind you call in when shit's about to get real zasranny .

Oleg stands ramrod straight, his icy blue eyes scanning us as we step out. He's built like a tank, all muscle and hard edges. Next to him, Saveliy lounges against Erik's desk, deceptively relaxed. I know better—the man's a coiled spring, ready to unleash ad at a moment's notice.

"Gentlemen," Erik says smoothly. "I trust you have news?"

Oleg nods curtly. "We've located a warehouse. It's heavily guarded, but our intel suggests it's a major hub for their operations."

"Any chance of getting inside?" I ask, already itching for a fight.

Saveliy shakes his head, his long black hair swaying. "Not without raising every alarm in the city. They're paranoid ubljudki , watching their own shadows."

I grunt, pacing the length of the office. My skin feels too tight, that bloodlust from earlier still simmering beneath the surface.

"There's more," Oleg says, his voice as cold as his nickname. "We spotted Zimniy heading an operation downtown. They hit three high-end jewelry stores in broad daylight."

My head snaps up. " Chto za khuynya ? Those pizdy have more money than God."

Saveliy's dark eyes narrow. "That's the thing. They didn't touch the cash. Just grabbed a bunch of uncut diamonds and split."

"Doesn't make sense," Erik muses, leaning against his desk. "Unless…"

"Unless they're looking for something specific," I finish, the pieces clicking into place. "Or someone."

The room goes quiet, tension thick enough to choke on. My mind races, piecing together this fucked-up puzzle.

Oleg clears his throat, his icy gaze fixed on me. "There's more, Dimitri. We've confirmed they have Wren's father, John Davis."

My head snaps up, jaw clenching so hard I hear my teeth grind. " Blyat . How long?"

"At least 24 hours," Saveliy chimes in, his dark eyes scanning a tablet. "Grabbed him outside a liquor store."

Erik curses under his breath. "And Wren?"

Oleg's face hardens. "That's the problem. Our scouts spotted her heading toward their warehouse about an hour ago."

" Yob tvoyu mat !" I roar, slamming my fist into the wall. Pain shoots through my knuckles, but I barely feel it. "Why the fuck didn't you lead with that?"

Saveliy raises an eyebrow. "Because you look ready to rip someone's throat out, brat . We need you thinking clearly."

I take a deep breath, forcing the rage down. He's right, much as I hate to admit it. "Fine. What's their play?"

Erik steps forward, his face grim. "It's not about our supply chain. They're using Wren to get to you, D."

The realization hits me like a fucking truck. "Zimniy," I growl, the name tasting like poison on my tongue.

Oleg nods, his expression cold. "Skull Collectors making their move. They're using John Davis as bait for Wren and Wren as bait for you."

I pace the room, my boots echoing on the hard floor. My mind races through scenarios, each one worse than the last.

Wren, walking into that nest of zmei . Alone. Unprepared.

" Suka blyad' ," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "She's always pulling this crazy shit."

"Never pegged you for the lovesick puppy type, D. It's not a good look on you."

I'm about to tear into him when I remember the phone in my pocket. I yank it out, my stomach lurching as I see five missed calls from Wren.

"Fuck," I growl under my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. This can't be good.

" Chert ," I hiss, my stomach dropping.

Saveliy raises an eyebrow. "Problem?"

I ignore him, jabbing at the screen to check my messages. There it is, time-stamped an hour ago:

D. Shit's gone sideways. John's in trouble. Might need backup. Call me ASAP.

I jab at Wren's number, the dial tone mocking me. One ring. Two. Three. Four, five, six. Then her voicemail kicks in.

" Blyat! " I snarl, resisting the urge to smash the phone. "We move. Now. Get your asses in gear and head for that warehouse."

Oleg and Saveliy exchange glances, already moving toward the door. Erik, though, he just stands there, one eyebrow raised, that knowing smile still playing on his lips.

I can see the gears turning in that clever little brain of his. The same question I'm asking myself: Why the fuck am I so worked up over Wren Davis?

"Don't start," I growl at him, grabbing my jacket. "We don't have time for your bullshit psychoanalysis."

Erik holds up his hands, but his eyes are sharp. "Wouldn't dream of it, brat . Just wondering when Wren Davis became a priority Bratva operation."

I shoulder past him, not bothering to answer. Truth is, I don't have a fucking answer. All I know is that the thought of Wren walking into Zimniy's trap makes my blood boil.

"You coming or not?" I snap over my shoulder, already halfway out the door.

I hear Erik sigh, then his footsteps follow. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, D. Someone's got to keep you from burning down half the city."