3. Gleb

Ineed to figure out what I'm going to do about Mel.

On the one hand, the thought of kissing her fills me with intense satisfaction—not to mention an insatiable hunger for more of her sweet lips. On the other hand, I ought to squash that flame before it turns into something I can't control. Because I'm not right for her.

And now that I've had a taste of Mel, there's no doubt in my mind that I could easily lose sight of that. It would be too easy to lose sight of everything that really matters.

It hasn't slipped my mind that my bigger concern should be for her safety—though she certainly did her damnedest to distract me from it today. I swear Mel's singular purpose in life is to challenge me. Despite the fact that I've done nothing but try to keep her safe since the moment I met her.

An undeniable hint of anxiety courses through my veins as I think about this new modeling gig she told me about. Because I know that when she steps into the public eye, I will have far less of an ability to protect her.

Still, I can't deny the small flicker of pride that fills me. Mel is fearless, unwilling to let her aggressors intimidate her. She was made to be on the cover of magazines. She's the most singular, striking woman I've ever met. And I could see her raw talent in the pictures she showed me today.

Which only makes me that much more despicable. Because I don't deserve her.

And that makes our kiss all the more dangerous.

I'm so distracted by my conflicting thoughts and emotions, that I'm in my apartment, tossing my keys and phone onto the side table beside my door before I notice I have a missed call.

It's from Lev, my right-hand man.

Snatching up my phone, I call him back as I head toward my kitchen to find something suitable to eat for dinner.

"Bratok, you need to get over to Imperia now," Lev growls as soon as he picks up.

I stop dead in my tracks, noting the urgency in his voice. "What happened?" I demand, making an abrupt about-face and heading back out my front door.

"Mikhail's men. They shot up the club. Looks like they took out every one of our men. The product's gone. All of it."

A string of Russian curses issue from my lips. "So much for a ceasefire. I'm on my way."

Imperia's not far from my place. It'll be fastest to take the subway into Manhattan. Slinking swiftly into the underground, I slip onto the train just moments before the door closes. And in less than ten minutes, I'm back out on the street, heading toward Pyotr's nightclub.

The sun's still setting over the city, so the club wasn't open for business at least. But I hardly consider that a victory when countless more Veles men are dead because Mikhail has no honor—not a single honest bone in his body.

Sometimes, I hate being right.

I see the value in Pyotr's efforts to maintain peace—hope. It's a part of what keeps people human. But in Mikhail's case, I think it's safe to assume he's an exception to the rule.

The destruction is visible as soon as I climb the steps of Imperia and enter the three-story vaulted-ceiling nightclub. Bullet holes trail down the walls, putting pock marks on either side of the shattered wall sconces. The floor is littered with glass and slick with blood.

Lev meets me as soon as I enter, his face dark with fury.

"Get this cleaned up. And bar the front doors. Put out a sign saying that we're undergoing renovations."

He nods, walking with me as I head across the spacious dance floor. I weave between the booths toward the back room, where we sell our product. I take note of the intentional destruction as we go.

It looks like the men stood their ground. It must have been a good-sized force of Zhivoder men to overwhelm them so completely. And I recognize several of the bodies as Mikhail's men. He didn't even bother to take them with him.

I scoff. Pig. That's one way to leave a message.

My phone vibrates against my leg, and I give Lev a silent nod, dismissing him to get started on my orders.

"Da," I answer, not bothering to look at the screen.

"Gleb, thank god. Someone's here. At the house," Melody breathes, her voice low and muffled like she's trying to trap her voice near the phone.

Blyat. "Who's there?"

My stomach drops as I hear several screams and the rapid fire of a machine gun.

"I don't know," she confesses, her voice on the brink of tears. "I'm hiding upstairs, in the closet. But… they killed Igor." She releases a soft sob.

My gut twists as I recall some of my last words to him. He might have gotten under my skin by reading too much into my actions, but he was a good man. A good soldier. He didn't deserve to die. "Stay where you are. I'm on my way." This day just keeps getting worse.

"Okay…" she murmurs, her voice trembling. "Wait, I… think… maybe they've left."

"Stay hidden," I warn, turning for the door.

"'Kay—" Her first obedient word to me, and it gets cut short, ending in a terrified shriek.

The phone crackles and thumps, and then all I can hear is muffled screaming.

"Let me go! Ow! Please stop," Mel begs, then, "You're hurting me!"

My heart stops dead in my chest. They've found her. And from the sound of it, they're dragging her from her room. Damn it.

I don't wait for Lev.

I'm out the door, sprinting before I've even jammed my phone back in my pocket.

Racing back across town in record time, I shove people out of my way in the underground so I can get where I need to go. Gun in my hand before I reach the bottom steps of the girls' concrete porch, I slow, settling into a defensive crouch. Then I creep stealthily up the stairs.

The door is open, the bolt is demolished, and several bullets scar the thick wood. Igor slumps lifelessly on the floor, his eyes staring blankly toward the intruder's point of entry. The house is still—too still—and it makes my stomach knot.

Though I know Mel was upstairs last, I take a moment to sweep the ground floor, ensuring no one is lying in wait to sneak up on me from behind. But the house is empty. Each of the two first-floor bedrooms is in shambles, which tells me they didn't just come for Mel.

It had to have been multiple men to take out all the girls' guards.

Focusing on my breathing, I keep my heart rate down as I tread softly through the house. Old houses like this tend to make noises when you least expect them to, but I don't make a sound.

Neither does anyone else. And that, more than anything, tells me I'm too late. They're already gone. But I have to confirm it. I check each of the bedrooms, coming to Mel's last, and as I press open the folding closet door, I find her phone lying useless on the ground.

It looks like she put up quite a fight.

The lamp from her dresser is broken on the floor, a good amount of blood lining one jagged edge, and signs of a struggle mark her carpet and the corner of the bed. Even her doorway.

There's no doubt in my mind who took her.

Not when Mikhail chose to raid Imperia on the same day. Pyotr needs to know.

This time, the bastard's actions can't go unanswered.

Holstering my weapon, I head straight for the Veles house.

It takes a bit longer to get to Brooklyn Heights from Harlem. And by the time I make it to the front steps of their brownstone family home, I'm so worked up, I can't barely think straight.

I slap Osip's gun out of my face as soon as I throw the front door open, storming back toward Pyotr's office in an unbridled rage. With everyone on high alert, I know it's stupid to be making an entrance like this one. But all I can think about are Mel's words echoing in my head.

Please stop, you're hurting me!

I want to kill whoever dared lay a hand on her. I want to rip him limb from limb.

I'm so furious that as I kick open the door to Pyotr's office, I don't even hesitate at the sight of my pakhan's two massive, muscle-bound bodyguards who fill the doorway. Val bristles, his expression holding a fierce warning. Efrem looks ready to shoot me, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. And a spike of irritation lances through me.

I have suspected someone's been passing information to the Zhivoder for some time now. I can almost guarantee it. And on more than one occasion, I've had my suspicions that it might be Pyotr's blond-haired, keen-eyed bodyguard. I get the distinct feeling he doesn't like me, and I'm starting to wonder if it's because he has something to hide.

But the one time I broached the subject with Pyotr, he shot me down immediately. He has complete trust in both his bodyguards. They have proven their loyalty countless times. And though I haven't brought it up since, I still have my suspicions. Efrem watches me in a way that makes me question him. My gut instinct tells me he and Pyotr are too close for my pakhan to keep an objective mind.

And today, right now, when Mel's life is on the line, I'm in no mood for Efrem's stall tactics. He might be big, strong, and fast, but I'm confident I could beat him if I really wanted him dead—no half-measures with the behemoth of a man. I doubt I could simply subdue him, but I could put him down if I needed to.

"Get out of my way," I growl, my voice low and flat with warning.

That only seems to solidify his determination to bar my entry.

"Let him pass," Pyotr states evenly from his seat at his desk.

Grudgingly, Val and Efrem share a look before stepping aside. I stalk into the room, my eyes intent on Pyotr.

"What is it?" he asks, his sharp gaze calculating as he assesses me.

Vibrating with tension, I fist my hands to try and regain control of my emotions. It usually comes effortlessly. But not now. I want to shout that they took Mel. But if I start there, I know I'm going to lose it. So, instead, I begin with what my pakhan most needs to hear. "He broke the ceasefire—Mikhail. Zhivoder men just raided Imperia."

"Blyat." Pyotr's cuss is low, his gaze instantly furious. "How bad is it?" he asks, rising from his chair, his sharp gray eyes never leaving mine.

"The men are dead, the product gone. This time, he didn't bother leaving a note."

"But you're sure it was him?"

I nod, thinking of the men he so willingly left behind to serve as a trademark of his handiwork. I can't wait any longer. I need Pyotr to know just how far Mikhail has gone. "That's not all."

"He hit more than one club?" my pakhan asks, his brow furrowing.

I shake my head, my gut clenching as I struggle to keep my usually steady tone even. "He found the girls' house—Mel and the girls who stayed with you for a while after we took them off Mikhail's hands."

The blood drains from Pyotr's face. "And?"

"He took them. Killed their guards. The girls are gone. There's no sign of them."

Silence falls heavily on the room as it seems everyone has found my level. After what happened to the strippers Mikhail kidnapped from our last club, I'm terrified the girls will meet a similar, horrible fate. If not worse.

My mind can't seem to stop going to the darkest places. That truck my men and I raided—the one Mel I found on—had originally been intended to provide Mikhail with high-priced auction pieces. Which means, now that they're back in Mikhail's hands, Mel, Tiffany, Annie, Tori, and Leah could all end up being sold off as sex slaves to some of the sick bastard's wealthiest and most depraved clients.

They could be terrorized, beaten, raped, imprisoned for god only knows how long.

Pyotr's jaw works furiously, his rage mirroring my own. We can't keep standing by and letting Mikhail walk all over us. He's not going to stop.

"Get them back," Pyotr commands, his eyes molten. "Whatever it takes."

Determination floods me. I won't let those girls suffer or die in the hands of that sadistic monster, not for a moment longer than they have to. With a head jerk of acknowledgment, I stalk toward the door, jumping into immediate action.

"Gleb," Pyotr says, bringing me up short before I exit the room.

I turn to meet his eyes as I pray I'm not already too late.

"You can't fail this time," he says flatly.

"Yes, pakhan," I rasp, my voice ragged at the thought.

Lev and Denka are already waiting for me by the time I arrive at the girls' Harlem address. Lev watches me with his signature curious blue eyes. Denka eyes the open front door, his auburn hair leaning closer to brown in the light of dusk. I called them as soon as I left Pyotr and told them to meet me here. Lev was still busy getting things cleaned up at the club, but he knew better than to ask questions.

"The girls were taken. And we've been tasked with finding them," I say curtly, leading the way back into the house.

Though not as skilled at tracking as I am, both Lev and Denka are my best assets, and the faster we pick up a trail, the more likely we are to find the girls alive. Flashes of the beaten and beheaded strippers that Mikhail left as a message last time we pissed him off keep flickering through my mind.

The vivid feel of Mel's lips pressed against mine swiftly follows, intensifying my inner turmoil.

I haven't even had time to wrap my mind around the emotional number that one did on me. Mel brings out far more emotion in me than I'm used to. At times, I find it challenging to keep up.

And now she's gone.

I've never wanted to break something so desperately in my life.

But I don't have time for a temper tantrum. Every minute I waste brings Mel closer to a terrible fate I'm trying desperately not to think of.

Entering the dated kitchen once again, I scan the room to see if I might find a clue there. Mel's photos lie scattered across the floor, boot prints sullying her perfect face after someone haphazardly trampled over them. My chest tightens at the sight of Mel dressed in various seasonal outfits, with a few headshots mixed in, all taken with masterful precision and clarity.

Mel's command of the camera captures my attention, even now. Her eyes, that deep, reflective shade of silver-black, look out from the images as if peering directly into my soul. And each emotion she evokes transfers effortlessly off the page, pulling me into her world.

I grind my teeth, furious that someone could take her. That anyone would be willing to subject her to pain or suffering. From what little I know about her background, few people in Mel's life looked after her or cared to understand her well enough to want to keep her safe.

When I found her,bruised and battered but full of piss and vinegar, I accepted that role. I told her I would protect her.

I've failed her completely.

Staving off the wave of guilt that threatens to consume me, I follow the faint bootprints with my eyes. They make it to the back door, which still looks intact. I tread carefully, avoiding the footprints as I approach, then I turn the handle and find it unlocked.

It doesn't take me long to come to several clear conclusions: Whoever used this door was let into the house. That could have been by the intruder who forced his way in the front, or not. It was a man—a large one by the looks of it. And he left the house through the same door he entered.

I suspect they all left through the back. The alleyway, which leads out onto the main road, is less inhabited, so no one would see them. And it would make for a quick getaway. I step outside into the back alley and immediately spot several signs of a struggle. Along with black tire marks not ten feet from the door. From the looks of it, the girls were forced into a good-sized car—likely a van—and the driver took off quickly.

Whistling, I call Lev and Denka outside to me, and they assess the tire marks.

"They could have taken the girls anywhere from here," Denka observes.

"Are all guards accounted for in the house?" I ask, crouching to assess the scuff marks on the ground.

Lev and Denka share a look.

"I'm not sure," Lev says.

"Find out." I press my middle finger to a small droplet of dark liquid marking the ground, and when I lift my hand, smearing the substance with my thumb, it comes away red. Blood.

Mel's kidnapper, I hope, not Mel herself.

Rising, I turn to follow my men back inside. But once again, my phone rings in my pocket. The caller ID says it's Pyotr.

"Da."

"The girls will have to wait," he says in Russian, jumping straight into what he has to say.

And though normally, I accept Pyotr's decisions without question, my lips part to disagree.

"Mikhail just took off for his home in Upstate New York. He's trying to stick his head in the sand because he knows I won't let this one blow over."

Or he's decided to run with the girls to put them in his next auction.

Word around town is he's started hosting a few exclusive events at his fancy estate up north. Only for his best, highest-paying clients. And now he has the girls he intended to sell for a pretty penny before we took them.

"You want to go after him?" I ask, hearing the conviction in his voice before he even says it.

"Yes. Maks informed me he only took a few good men with him."

From a strategic standpoint, that makes sense. "If his goal is to hide, he anticipates we'll be here looking for him. He wants to keep his numbers in the City to reinforce that assumption," I note.

Still, I can't stop the nagging feeling at the back of my mind.

Is it too convenient?

It makes too much sense for him to fly north. So, why wouldn't he anticipate we would consider that possibility? That makes it a less-than-ideal spot for him to hunker down with a few good men.

Perhaps he thinks that with another of the Veles clubs destroyed, the product gone, and the girls missing, we will be too distracted to see the obvious. But something tells me it's bigger than that.

"Get your men ready," Pyotr commands. "I want them here at daybreak tomorrow. But I need you here now—tonight. It's going to be a long one, but I don't have enough time to make this plan on my own, and you comprehend Mikhail's mind best."

"Understood."

"And, Gleb?" Pyotr pauses, silence stretching across the line. "You were right. There's no room for mercy with the Zhivoder. I've been hoping for far too long. Tomorrow, I want to kill Mikhail and bring down his empire once and for all."

"Yes, sir," I agree, heading inside to find Lev and Denka.