Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
We reached the boats. I shoved Natasha’s slick body against the hull and helped her climb over the gunwale, then I pulled myself up, keeping low.
My fingers flew over the controls. Keys. Thank You, Jesus. Fishermen never bloody took them out. I slid the key forward as footsteps thundered nearby.
“Don’t shoot! You’ll miss the Scot!” A voice snarled. Italian-adjacent, cocky, vile. My stomach dropped. Lorenzo Ferri. “Make the call.”
Another voice, female, grunted. “Answer the phone, Mr. Resnov!”
I fumbled for mine and tossed it at Natasha. Seated on the deck with her back against the port, she tapped the screen, then shook her head. Crap. The thing dripped lake water, but I was hoping water-resistant meant more than I thought it did.
“Yours?” I asked.
“My … my mobile’s on the dock,” she whispered, guilt raw in her eyes.
A curse in Italian ripped across the evening, and though I couldn’t translate, I guessed he wasn’t happy we’d escaped. Almost.
I jammed the throttle forward. The boat lurched, coughing once before roaring to life. Natasha scrambled beside me, shoving her wet hair from her face, her knuckles white on the railing.
Behind us, the second boat sputtered awake. Lorenzo had found the spare keys.
Gunfire spat across the water, bullets zipping, pinging off the loch like pebbles. One slammed into the bow near the wheel. I jerked the boat hard, my teeth rattling. Natasha screamed and clutched my arm.
The other boat roared behind us, coughing, sputtering, but still alive. Lorenzo’s silhouette stood at the bow, gun raised, his voice carrying over the waves.
He herded us.
The only path open was northeast—away from safety, away from my clan.
This wasn’t a chase.
It was a hunt.
44
VASSILI
I’d been in this position before. Zariah on the phone, a million miles away, the cartel issuing threats while they held my wife captive. Why hadn’t the MacKenzies called to threaten me? Make demands? I could handle them. Silence brought every fiber of my being to my knees.
Today, the cellphone in my hand shook. Nostrils flared, I breathed out. In … Out … And answered my daughter’s first call.
Moyey docheri screams hit my ear like a thunderclap, searing into my mind. Innocent. Overwhelmed by bullets.
“Da, Natasha?” I screamed into the phone. “Gde ty? Gde ty? Where are you?”
Yuri stared at me, the confusion, questions, and pain in his gaze mirroring mine.
My hand trembled, and I clutched the phone tighter. Told myself to focus. She was screaming. She was alive. Khoroshiy. What else did I distinguish from the call?
“What is it?” Simeon growled through clenched teeth, climbing from the dining table so fast the chair spun away and hit more furniture.
“Nyet, nyet … nyet …” Yuri moaned, arms folded, rocking in his loafers.
A second later, her screams and the sound of an engine and waves—it all went dead.
“Water …” I replied, stalking like a panther over the large storage area of eclectic high-end pieces.
I roughed a hand across my face. Found a chair. Or rather, the wingback chair found me instead of my ass falling flat on the cement floor. “They’re somewhere with water. Lachlan took my daughter. Somewhere with water. Shooting guns. She must’ve tried to escape …”
In a daze, I glimpsed the number again. Da. Her 323-area code. She’d had the number since the fifth grade. Hunched over in the seat, my hands scraped through my hair.
Simeon rubbed my shoulder. “They’re dead, brat. All of them.”
“Nyet. Just him. And the one—” Fumbling with my phone, hands jerky, I shifted through until I found the correct social media account. The kid with millions of followers already had scores of photos and videos with women. Lots of women. Why would he drug my baby? Why would … Lachlan let—
Didn’t matter. “First, this one.” I pointed to Rory’s smiling face. “Then the Doyer.”
“The entire family, Va—”
At the glare I shot him, Simeon broke off with a cussword, biting his fist. He kicked an ottoman. The crates on top of it toppled over. Someone needed to clean this crap. I needed order, yet Simeon’s actions exposed the same rage within me. I couldn’t do that. Break. I’d need to wait.
A soldier stepped forward, silent and attentive.
“Speak,” I ordered.
“We have confirmation of the family’s location. Scotland. Dùn MhicCoinnich. But sir …” His Adam’s apple pitched higher than the ceiling.
“What?” Simeon barked.
He regarded me. “Your pilot was advised to take vacation for a week.”
“We will take mine.” Simeon shrugged.
Had Zariah given our pilot time off?
“Impossible, sir.” The man flicked his gaze to Simeon, lowering it respectfully. “Your superjet isn’t available at the private hangar. Your daughter.”
As Simeon cursed up a storm, I got up. “Doesn’t matter how we get there. We get there.”
45
SIMONA
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean
If piercing glares could kill, Jake would’ve ended me. So, I killed him with a technique I’d never needed.
Kindness.
“Thank you for coming with me.” My voice was thicker than the organic honey in my delicate teacup. I took a sip.