Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“Are you going to tell me what I want to know?”
Defiant silence is all I get.
“You know what happens when you kill someone under my protection, don’t you?” My words are icily quiet, controlled, but the man is in far too much pain to seem to care.
“Just fucking get it over with.” His words are slurred and spoken through broken teeth and a fat lip. “I know you’re going to kill me, you fucking bastard. Just do it. I already told them everything I know.”
“That would be easy, wouldn’t it?” I purr. “Just release you from the pain? From the horror of knowing your death is imminent, yet you don’t know when?”
The man glares at me with his one working eye, and I half expect him to spit blood at me.
“But no. I’m not going to give that to you, that would be a mercy, and I’m far too angry for mercy.” I stand and flash him a wolfish grin that makes him recoil as much as his restraints allow. I take off my suit jacket and roll up my sleeves. “You’ve angered the Kucherov Demon, and now you get to see what that means.”
If Tsepov’s guy thought what he’d already received was bad, I show him how much of a monster I can be. I keep going until he pleads with me to stop, to kill him, until he can barely force out the information I seek even when he wants to tell me.
His breath wheezing in and out, I grasp his hair and pull his head up. “Tell me what I want to know.” I spit venom into his ear, the violence like a drug in my veins, his blood an elixir bringing me back to life, back to my purpose. “Who killed the kid? Who killed Jordan Volkov? How is Tsepov involved in all this?”
“One of your men betrayed you,” the man gasps, then groans.
“Bullshit. My men don’t betray me.”
A sound rolls through the man’s throat, an odd gurgling that turns into a wheezing half-chuckle, half-moan of pain. “Are you so sure?”
It’s a simple question, a reaction from a man nearly out of his mind with pain. But that simple question, with its amused, almost gleeful tone, echoes what Tsepov told me that day at the restaurant.
I would watch your back because you never know who’s coming for it.
With a roar, I rear back and bring my fist down onto the man’s cheek. Something gives under my hand, and the man’s head falls back. I don’t know whether he’s unconscious or dead, but I don’t care.
It takes me longer than I’d like to get myself back under control, to keep from pummeling the man until he’s unrecognizable.
“Kill him. Make it slow. Dump the body where Tsepov sees it. I want my message clear. He’s to know he’s woken the Demon, and I’m done playing nice.”
As I stalk from the room, slipping my jacket back on to cover the blood on my shirt, I know with certainty that Tsepov’s challenge wasn’t a lie to knock me off balance. Someone inside my Bratva has betrayed me. Someone tore Eva from my arms and destroyed her family.
And I will find out who.
28
EVA
“Special pizza delivery.” Marco holds up the bag while the bell over the bookstore’s front door jingles, announcing his arrival. “Onions, olives, peppers, meatballs, pineapple, and sweet peppers.”
My brother wrinkles his nose as he says the last part.
“Blame the babies,” I say, getting up from behind the counter to grab the bag from him. “Thank God you’re here. I was afraid I was going to faint.”
Marco barely has his sub unboxed, and I’ve already scarfed my way through half a slice of pizza like someone who hasn’t eaten in days. My brother looks bemused, but I couldn’t care less as the shakes racking my entire body slow, then finally cease. I’d only been a little dramatic. My blood sugar had been falling, and fast.
I’ve always been a touch hypoglycemic, but the babies and my pregnancy have made it so much worse. The doctor was clear I wasn’t actually eating for three, but simply giving my body the energy it needs to grow two babies into being.
“God, this is so good,” I groan, already on my second slice.
Marco has only taken two bites from his sub. He laughs. “You sure there are only two babies in there? The pizza’s not bad, but I’ve never seen someone go into the throes of ecstasy like that.”
I flip him off, and he laughs again. Then he reaches into the pizza box to snag a tiny meatball.
It looks like I’ve been eating for three, too. Okay, maybe not three, but at nearly twenty weeks, I’m no longer able to hide my pregnancy, even with a baggy sweatshirt. So I’ve given up and bought some maternity clothes.