“Whatever I’m doing?” I ask, insulted by whatever she’s inferring. “What the fuck is it do you think I’m doing?”
Her eyes drop to the ground.
“I don’t know.”
I feel a huge knot form in the pit of my stomach when I notice Elizabeth starting to wipe away a few stray tears with the back of her hand. This is the second time I’ve made her cry. I feel disoriented. Like a ship that’s lost its way because the compass has been broken. She either is furious or truly doesn’t trust me, and that is something that I don’t know can ever be fixed.
For the first time, I’m afraid that I truly may lose her.
“When do you plan on going to Cabot?” I ask in defeat.
“Soon.”
“How far is it?”
“A few hours by train.” She stops sniffling and finds her bra and shirt and puts them back on. “I’ll stay the night and I’ll take Knox with me.”
I take a deep breath and make sure I ask my next question with no bass in my voice. I’m not trying to be combative, but what she’s suggesting makes little sense. It feels like she’s abandoning me.
“Why are you taking Knox?”
“I’m breastfeeding. It’ll be easier if he comes with me.”
“Can’t you just pump some bottles and leave him here with me?”
“Pumping enough milk is just too hard for me. It’s better when he just takes it from my breast.”
“And how’s that going to work when you’re there to have a meeting? What are you going to do with Knox?”
“I’m sure the sitter would go with me for a few days, or maybe I’ll ask Aunt Juliette if she wants to help. She’s always looking for an opportunity to spend time with him, and Knox loves her to death.”
My reaction is emotional but after the last few weeks, not to mention the last few minutes in this room, the thought of Elizabeth leaving to take a meeting right now sets every hair on the back of my neck at attention.
“Now’s not the right time,” I tell her.
Elizabeth’s spine straightens.
“I’m sorry, but what?”
“Now’s not the right time to go. You’re not going.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission, Roman.”
I look around the room at the ramifications of our lovemaking. The entire contents of her desk are strewn around the room. Our clothes are askew. Her computer screen is cracked. And all of it a direct reflection of the current state of our relationship.
In total shambles.
16
ROMAN
Present Day
The Warehouse
“That’s for my son, mudak.” My female captor practically spits on me.
The Russian word she just called me isn’t on my short vocabulary list, but I damn sure can tell that it ain’t a compliment. She can rest assured that the feeling is mutual.
The woman’s two minions are standing behind her, reveling in my injury. The quiet one is smirking at me while the boot kicker is visibly laughing.
“You’re going to regret that,” I promise all three through gritted teeth.
“You’d really be better off if you would just tell me what I need to know before you bleed to death in here because I don’t do regrets, Mr. Masterson.”
“You and your son are going to be full of them very soon,” I guarantee her.
Contempt for me rolls off my captor in waves. She hates me just as much as I now hate her. While I rarely hurt women, I am ready to give myself a hard pass with this one. At the bare minimum, she’s got an ass kicking coming to her. I don’t care how old she is.
“Perhaps you should be more worried about the future of your wife and little boy in this picture.”
I cringe at the thought of this psychopath getting her hands on my family, but her new threat doesn’t frighten me as much as it ignites me. I may not make it out of this concrete prison in one piece but I will make damn sure that the three of them don’t make it out of here at all, because I promised Elizabeth that the violent parts of my business would never interfere in our private lives, and I will keep that promise with my last dying breath.
“I’ll give you five minutes to consider your options or perhaps I need to send my two associates to pay your little family a visit. I bet the wife would be more agreeable to our questioning, as women often are. She’s exactly your type, isn’t she, Sergei?”
“Da,” the quiet one responds, looking at me with diabolical eyes.
He just raised his spot on the “gonna get fucked up” list once I free myself from these restraints.
The only good thing about this exchange is that the woman is making mistakes. Now I know at least one of their names, Sergei. I also have a good idea on where these three are from. If they are indeed Bratva, and I think they are, they are from one of the big families in Maryland. There’s a slight twang to the woman’s accent that sounds very familiar to the DMV area.
I desperately use the five minutes my bitch captor has given me to scan the room for anything I can use as a weapon, but there is nothing in this room, so now I must negotiate.
“Half a million,” I say. “I’ll give you half a million dollars to walk away from this.”
“Only a half million as reparations for humiliating my son?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all you think my son is worth?”
“That is what I’m prepared to offer you.”
“I just spent that much on a shopping spree in Milan.” She scoffs. “You insult me and my family, mudak.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“I must commend you on your tenacity, Mr. Masterson, but unfortunately your offer is not accepted. You have three minutes to tell me what I need to know or Sergei here will make another baby with your precious woman tonight.”
“Fuck you, sooka.”
I spit out one of the last remaining Russian words I have left in my arsenal. It means bitch and I say it with a ferociousness that I pray doesn’t get lost in translation.
“Two more minutes or I’ll put a bullet through your temple and end your—”
WHOOSH!
Suddenly there is a sound of shattering glass. An object the size of a baseball flies through a tiny and filthy corner window that I missed earlier. Glass shards fall to the ground and there is a flurry of activity as the object tossed inside emits a thick layer of stifling smoke.
The smoke lights my nostrils on fire, but I welcome it. I know this type of pain well. Those degenerates are finally here.
The foreign object is a Cutter King special. A messy, loud, and obnoxiously obvious chemical smoke bomb. There’s absolutely nothing stealth about his bombs, but he’s been making them since high school and always looks forward to the rare instances when he can set one off.
This is the perfect occasion for one.
The woman coughs and her enforcers try covering her with a jacket and move her toward the exit when suddenly there are gunshots being fired on the door handle.
“I’m in here!” I shout out in a voice strangled by pain.
My bitch captor breaks from her protective huddle and comes running back toward me, her heels clicking across the concrete a mile a minute.