I dial my brother and lean back in the chair. A second later, he picks up.
“Brother,” he pants.
Immediately, I can tell something’s not right. “What’s wrong?” Not only does he never make calls this late, but he sounds stressed.
“It’s Brianne,” he says.
“What about her?”
“Someone’s taken her.”
For a moment, I’m certain he’s messing with me. Nobody took his wife; he’s just trying to get under my skin because he knows that today was a pain in the ass for me, having to host Oleg’s wedding and all.
But then I hear the screeching of tires in the background of the call, and I know it’s not a joke.
“What happened? Talk to me.”
“I don’t know what happened. I came home from the wedding and the front door was kicked in. A housekeeper said a man came running in and grabbed Brianne before she could fight back. We have these apps on our phone that we got when she thought I was cheating, and I’m following the location right now.”
“Shit,” I breathe.
This must be related to our business. People associated with the Bratva are always in danger—always collateral damage just waiting to happen.
That’s another reason why I don’t have any plans on getting married. In this business, there’s no room for pleasure. You eat and breathe this line of work. Anything else is mere distraction.
“If anything happens to her, Matvei…” he snarls. I can hear the fear in his voice. It doesn’t happen often, but I can sense it now.
“It’s my fault,” he curses. “Fuck, it’s my fault she got dragged into this shit in the first place!” There are thuds in the background, probably him slamming his fists on the steering wheel.
“No,” I say, determined. “This isn’t your fault. We’re going to get her back.”
With just one call, I can have twenty men right behind Dmitry, all of them fighting to bring his wife home safely. Him rushing in alone is risky, stupid. Our father trained us to be smarter than that.
“I don’t have time, Matvei,” he says with a warning tone. I can tell he doesn’t want me to say it again, but I have to.
“You have a goddamn son to think about, Dmitry. You can’t go rushing into things like this. Where are you going? Give me an address.”
Almost reluctantly, he says, “It’s that old abandoned car factory a few miles out of town. You know the one.”
I do know the one. It’s fifteen minutes from here, give or take, at the speed I’m planning to drive. I stand up from my seat and grab my keys.
Downstairs, I climb onto my motorcycle. It’s faster than the cars. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“I can’t promise I’ll wait,” he says.
I know my younger brother like the back of my hand. I know how impulsive he is. It was one of the reasons I didn’t want to let him join the business. This is serious, and one wrong move can get someone’s brains splattered across the wall. It’s not for reckless people.
Up until this point, he’s behaved. Sure, Dmitry gets mouthy with some of my other men, and there have been some fights I’ve had to break up, but he’s done well. Better than I thought he would.
This is a mess I have to get him out of.
Thoughts of the Justice Killer keep splaying through my mind as I turn the motorcycle down the driveway and open the throttle wide. Something in my gut is telling me that this isn’t just the Albanians or the Irish coming at my family again, like they’ve done every now and then over the years whenever they work up the courage.
This is something different. Something worse.
I shove my dark thoughts deep down and merge onto the road. With the thrum of the engine between my legs, the rip of the wind past my ears, I feel alive, completely in tune with the machine.
I lean, it leans, we turn. I crouch, it slides beneath the resistance of the air, and the speedometer ticks up just a few more notches.
One hundred.
One twenty.
One forty.
Faster, motherfucker, I growl in my head. You have to get there faster.
The roar of the pistons fills my hearing completely. There is only the motorcycle and me—and, at the end of this journey, like a fucked-up pot of gold at the conclusion of a rainbow, is God only knows what kind of nightmare.
***
I see the peaks and turrets of the abandoned car factory rising in the distance. Just a few more minutes now. Three, maybe less.
I replay what I know in my head. Someone took Brianne. I don’t know who or why or what they want.
So in summary, I don’t know a fucking thing. If anyone of my lieutenants charged into a situation like this, knowing as little as I do now, I’d have him stripped of his rank for sheer foolishness.
But there is no time now to reconsider, to wait for backup. I heard the panic in my brother’s voice. I know what his wife means to him. She is my sister-in-law, a member of my family, a ward of my Bratva.
Anyone who touches her has crossed me, too.
That’s why I came roaring here like a bat out of hell.
That’s why whoever has done this won’t live to see the dawn.
I burst onto the property and lower the speed to a quiet cruise. A few hundred yards separate the main warehouse from me. I halve the distance, then cut the motor and park. From under my jacket, I pull out my silenced pistol.
Creeping towards the warehouse, I spot Dmitry’s car. The driver’s door is open. He didn’t wait for me. If we get out of this mess alive, I will kill that son of a bitch, I swear to God.
I walk faster, gun drawn, looking in every direction. My senses are on high alert.
But there is nothing to be seen. Nothing to be heard. Even when I make it to the entrance of the warehouse, it’s quiet. Far too quiet for my liking.
I take a step into the building. Darkness greets me. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, I see a flash of movement to my left.
I spin around, finger on the trigger, ready to kill.
But I’m too late.
It’s Dmitry. He lies slumped against the wall, holding his stomach. I start forward, only stopping when he opens his mouth. Thick, oozing red blood spills out, coating the front of his shirt.
“Dmitry!” I bellow, rushing forward. I drop to my knees in front of him, grabbing his hand. It’s slick with more blood.
He tries to form words, but only the dull, low moan of pain escapes. He sounds like a wounded animal caught in a trap.
My little brother is dying in front of me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, pulling him close. “You’re not going to die on me. You hear me, you bastard? Not tonight. Not tonight.” I pull my jacket off and press against his stomach where the wounds are. He groans in agony, but I don’t stop the pressure. If I do, he’s as sure as dead.
“Look at me,” I demand. His head slumps forward and he starts to close his eyes. I slap him hard, startling him. “Look at me, brother. You’re not going anywhere. You have to take care of Brianne and Nikolas. Your son, Nikolas! You remember Nikolas, yeah? You’re going to see them both soon, okay?”
Dmitry opens his mouth, but a piercing shriek from behind me echoes off the metal walls before he can speak.
I recognize the voice. It’s Brianne. She’s screaming at someone to get off of her, to leave her alone.