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I look at my watch. It’s just after 10 a.m. which means the shipment should have arrived and been unloaded eight hours ago. “What do you mean you just found out? Why only now?”
“It was a routine shipment. Only a handful of men knew about it, myself and Paval included. It was one of the smaller ones, the ones we let the men handle, and they made all their check-ins. When they were half an hour late to the rendezvous point, the men went looking for them. They found the security detail’s van at the bottom of the lake, each of them with a bullet in the head. The truck drivers were close by, and their throats were slit. They found the truck unit and trailer further down the road, hidden amongst the trees, but the shipment is gone.”
I resist the urge to pound my fist into the nearest wall and run my hand through my hair, pulling on the short strands until I feel the stinging on my scalp. “What did we lose?”
“A couple of SUVs, and three muscle cars.” There’s a short pause before I hear a sharp intake of air. “One of them was Gustav’s.”
“Fuck!” This time I can’t stop myself from sweeping half the contents off my desk onto the floor with my free arm. Bogdan Gustav is one of our regular clients. We have sourced many cars for his collection over the years, and we have a decent working relationship. But Bogdan is not someone who handles being let down well. I would rather not find out how he would react if that were to happen.
“How close are we to finding the fuckers who did this?” I demand.
“We’re checking all the cameras in the area. We think they drove the cars, instead of taking the trailer or swapping it out, so they would be more inconspicuous, but we can’t find anything on the surveillance footage. It looks like someone erased it.”
My body goes rigid. “Erased? How did they manage that? I thought we had everyone on the payroll?”
“We did. We do.” I hear some shuffling on the other side of the line before a door clicks shut and it gets quieter. “Fyodor, you know we’ve been having hiccups the last few weeks. Small pieces of information that someone gets wrong or one car in the order not being where it’s supposed to be. But we haven’t had anything go quite so spectacularly wrong before. Ever since—”
“Bring me the men responsible for the mistake,” I snap, cutting him off.
“They are all dead, Fyodor.”
Frustration courses through me. “How soon until we can make up the shipment?”
“I already have the men looking to replace all the cars. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two, three max, to get back on track.”
I lean against the side of my desk, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Hopefully soon enough to appease the clients.”
“Yeah …” Kiril trails off. He clears his throat. “Look, I hate to agree with Paval—”
“So don’t.”
“—but maybe he has a point. This all started happening when Kat showed up.” He takes a breath. “How sure are you about her reasons for finding you?”
“You mean how sure am I that the child she’s carrying is actually mine? Pretty sure given all the medical results came back clear as day.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. How sure are you that she truly doesn’t want to be there? That her kicking up a fuss is genuine? Just, think about it, okay?”
Before I have the chance to argue, the line goes dead.
This is not the first time my siblings have voiced their concerns about Kat. Our vows were not even cold before Paval pulled me to one side, berating me for playing right into the hands of our enemy. As much as I played it off as part of a grander scheme, Paval was not convinced. Yes, it meant I could keep Kat for myself, but they did not need to know that. I had laid down a plan of how we could use Kat to weaken Igor’s already crumbling business and explained how this could be one hell of a long game. It also seems wise to keep the offspring of our rival under close watch, keeping your enemies closer and all that.
But what if I was not the only one to have that thought? It does not seem like a far stretch that Igor would send his daughter into the arms of a rival organization to infiltrate it. The thought has crossed my mind. Not for the first time, I wonder if I made a mistake. Did I allow my craving for Kat to cloud my judgment? I like to think I took control of the situation, and that my decisions were not influenced by the dark-haired temptress inhabiting my stronghold. But given the recent developments, I can’t be sure that is true.
As much as it pains me to admit it, there might be a kernel of truth in my brothers’ accusations. With how Kat affects me, would it be a stretch to think I was playing right into Igor’s hands?
My ego takes a nosedive and anger starts to rise, not only at the idea that I might have not seen what was right in front of me but also at the thought that Kat might not carry any sort of affection for me at all.
The storm brewing under the surface spills over when her laugh carries through the closed door.
Before I know it, I’m barging into the kitchen where Kat is talking to one of the staff.
I must make one hell of a noise because when I stop in front of Kat, shock is written all over her face. I grab both of her wrists and haul her roughly against me. “What are you playing at?” I shout.
Her shock quickly turns to anger and she tries to pry herself free. “Are you mad?” She tries to take a step back, but I pull her against me again. “What is wrong with you?” she shouts.
Her body rubs against mine as she struggles to loosen the grip I have on her, and the scent of her shampoo or body wash, whatever it is, engulfs me. Everything below my belt stands at attention. Angry sex has always been my favorite.
My frustration kicks up a notch. I pull her up, so we’re nose to nose. “Why are you here?”
