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Leaving the door ajar, he’s quiet as he stealthily makes his way through her living room and to the short hall that leads to her bedroom. His gun isn’t raised, so he’s either sloppy as fuck or not here to kill her.
Sneaking silently behind him, I reach him only feet from the door to her bedroom. I snake my arm around his neck and press my knife firmly to his throat. The blade dimples his flesh as I deeply whisper, “I wouldn’t. If you so much as think about stepping through that door, I’ll slice your throat so fucking deep that your head will hit the floor before your body does.”
He opens his mouth to speak, and I pull the knife, pressing through his skin and drawing a droplet of blood to ensure he stays quiet.
“Gun.” I keep my voice low so as not to disturb Layla as I reach to rid him of his pistol. He scuttles as I drag him backward through the apartment. His foot clips an end table, causing a picture frame to fall.
Roughly yanking him from the apartment, I pull the door shut as Layla shakily calls out, “Hello.”
You’re safe, mo cuishle.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
TRISTAN
Dragging the Bratva piece of shit down the hall, I pull him into the elevator and use the muzzle of his gun to press the button for the basement. The cab dings, and the doors open when we reach our destination. I shove the gun forcefully into his back as I push him out of the elevator.
There is nothing down here but janitorial supplies and rented storage units surrounded by chain-link fences. This late at night, we should be alone for quite some time. Plenty of time to get what I need from him. I push him to the floor near an industrial sink and shove the gun to his face when he begins to scurry toward me.
“I have no problem putting a bullet through your face. Then finding your family and doing the same to them.” I push the muzzle into his eye and yell, “Now, sit the fuck down.”
With the gun pointed at him, I browse the contents of the shelves for something to secure him. I find a roll of duct tape and figure that it will do.
“Does my reputation precede me?” I ask as he willfully provides his hands and allows me to bind his wrists around the pipe of the sink beside him. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes answer for him.
With his arms restrained, I tape his ankles together and cut him free from his shirt. I kneel beside him, asking, “Why are you here?”
He purses his lips in lieu of responding. I slice my knife through the Thieves’ star on his left chest, and he clenches them tighter as he grunts through the pain.
Wiping the knife across his pants to clean the blood from it, I repeat my question. “Why are you here?”
He doesn’t answer, and I wedge his finger between the pipe and my blade, taking my time sawing through the joint just above his knuckle. He screams in agony as his finger drops to the concrete floor.
“Why are you fucking here?” I demand for the third time as I prepare to remove another finger. Without giving him time to answer, I sever his finger, and it falls to the ground with the first.
His screaming nearly drowns out the ringing of my phone. Wiping my bloody hands clean on the remnants of his shirt, I pull it from my slacks, both surprised and pleased to see Layla’s name on the screen. I quickly slap a piece of duct tape over the Bratva’s mouth and swipe to answer, “Hello, darling. I was just finishing up with some work and was about to give you a call.”
“I can wait. You can call back when you’re done if you’re busy.” Her voice only bearing a bit of the shakiness from before.
“I’m never too busy for you, mo cuishle. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is slow and soft. “Can you come over when you’re done? Spend the night?”
“Are you hoping I come take care of that need I left you with?” I tease and hold back my smile when our conversation garners the Bratva’s attention.
Layla hesitates for a moment before responding, “Yes.”
Stalking toward the Bratva, I mute my phone, and roll my knife in my palm. Bending to my knee, I press the blade into the Thieves’ star above his right pec. “You should thank her. She just bought you some time,” I snarl.
Pulling the knife from his seeping wound, I stand and walk away from his muffled screams before unmuting the phone and returning my attention to Layla.
“I can’t come just yet, but I can help you alleviate that ache until I get there.” I switch her over to speakerphone and swipe my thumbs over the screen to pull up the cameras for her apartment, finding her in bed with the covers pulled around her waist. “Are you in bed?”
“I am.”
“Throw back the covers and remove your shirt,” I command, and she willfully follows my instructions. “Then, put me on speaker so you can use both hands.”
She’s fucking gorgeous.
