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His eyes meet mine, filled with something I’ve never seen before. Not denial. Not laughter at the silliness of the claim.
Just hollow, stunned, realization.
Oh my God…
43
MAL
Exhaustion weighsme down like iron chains as I push through the sterile halls of Mount Sinai Hospital. My mind is splintered into a thousand different fragments, trying to cling to sanity in the face of the thousand questions crashing through my brain.
I’m here at Mt. Sinai because I, being in London, was closer to New York than anyone from our organization in Kyoto. There’s nothing I’d like more than to be aiding Kenzo, Tak and a small army of Mori-kai men as they tear that city apart looking for any clues to where that fucking psychopath might have taken Hana and Freya, but given that I’m positive the attack on Kir wasalsoJonas’ work, I’m here because Isaak, against all odds, survived that attack.
The man might not talk much, but he’s got eyes and ears. He might remember something that could lead us to wherever Jonas has them all.
Two big Russian motherfuckers stop me outside Isaak’s room. Again, the guy doesn’t talk much, so it’s easy to forget he’s not Kir’s bodyguard or anything, he’s actually the number two for the entire Nikolayev fucking Bratva.
I bite back my impatience as the guards give me a thorough pat down. I need to talk to Isaak. I need answers, now, because we arerunning out of fucking time.
All I can hear echoing in my head is the sound of her screaming over the phone before Jonas ended the call. All I’ve been able to think about for the last eight goddamn hours is the fact that he has her.
That he’s hurting her.
The fact that these two fucks think I have theslightest interestin bringing a weapon into Isaak’s hospital room is infuriating.
But finally they give a nod, open the door, and usher me inside.
Every eye in the room swivels suspiciously to me. On the one hand, I don’t blame them. I’m the odd man out here. Theoneperson not part of the Nikolayev brotherhood, and their top boss just got kidnapped in broad daylight.
But I ignore their stares, heading straight for Isaak, who’s expecting me.
The guy is a fuckingmess—bandaged up and connected to countless machines that beep and whirr. He took four bullets in the attack, and the SUV he was in with Kir got hit by a goddamn dump truck and rolled six times.
He’s pale, his face lined with pain and badly cut from the broken glass. But there’s still a fierceness in his eyes that speaks to his unwavering loyalty for his boss.
“Mal,” Isaak rasps, his voice rough but steady. He nods at the other men. “Ostav’te nas.”
I get a few more glares from everyone else. But then they nod solemnly, turn and file out of the room, leaving me alone with him in the sterile, quiet room.
Isaak turns his head slightly, wincing at the movement. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, grimacing.
“You look like hell,” I mutter, taking a seat next to his bed. “Your men on the phone said you were refusing to be sedated?”
He grunts. “I wanted to speak with you personally. Right now, I don’t actually know who I can or can’t trust within our ranks. It’s possible this was an inside job.”
I frown. “If it helps ease your mind, I doubt it. I think the man who took Freya and my cousin also took Kir.”
Isaak nods thoughtfully, wincing again.
I lean forward eagerly, my thoughts racing. “Tell me what happened.”
Isaak takes a deep breath, his face hardening. “It was a setup. We were driving down the West Side Highway, then a dump truck—out of nowhere—plowed right into us. The driver and the man riding shotgun were killed instantly. The two SUV’s behind us with our men formed a perimeter. But there were about a dozen fuckers who came swarming out of the back of the dump truck—masks, tactical gear. Real pros,” he grunts venomously. “I was defending Kir from inside the car, but…”
He grits his teeth and his eyes turn bitter.
“Butyou got shot four fucking times. Maybe cut yourself some slack,” I mutter.
“No.” Isaak shakes his head. “No slack. No excuses. My sole purpose is to protect Kir. I failed.”
