Page 56 of Feral King

Anya, thankfully, is unharmed, aside from some redness on her knees from when she’d taken cover. She’s calm,toocalm. It’s the kind of calm that threatens to crack the moment she’s alone and it dawns on her exactly what happened, how close she came to something horrible. She knows this world—she was born and raised in it. But she’s never come this close to the bloody reality of Bratva life.

Lyra stands by the window, arms crossed as she looks out. She hasn’t spoken to me since the car.

I can’t do this.

It’s the sentence I’ve been waiting to hear since our first night together. I knew—have always known—that a woman like her deserves far better than this.

I did this to her. Not Dobrov or Alexander or whoever was responsible for firing those bullets.Iput her in the crosshairs by keeping her at my side. The bullet that grazed my ribs could’ve easily gone lower, to where she lay underneath me.

Two detectives arrive moments later. The NYPD has a long and colorful history with the Volkov syndicate.

“Mr. Volkov,” the taller of the two says, “I’m Detective Brennan and this is Detective White. We need to ask you some questions about the shooting.”

This is normally the part where I tell them to leave, to come back when I have my lawyer present. But then I think about Lyra, how shaken she is already. I imagine the detectives taking her aside and grilling her about what happened, making everything worse.

Better to answer their questions now and get them out of my hair.

“Ask.”

“Quite the incident today. A drive-by shooting in broad daylight.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Would you like to tell us why you were there?”

I don’t need to tell them anything. But stonewalling right from the start will only lead to problems down the line.

“It’s a venue contracted by my company for an upcoming charity event. I was inspecting it.”

“With a firearm,” the other detective says.

“My permit is registered and current.”

Brennan narrows his eyes a bit, as if trying to decide whether or not to press further on the matter.

“Mr. Volkov, this was one hell of an incident. Two cars opened fire on you and your associates, and then you brought the battle out into the streets by returning fire at one of the fleeing cars.”

Detective White lifts his chin. “New York’s a ‘duty to retreat’ state. Firing at a fleeingassailant?—

“I did what I had to do. As far as I was concerned, the threat was still there. They could’ve turned around and come back for another pass.”

I keep my voice level and controlled. No sense in making things heated when they don’t need to be. I introduced enough doubt to eliminate the risk of consequences for returning fire, and they know it.

“Besides,” I continue, “the odds of the department getting to the bottom of this… Let’s just say I’m not hopeful.”

Brennan’s face hardens. “That’s a hell of an assumption. You think we want drive-by shootings happening in this city?”

“It is what it is. No one is going to want to dig any deeper. Scary things might crop up.”

White opens his mouth to respond, but Brennan puts a hand on his arm, stopping him. They exchange a look—a silent calculation in which Brennan wordlessly informs the other detective that it’s not worth the argument.

“My legal team is on their way. I did you both the courtesy of speaking informally. Any further conversation will be done through my attorneys. They will have the necessary injunctions and cease-and-desist letters.”

Brennan takes in a slow breath through his nostrils.

“We’ll be in touch.”

“I’m sure you will.”