Page 72 of His Contract Queen

“Still nothing?” Bashir asks from behind me.

I lean forward slightly in my chair, eyes still locked on the screen.

“No.” The word comes out flat.

He sighs.

One of the smaller feeds flickers in the corner of the screen. At first I assume it’s just another camera recalibrating, one of the many systems running across my network adjusting exposure or signal strength. Then the image stabilizes. The angle shifts to the infrared feed covering my own front gates.

I turn my head slightly, my attention pulled from the Borchin estate for the first time in hours.

A car sits just outside the attendant’s booth, its engine idling quietly beneath the pale wash of security lights. The driver’s side window lowers as one of my gate attendants approaches the vehicle. There is a brief exchange as I watch the attendant lean down slightly, listen, then straighten. A second later, my attendant returns to the booth, his face washed in a pale color from the control panel. The gates begin to move, the heavy iron panels sliding apart as the vehicle is waved through.

I lean forward slowly and tap the screen, expanding the feed until it fills the monitor. The car rolls past and up the driveway, its headlights cutting through the dark as it makes its way toward the main house.

My brow lifts when I catch the numbers on the back plate.

“Sokolov?” The name leaves my mouth under my breath.

For a moment I simply stare, then I lean back in my chair and pull my phone from my pocket, swiping the screen awake.

No missed calls or messages.

My gaze drifts back to the monitor again.

What would he be doing here at this hour? And more importantly, why didn’t he call first?

We haven’t spoken since he stitched me back together after the gala. Truthfully, there wasn’t much left to discuss after Malyshko made it abundantly clear that I would be handling this situation on my own. His refusal to involve the Pact had effectively closed that door indefinitely. While Sasha has never been one to blindly follow orders when he believes someone is wrong, interfering in another member’s affairs without cause is not something he does lightly.

Not when Malyshko has already drawn the line.

Our relationship has never been what anyone would call friendly. At best, it has always hovered somewhere between professional tolerance and open antagonism. Our personalities have always clashed too easily. Ironically, our ideals have always aligned more closely than any of the others in the Pact. But similarity does not breed friendship among men like us.

If anything, it breeds friction.

I have never once deluded myself into believing that any members of the Iron Pact would become my lifelong friends. In turn, they have never pretended otherwise either. We are not brothers. We are four pillars holding up the same structure to prevent it from collapsing. Four parts of a machine that only functions because our shared goal demands it.

Which is exactly why Sasha’s appearing here unannounced just past midnight is deeply concerning.

The car continues its slow crawl up the drive.

Behind me, Shkanova exhales softly. “I’ll go see what he wants.”

I push my chair back and stand. I shake my head once, already heading toward the door before either of them can first. My hand pauses, hovering over the handle as I glance over my shoulder. “Just keep an eye on things until I get back. If anything changes on the feeds, I want to know immediately.”

They both nod firmly.

I turn and leave the room.

The quiet hum of the surveillance monitors fades behind me as I step into the hallway, the tension in my shoulders tightening further with every step I take toward the main floor. My mind is already running through possibilities, none of them particularly comforting.

By the time I reach the entryway, he is already inside waiting for me.

And he is not alone.

I slow mid-step. Suspicion crawls slowly up my spine as my eyes land on the boy standing beside him. He can’t be older than eighteen, maybe younger. The kid vibrates with nerves so badly, it’s visible even from across the room. His shoulders are hunched forward as though trying to collapse in on themselves, and his lanky frame looks even thinner standing beside Sasha who dwarfs him in both height and presence.

The boy clutches a folded piece of paper between his hands like a lifeline.