Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"You're under arrest for the murders of Alejandro Gomez and Juan Arias." I jerk my head at Livingston, who steps forward with a pair of handcuffs.
Mikhail curses and takes a threatening step forward before his gaze falls on Troy, who has his gun out and aimed at him. He quickly rethinks his strategy and sends a baleful glare in my direction, holding his hands up. Livingston cuffs him and then starts patting him down.
Mikhail barks orders at his buddies, demanding that they call Sedov and Tarasova and tell them what's going on. One of them holds up his phone to show that he's already on top of it.
I read Mikhail his rights, watching as Livingston pulls a switchblade, a box cutter, and a baggie of white powder out of his pockets, along with a big wad of cash and two condoms. Mikhail fires off curses the entire time. I let them roll off my back. I've been called every name under the sun, and Mikhail is far from original.
"Otyebis ot menya!" he growls, glaring daggers at me. He acts out the entire way to Livingston's car, even trying to spit on Troy.
"Try that shit again and I'll put a spit mask on you," Troy snaps at him, yanking open the door to Livingston's squad car. "Get the fuck in and shut the fuck up."
"Yob tvoyu mat." Mikhail lifts his middle finger from behind his back as he climbs into the car.
Livingston slams the door, cutting Mikhail off as he rants and raves like a child having a temper tantrum. It's no surprise that he's stuck up Sedov's ass. They're both violent pricks with conflated senses of self-worth. Bullies, exactly like Faith named them. Too bad for both of them…but they're in my city now. And I have absolutely zero tolerance for bullies who hurt women. Especially when one of those women was Faith.
Two hours later, Mikhail has said exactly a handful of sentences. They all involve my mother…and none are complimentary. He spends the rest of the time glaring at me from across the table. If he weren't pissing me off, I'd admire his tenacity, but I'm running out of patience.
"Since you don't want to answer questions about the two men you killed, the two thousand dollars we found in your pocket, or the drugs, let's talk about Faith Donovan." I slide a picture of her across the table to him, though the last thing I want is for him to look at her. "Do you know her?"
"Never seen her before," he lies, not even glancing at the photo.
"That's funny." I lean back in my chair. "You certainly seemed to know her when you called her a fucking bitch after she helped ensure that your friends and family—many of whom helped hold her against her will for five years—were identified so they could receive appropriate medical care after the shooting at Ilya's."
He tries hard to keep his expression blank but fails miserably. Hatred glitters in his eyes.
"You know who she is."
"Never seen her before."
"Right. Then let's talk about the fact that her mother and Alexei Palatov stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from Nikolai Tarasova and the Bratva. Does that ring any bells?"
"Do I look like I keep up with what the mothers of our whores are doing?" he asks, sneering at me. "I fuck them and leave them, yobanyi karas’. I don't stick around to chat."
A warning growl rumbles in my chest, my temper quickly rising at his insinuation that Faith's a whore and he's slept with her. He's a goddamn liar. Whatever they did to her, they didn't prostitute her. I'm positive of that. I'm pretty goddamn sure she's a virgin, so they didn't rape her either.
Mikhail's eyes gleam with satisfaction when he notices my reaction. He throws his head back and laughs loudly. "You're the one who took her from Nikolai," he says through laughter. "He's going to find her, you know. You won't be able to hide her from us forever."
"So you do know her."
And the Bratva weren't the ones who shot at us in the movie theater parking lot. Or they didn't fill Marozava in on the finer details if they were. I'm guessing it's the former. Which means they don't know where she is yet. Thank God.
"Oh, I know her. But you don't." He laughs again. "What? Did no one ever tell you not to take what belongs to another man?"
"She isn't property to be claimed."
"No?" He shakes his head like I'm stupid. "She belongs to Nikolai. He's going to destroy you when he finds her. No one takes from Nikolai Tarasova. Not even the cops." He shakes his head again, grinning at me. "She always begs for us to spare their lives. I wonder if she'll beg for yours too?"
"You won't be seeing her again to find out," I growl, flipping the folder closed and climbing to my feet as satisfaction and rage roar through me in tandem. I don't know what he means about her begging for their lives, but I intend to find out. For now, he's given me what I needed, and I'm done with him. "In fact, you won't be seeing anyone again anytime soon. Not unless they join you on your trip out of the United States." I lean toward him, sneering as I turn the insult back on him. "You're up for deportation." It's not news I usually like to deliver, but this time I fucking smile when I say it.