Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Silence stretches between us.
Then, softly, he says, “Does he love you?”
I freeze. “What?”
“Chux.” His voice is steady. “Does he love you? I’ve known him for years. The way he looks at you is how I looked at my Sasha.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”
“Then you better hope he does. But I believe he does.” His voice cracks slightly. “Because I believe he does, I know he’ll move heaven and earth to protect you.”
My throat feels tight. “Dedushka…”
“I love you, Ally. Always,” he says. “But this is bigger than me now. Trust the Kings.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone, my hands trembling.
Kelly watches me, her face pale. “That… did not go how I expected.”
I nod, staring blankly at the wall. “Yeah.”
Then, in a whisper, “I think I just lost him.”
Kelly doesn’t hesitate—she pulls me into her arms, holding me tight as the truth settles deep in my bones.
The only hope I have left now is Damian.
And the Kings of Anarchy.
CHAPTER 17
DAMIAN
I’m halfway through my second cup of coffee in the clubhouse common room when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s early, and the place is still waking up—some of the brothers are filtering in, grabbing breakfast or nursing their hangovers. Stunt and Shaft are still at the port, chasing down leads on the missing shipment, and I’ve been waiting to hear what the hell happened. But when I pull my phone out and see the name flashing across the screen, everything else fades into the background.
Konstantin.
I stand, the chair scraping against the wood floor, and walk outside to the lot, needing space, needing quiet. I answer before the second ring.
“Konstantin.”
“Chux,” he greets, his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it. A weight. One I don’t like.
“You ready to tell me what the hell is really going on?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.
There’s a beat of silence before he exhales. “We need to meet.”
I grit my teeth, glancing around the lot, the familiar rumble of motorcycles and idle conversation filling the background. “Where?”
“I’ll send you a location. But listen to me carefully—this isn’t just about you and me anymore. You need to prepare your club.”
That gets my full attention. My jaw tightens. “For what?”
Another pause. Then, his next words slam into me like a freight train. “I’m calling Dimitri in. For Ally this needs to end. You need to keep her free of my world.”
Ice settles in my veins. Everyone in this world has. Dimitri is a ghost, a legend, the kind of man who doesn’t personal take meetings unless he is ready to roll heads. If Konstantin is pulling that card, then whatever’s coming is worse than I thought. And he really wants the war or wants me to get Ally out of this for real.
I inhale slowly, keeping my voice level. “You sure about that?”
“I wouldn’t be making this call if I wasn’t.” His voice is grim. “Ally’s been a pawn her whole life. And so are you now. It stops.”
I scrub a hand over my face, glancing back at the clubhouse. Inside, Alaina is with Kelly, probably still trying to process everything. And now I have to figure out how to keep all of us alive.
“When’s the meet?” I ask.
“An hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Chux.”
I pause. “Yeah?”
“Get your club in line,” Konstantin warns. “Because once Dimitri is in, there’s no turning back.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone for a long second, my grip tightening around it. Then, without another thought, I turn back toward the clubhouse, my mind already shifting gears.
It’s time to prepare for war.
The Dark Syndicate isn’t the kind of place you go unless you have serious business. It’s quiet, private—an old Russian-owned social club that doesn’t advertise, doesn’t cater to outsiders. If you don’t know someone, you’re not getting in. And right now, I wish I was anywhere but here.
I park my bike out front, the neon glow of the old red sign barely flickering in the early morning light. The Kings who rode in with me stay outside, posted up near their bikes, making sure no one tries anything stupid while I’m inside. Mellow falls in step beside me as we push through the heavy wooden doors, walking into the thick haze of cigar smoke and quiet conversation.
The place is mostly empty, aside from a few men in dark suits near the bar—Russians, no doubt. But my eyes land on the table in the far back, where the real meeting is waiting.
Konstantin sits with an air of quiet authority, his sharp gaze locked on me the second I step forward. Beside him, a man I instantly recognize from old whispers and warnings.
Dimitri Morozov.
He’s got that look about him—calm, unreadable, like he already knows how this ends. I’ve dealt with dangerous men my whole life, but this one? This one’s a whole different breed.