by RC Boldt
I mash my lips together firmly to stifle all the things I ache to voice.
I miss you.
I still love you.
Dammit, why do I still love you?
I wish I could believe you, but I don’t know how I could ever trust you again.
He pinches his eyes closed, expression tortured. Raking a hand over his hair, he grips the back of his neck, ducking his head.
When his gaze lifts to mine, all oxygen leeches from my lungs at the visceral pain in the depths.
Voice gravelly, his response makes me realize I voiced my last thought aloud. “I know. And if you ever decide to give me another chance, I swear I’ll make it up to you every goddamn day for the rest of our lives. I’ll prove to you that you can trust me.”
His throat works. “I understand if you don’t. I don’t blame you.” He holds my gaze, his voice growing tender. “But, goddammit… I need you to know, regardless, that I’ll love you for the rest of my days.”
We stare at each other as his words settle over me, and they urge me to disclose the truth.
“My uncle, Roman Chidozie Medvedev, ordered your family’s murder. It wasn’t my father—it wasn’t Grigory Yurchenko.” Fresh anguish sears through me. “Sergei had him murdered the December prior to—”
“Woman, I don’t fucking care.” He blurts this out, voice rising incrementally, his expression pained. “Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter whether your father did it or not.”
He stamps his lips shut, nostrils flaring, before lowering his voice. “I don’t care, Alex. All I care about is you.” There’s no mistaking the defeat in his tone, even as he repeats it so softly it’s barely audible. “All I care about is you.”
The bathroom door abruptly opens, and Saint saunters out in a clean pair of athletic shorts. He ambles over, gripping the back of my chair and peering at Liam on the screen. “Hey, man. You got that intel for me?”
“Yeah.” Liam’s eyes flit to me before focusing on his friend, and I dart up, excusing myself.
Closing myself inside the bathroom, I sit on the closed toilet lid and brace my forearms on my knees. I’d stupidly thought that I’d cried out all my tears over Liam. But here I am, once again, as the silent fall of each tear plummets to the bathroom floor, splattering on the tile.
Saint’s and Liam’s voices drift beneath the closed door, but I tune them out. Because all I can hear are the words that have not only enveloped my heart but also echo in my brain.
“But I want you to know, regardless, that I’ll love you for the rest of my days.”
Despite how I feel, the truth is, I know with inherent certainty that I’ll love Liam King…forever and always.
Not once does Saint ask about my conversation with Liam once they finish their call, and I’m grateful for it. I’m not ready to share anything while I’m still mentally cycling through Liam’s words.
Now, we’ve been discussing the intel he received on Roman Medvedev’s whereabouts and his proposed plan of action.
“The frustrating part? We need to wait until they settle here.” He uses the capped pen to point at the map surrounded by the notes he’s jotted down. “But it sets up a prime opportunity. The best one out of all else.” He pauses. “Unless you want to wait for something else.”
Finally, I exhale a long, slow breath. Regardless of how weary I am for all this shit to end, regardless of how much I wish I could walk away from it and never look back, I know what needs to be done.
I need to lay everything to rest. To make this bastard pay for the lives he’s stolen. For the pain he’s caused.
The words fall from my lips with renewed determination. “No. I’m good with this plan. I’m ready to end this.”
Saint winks at me. “Attagirl. Now, the real fun begins.”
Chapter 75
ALEXANDRA
The Czech Republic
It’s taken a shit-ton of preparations to make our final plan as airtight as possible.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to make him suffer and end it all. But I don’t want to see his damn face. I just want it to be over.” It’s what I told Saint from the start, and I haven’t budged on it one bit.
It’s why we decided to wait for tonight, where Medvedev and his men will be in a strategic location. Specifically, in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
Other condemned buildings are nearby, their dilapidated foundations which gave way years ago. Mother Nature has overtaken them, vines and weeds sneaking through broken windows and gaps in walls that have crumbled. Nothing else surrounds them aside from overgrown fields.
Saint and I watch from a safe distance as the vehicles roll up alongside the perimeter of the abandoned warehouse. One henchman emerges from the passenger side of a dark-tinted vehicle and reaches back to open a rear passenger door. Medvedev slips from the sleek, expensive car and strolls up to the abandoned warehouse.
He stops by one of the men posted at the entrance, each flanking the double doors. Tipping his head to the side, Medvedev takes in the newly installed metal bars welded over the lone set of small windows on either side of the main entrance.
Saint and I have already welded the rear doors shut, but he brought along a special military-grade epoxy weld compound for the front door. We’ll have less than ten minutes for it to set, so we need to act fast once Medvedev and the others walk through the sole accessible entrance and are inside the warehouse.
My bastard uncle mutters something to a man standing watch at the right side of the entrance, tone irritated. Before the man can respond, the asshole waves an agitated hand in dismissal and storms into the building, a dozen of his lackeys quickly trailing him.
A moment after they’re inside, leaving the two designated men standing guard at the doors, Saint gives me the silent hand signal. Still slightly crouched, I venture closer to the far corner of the building.
Saint waits until I’m a few feet away from the men before firing. One quick shot fired from his silenced gun sends the first man reeling backward. I grab him by his bulletproof vest and shove him away from the door before he can slam into it.
The other guard reaches for his weapon, but Saint kills him with another shot. For God’s sake, this one needs to hit the gym more often. I grit my teeth with all the effort it takes to keep him from settling against the doors and possibly alerting anyone inside.
Faster and stealthier than I could ever expect, Saint is at my side with the epoxy compound. Quickly but confidently, he works a generous amount of the compound in his hand, much like one would manipulate a ball of clay. As soon as it becomes pliable, he uses a small spreading tool to smooth it over the steel doors’ hinges and along the astragal, the hardware that seals the gap where the doors meet.
They’re due to be in this warehouse for a bit, packaging up their laundered money. Which plays right into our hands because it allows plenty of time for the epoxy to set.
Saint manipulates more of the compound and hands it to me so I can spread it along the bottom where the doors meet the building’s foundation. We’re ensuring the steel doors can’t be breached once the epoxy sets.
Once I’m done, Saint and I back away, and he checks his watch.
Now we wait.
Time seems to drag while we wait for the compound to harden sufficiently. During this, I stare up at the horizontal-shaped windows at the very top of the warehouse entrance.
Each of them has holes, jagged-edged glass bordering where rocks have hit them. I’ve thrown my knives farther than this, but too much rides on me being successful tonight.
I’m going to burn him—him and all his motherfucking cretins—alive. They’ll be trapped inside to die a slow, agonizing death that’s only warranted for the evilest.
When Saint heads over to check the compound and gives a thumbs-up, I draw in a deep breath, straightening my shoulders and steeling my spine. This is it.
Tonight isn’t just for me. Tonight is for my parents.
Tonight is fo
r all the others who got caught in the crossfire that day and lost their lives.
Tonight is for Papa, who did everything he could to change his ways and leave his old life behind.
Tonight is for Liam’s innocent family, who was murdered by this goddamn monster inside this very building.
Unzipping my bag, I carefully withdraw the Molotov cocktails I prepared earlier along with the lighter. With a flick of my thumb, I watch the flame dance magically before touching it to the cloth stuffed inside the bottle.
Fire rapidly tracks down the cloth, and I draw the bottle back before hurling it at the first window. The sounds of glass shattering echo in the still night, light flickering from inside, and shouts erupt.
I quickly light the others and toss them through. One after another sails through each of the tiny windows at the very top—far too high for any of them to climb through.
It takes mere minutes for black smoke to billow from those same windows while strong thuds reverberate in the night. They can ram against the doors all they want, but they won’t give.
They’ll die screaming, and no one will hear them.
At least, no one who cares.
Desperate yelling rises while the slamming of bodies against the doors increases, a unique crescendo to its own vile symphony.
The moon emerges from behind the clouds as if to serve as a sign of some sort.
“Ready?” Saint’s deep voice is muted, and his brow furrows the instant a flurry of gunshots sounds before silence hits.
His eyes meet mine, the moonlight illuminating them. “When desperation hits, they’ll do whatever they think it takes to be the one to escape. They’ll kill each other.”
Saint tosses a glance at the warehouse. “And when all else fails, they’ll kill themselves.”
One final gunshot punctuates the night air before leaving silence in its wake.
The fire crackles loudly as I watch the flames grow thicker as everything inside burns—laundered money and supplies and the bodies of the decrepit.
The body of my uncle. The body of the man who has so much blood on his hands.
A small explosion erupts, and I flinch but am unable to tear my eyes off the burning building.
“It’s over.” I breathe out the words as I stare at the warehouse. The only sounds now are the crackling flames. They mesmerize me in a strange way, watching the light flicker in a dance all its own.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Saint’s hand settles on my shoulder. “Come ’ere.”
He tugs me close for a hug while silent tears track down my cheeks. I’m not entirely sure it’s relief that this is all finally over or if it’s the odd realization that I won’t have something bigger to take my mind off my grief. Or if it’s simply that my grief has expanded now.
And the friend of the man embracing me tightly is responsible for a great deal of that grief.
Saint merely holds me for a few minutes before I manage to get myself under control.
Stepping back, I swipe my fingers across my cheeks and suck in a sharp breath. With one final glance at the warehouse, I nod and pick up my bag, slinging the straps over my shoulders.
“I’m ready.” As soon as I speak the words, I feel them reverberate through me, straight to my soul.
I am ready. Ready to work on soothing my grief, so it’s not quite as debilitating and fresh.
I’m ready to move on with my life. To no longer be trapped in the past. To finally be free of it.
I’m ready to make Papa proud—truly proud. I’m ready to show him that I can do just what he did. I can change my path from being a killer to being someone I’m proud of.
To be someone wonderful and worthy. To be someone worth loving.
I am my mother’s daughter. I am my papa’s daughter.
I am Alexandra Chidozie Yurchenko, and this isn’t the end for me.
It’s only the final page of the first volume.
Chapter 76
ALEXANDRA
In the safe confines of the jet, I sit across from Saint, finally relaxed against the plush leather.
Evidently, he’s owed a “shit-ton of favors for saving certain assholes’ lives”—his words—and he’s able to cash in on them at will.
A contemplative hush blankets us, and it brings my thoughts back to Liam. I miss him. My mind replays the moment I’d made him laugh. Sure, it was more of a grunt, but it was close enough. I wish I’d had the opportunity to elicit more from him. To see if I could’ve witnessed a full-fledged laugh and a genuine smile.
Will I ever see him again?
“He’s not gonna bust down your door, if that’s what you’re over there wondering.”
My head snaps up in surprise at Saint’s murmured words.
He lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug, his eyes still trained on his laptop screen with a slight crease between his brows. “He’s been pretty damn busy anyway.”
I rear back like I’ve just been slapped. Busy? Jerking my gaze to the window, I stare blindly out at the clouds while my mind instantly veers to the first possible reason that comes to mind.
A woman. He’s already moved on. I reach up to press my fingers to the center of my chest, attempting to assuage the lance of pain.
Saint huffs out a beleaguered sigh. “Alex.”
I barely stifle the urge to wince when I meet his eyes.
“He’s been cleaning shit up. Tying up loose ends. Making sure there’s no trace of a bounty on your head or anyone attempting to put a hit on you.”
Tension ekes from me like a deflating balloon. “Oh.” That’s all I can manage.
Saint lets out a grunt before shutting his laptop. His eyes settle on me. “Let me tell you what I know about Liam King. He’s one of the hardest-working motherfuckers out there. He may have done some gnarly shit when he went solo, but it was to help his family have a better life.
“He might’ve killed people for a living, but they were always bad fuckers who could make our boy Sergei look like the goddamn Tooth Fairy.
“He’s always been more of a loner. Always more comfortable going it alone. See…the thing is, nobody’s loved Liam—aside from his family. And me, of course”—a wry smile graces his lips—“but if you ask him about that, he’ll deny it.”
His expression sobers, and his eyes veer to his left ring finger. “He’s never let a woman get close enough to really know him.”
I part my lips to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop me. “I know, just let me finish.”
Heaving out a breath, I nod.
“He sure as shit wasn’t about to start letting anyone close when he got diagnosed with cancer, let alone when his family was murdered.” He pauses as if carefully choosing his next words. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever seen him let in. And I know love when I see it, Alex.” He slides his laptop back into his bag and zips it up.
“That man loves you. And you love him. I’m not trying to denigrate the details of how he handled things with you. It was shitty. No two ways about it.
“But, at the end of the day, if he’s the person you can see yourself with for the long haul, if he’s the person you want by your side when shit hits the fan, then you know what you need to do.”
He holds my gaze for a beat before giving a quick wink. Then a slow, mischievous smile forms on his face.
“If we met at another time, I’d give him a run for his money.” His smile loses its mischievous quality, morphing to a more pensive one as his thumb absently rubs over his tattooed finger. “But my heart’s already been spoken for.”
Emotion burns at my eyes as I turn and stare sightlessly out the window.
Because, the truth is, my heart’s already been spoken for, too.
“My heart is, and always will be, yours.”
—Jane Austen
Chapter 77
LIAM
Six months later
I’m pushing myself harder on my morning runs. But even driving myself to the brink of physical exhaustion, I’
m still haunted by her devastated expression that night in that airplane hangar.
Haunted by the pain in her eyes when she stared at me from Saint’s laptop. Haunted by the memory of how she felt in my arms. By her scent that I swear still lingers in my house even after I repaired all the damage incurred from that night.
Self-inflicted hatred and disgust continue to rage inside me while my chest feels hollowed out. The only fragment of satisfaction I have is that I’ve eliminated the last few people who’d been hunting us, eager for that bounty.
The last bloodshed on my hands had been the asshole in charge of posting bounties. I didn’t feel a damn bit of remorse for killing him and destroying his computing den, where all electronic records are kept, wiping everything clean.
I want Alex to be free of all that shit. Even if it means being free of me.
She believes everything between us was a lie, and while a part of me can’t blame her, the other part of me bellows in agony. Because there’s no fucking way in hell I fabricated any of it. Every single goddamn time I touched her and made love to her was the furthest thing from being a lie.
Increasing my pace as I near the house, I border on a punishing sprint. It’s not that I think I can outrun the pain or my regret in not telling her the truth. It’s a delusional attempt at trying to distract myself from my aching fucking heart.
My feet thud softly against the packed sand, and with every footfall, I silently berate myself. Fucking moron. Fucking moron.
I let my craving for vengeance blind me to the best goddamn thing I’ve ever known. I kept the truth from her, and she’s absolutely warranted in hating me for it. I don’t blame her one damn bit for questioning all my motives throughout our time together.