“The lead that he’s disgruntled and was kicked out of the syndicate.”
“Bullshit. It’s a setup.” Just like those stupid letters Leonid Markovich had sent him in prison.
Weakly, Brendan slapped Colin’s cheek with his blood-stained palm. “I know that, idjit. We turn the trap around on them. Work it in our favor.” It had better work, because Colin was tired of running.
Chapter Forty-Four
Harden had too much time to think about all the things that could go wrong and all the ways he’d fucked up. He’d never shied away from responsibility or blame, and he wouldn’t now. He did this, though indirectly, he sent her fleeing into the night. Thank God, at least, he knew where she’d run to.
He called her phone. No answer. She may have left without it. Grabbing Allie and hightailing it, her phone wasn’t a priority until she needed it. Like right now. “I’m coming, baby.”
“I wasn’t going to say Allie isn’t your kid. I wouldn’t do that.” Bruno’s gaze remained on the road. “I care about them too, you know.”
Harden knew. Bruno was a cold bastard, just like him, but he had a heart. And love for those that meant something to him. Harden, Nick, Pavel, Leonid…and that bitch Darcy. Bruno’s love was the only thing keeping her from being reduced to ashes.
He should call Julius back, tell him where Jentry was so his men could protect her. But could he put her safety in another’s hands, again? No.
“We find Jentry and Allie, then what? Back to the penthouse?” Bruno asked.
“It’s safer than the beach house.” Oh, the irony of that statement. “One thing at a time.”
A text came through and connected with the car’s Bluetooth.
COLIN GOT AWAY. QUESTIONING STAFF.
PAVEL.
“Goddamn it!” Bruno slammed his hand into the steering wheel and glanced at Harden. “Why am I the only one pissed-the-fuck-off?”
Because his half brother wasn’t as important as Jentry. “Colin will be dead soon enough. Get me to the safe house.” She was all he cared about.
Thirty minutes later, Bruno parked across the street. The house was dark, but that was how it was designed to look, unoccupied, even though the lawn was neat and the path to the front door was lighted.
“I’m going through the front door,” Harden said. Bruno started to argue, but he didn’t want to hear it. “I’m the first person she sees.”
“I know I’m a broken record, but it could be a trap.”
“So is life. You go in through the basement in the house next door. You’ll pop up inside the garage. Go.”
They exited the car and together, they crossed the street, weapons in their hands, lowered at their sides. Harden waited for Bruno to disappear into the house next door before opening the gate and moving down the path to the front door.
He punched the code into the electronic lock and listened as it disengaged. A turn of the knob and the door opened to a dark interior. The sound of a baby’s babble quickened his heart but slowed his steps. He eased inside, closed and locked the door behind him.
Jentry was there, in the middle of the living room, curled on the floor waiting with a gun in her lap while—only a few yards away—Allie stood, holding onto the sofa for balance. She saw him, screeched, and let go.
Three steps. Her first three unsteady steps she took into his waiting arms. He caught her before she tumbled over. She screeched again in delight, her hands smacking his face, her legs wiggling to be placed back on the floor. A bruise marred her forehead. Other than that, she seemed fine.
“You’re here.” Jentry hadn’t moved from her position. The gun still in her lap. Her gaze was intense, focused, her features tight. “How did you find me?” Brisk, no warmth, no relief in her voice.
“GPS tracker in the Lexus you swiped.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised, then deflated.
“What happened at the beach house?”
Her gaze dropped to the weapon in her lap. “It was a Thanksgiving dinner and then Julius and Calista disappeared. Then the helicopter arrived and bullets, and an explosion, and I grabbed Allie and ran.” Blunt and matter-of-fact, the person sitting in front of him wasn’t the Jentry he knew. She’d changed and not for the better.
“You did the right thing, running and coming here.” He praised her because it was the truth. Whatever switch the trauma had flipped saved their lives. She didn’t freeze. She followed her instincts, got the hell out of there and went to a safe place where he could find her.
“Is my family alright? I left my phone and couldn’t remember their numbers.”
“I don’t know, but Julius would’ve said something if they weren’t. I’ll call him once we leave.”
Her gaze turned distant, vacant, as if her tank were suddenly on empty and she had no more to give. He set Allie down and approached her carefully. “Jentry, give me the gun.”
Her gaze shifted and she was back with him again. She picked it up, held it in her palm. “Don’t worry. The safety’s on.”
That was a relief, though not by much.
“I’m not an expert, but not a novice either. Calista took us to the range a few times,” she murmured, as if they were having a conversational discussion about the weapon’s specs.
Bruno appeared in his peripheral. Before he could warn her, the gun went from her palm to gripped in her hand and aimed center mass at Bruno. His underboss stopped and raised his empty hands.
“Jentry!” She wouldn’t look at him and the gun didn’t waver from its target, Bruno. Harden moved between his lover and his best friend. “Jentry. Look at me.” Her gaze slipped his way and focused on him. “It’s okay. Give me the gun.” He held out his hand and sighed when her arm lowered.
“No. I’m keeping it.” She flipped the safety on and tucked the weapon into her waistband and rose to scoop Allie up. Wrapping her in a blanket, she held Allie close. “Where are you taking me now?”
The only place he wanted her to be. The place he never should’ve let her leave. “Home. I’m taking you home.”
She snorted and shook her head. “That place doesn’t exist.”
Her bleak statement stabbed him in the heart. It was his fault she was here. His fault he’d forced her out of his penthouse to safety at the beach house, which put her in the line of fire without his protection. His fault he trusted others to protect her instead of himself. It wouldn’t happen again. Harden shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Close to her side, he guided her to the car, his attention on everything moving, anything that could possibly be a threat. He would die before he let her, or Allie, suffer again.
Back in the car, he climbed into the back seat next to her. No car seat, she buckled up and then placed Allie on her lap. Allie saw him and wiggled away from her mother. He held her tightly as Bruno drove away. Jentry watched silently, her body and face in the shadows.
Allie tugged on his five-o’clock whiskers, demanding his attention. He gladly gave it, but that bruise on her forehead worried him. “How did she get hurt?” Gently, he touched it and felt guilty when she flinched and shied away. He didn’t think she needed a doctor, not with her babbling happily.
“I hopped into the first car I found. Sorry if it didn’t have a car seat,” she snapped defensively. Then sagged into the seat when Allie whimpered. Her voice small, broken, she said, “I didn’t have a choice. I took off my sweater and wrapped her in it and placed her on the floor of the passenger seat.” Tears welled in her eyes and she looked away, wiping at her cheek in secret before continuing. “She rolled around while I hit the gas and got the hell out of there. I couldn’t hold her, couldn’t slow down until we were away and I was sure no one followed us.” Her voice broke on a half sob.
“You did the right thing.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “You got yourself and Allie out of there. I couldn’t have done any better.”
She mumbled, “It doesn’t feel like it. Not when I left everyone and ran.”
He touched her chin and with a single finger, turned her head toward him. “You put yourself and your daughter first and did the only thing you could do. There’s no guilt or shame in that, and I’m sure your family would’ve wanted you to get the hell away as fast as possible.”
Harden pulled out his phone and texted Julius that she was safe, and she’d be in contact with everyone later.
The rest of the ride was silent with Allie eventually falling asleep in his arms. The four of them entered the elevator with Bruno at their back, Jentry and Allie in the middle, and Harden leading the way. Security opened the penthouse door. He stepped aside to let her enter…but she kept walking.
Down the hallway, she marched. Harden and Bruno watched her, then followed until she stopped at the apartment where she first resided. Before he could say a word, her head tipped his way and her flat, emotionless gaze razed him. “I’m not going back there.”
“Jentry—”
“You kicked me out and I am not going back there.” Her tone was sharp enough to draw blood. “Is that clear?”
As clear as a middle finger fuck you, kiss my ass, take it or leave it. And he had no one to blame because she was right. Thinking it was for her own good, he did kick her out.
“You sent us away—to the beach house—and we could’ve been killed.”
Though she didn’t tack on it was his fault, the words were there, unspoken but suspended in the air between them.
Jentry entered the access code to the electronic lock. He expected the door to slam in his face without even a goodnight. The soft click of the door closing behind her was as loud as a gunshot. She was safe, that’s what was important. Nothing else. Even if his heart was a fist in his chest.
Harden spun to find Bruno blocking the hallway, his face grim. “We lost three men tonight, but… We got Karpovilov’s man, his number three in charge, alive.”
Chapter Forty-Five
The drive to the junkyard was too long but it was the closest safe place to take him relative to the Canarsie restaurant where Mikhail was captured. And it was an adequate place to torture a man for information.
By the time Harden arrived, Mikhail was stripped, hanging upside down, and muzzled. Someone had taken a hose to him. It was a brisk forty-two degrees and falling. Being a native Russian, the temperature had to feel like eighty in Nevada in August. But for how long? The body could only take so much soaking wet, inverted, blood rushing to the head, and a cold breeze whipping through the building every few seconds. Mikhail’s entire body shivered while his cock was a nub and his balls had crawled back into his body. Upside down, the feat was amazing made easier since his nuts were as small as his dick. Harden stepped into the open shed and looked at his men.
“Who strung him up?”
Whitey raised his hand. “Me, boss.”
“Good job.” A little praise every now and then kept the troops motivated, particularly after losing three. Their bodies hadn’t been left at the scene for police to find. Their burials would be secret, their families well taken care of. “You read my mind.” Harden studied Mikhail’s detailed tattoos and thought of Jentry’s unfinished cover-up. Forcing thoughts of her away, he crouched and got in Mikhail’s face. “I’m not going lie. You know you’re not walking out of here alive. However, how you die is up to you. Give me what I want, and it’ll be clean. Bullet to the temple. We’ll even send your body back to Russia.” The latter was a lie, but it was sellable. He’d return to Russia in pieces, or not at all.
Harden motioned to one of his men to remove the muzzle. He waited for the man to inhale, cough, spit, get his bearings, then he said, “Speak.”
“I got nothing to say,” he croaked through a bruised jaw.
A click and a whoosh signified a blow torch coming to life. “Right hand first.”
Mikhail struggled, swinging to and fro, with nowhere to go. Two of Harden’s men took hold of him. A third approached with a chopping knife made from Japanese steel from a set of Japanese knives. The blade, sharp. The design, exquisite. A metal stool was brought forth from a workstation and Mikhail’s hand was stretched onto the shiny surface. He tried to keep his composure, nothing he could do would stop the torture. It didn’t last long. In the end, he screamed and flailed as his hand was pinned to the smooth surface as the knife was raised. With a sharp clank, the knife struck in the stool and the hand separated cleanly.
The blow torch was applied, sealing the wound before he bled out.
“Goddamn it.” The men holding Mikhail jerked away as piss rained on them. Leonid and Pavel laughed, the former joining their entourage to view the spectacle.
Harden had no choice but to wait until the screaming stopped. Fifteen minutes until the man’s voice was a harsh whisper.
“Alezandar, does he ever leave home? Does he have a schedule he keeps?”
Through an agonized moan, Mikhail said, “Fuck you.” And passed out.
Silence. Then Pavel said, “There’s an all-night pizza joint a quarter of a mile from here.” Pavel tapped on his phone. “I’m placing an order. Five large pies oughta do it. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Pavel wasn’t wrong.
By the time he returned with the food and drinks, Mikhail had lost his left hand, an ear, and all the toes on his right foot. Instead of hanging from a beam, he was seated in an office chair, moving between Harden and Bruno depending upon who had the next question.
“Has he given us anything?” Pavel asked. He opened one of the boxes and yanked free a pepperoni slice.
“Alezandar never leaves. Doesn’t have to,” Bruno said. “Everything, anything he needs is brought to him. He lives like a hermit. A billionaire hermit,” Bruno grumbled. He was as frustrated as Harden.
“Only leaves when he’s visiting Putin,” Harden spat. There had to be a way to get to the man. If not for himself, then for Emmet to use. If he could get the information to him. Missing body parts and Mikhail still was barely cooperating.
Enough is enough. He needed information. And he would get it. The time for playing nice…done.
From the exquisite set of Japanese knives, he picked the boning knife. It was light, yet sturdy, good for boning beef and pork. And damn pretty with the design stained into the metal.
Harden flipped the blade and caught it, once, twice, all in full view of Mikhail, who watched with growing despair.
“Kill me. Just kill me already. I don’t know anything else,” Mikhail pleaded, his voice a broken shell barely more than a whisper.
“I don’t believe you.” Harden perched on a different stool and rolled over the plastic tarp, close to Mikhail’s left side. The man reeked of sweat, piss, and cooked flesh. The disgusting combination of scents polluted the air.
Steeling his resolve, Harden pinched a section of flesh on Mikhail’s flabby upper arm and carefully buried the knife. It sunk deep into the flesh like a hot knife sinking into warm butter. No resistance at all as it struck bone. Weakly, Mikhail cried out, then, he bellowed when Harden started slicing from shoulder to elbow.
“Saudi Arabia! Saudi Arabia!”
Hands slick with blood, Harden paused his butchering. This wasn’t new information, but maybe there was more information to glean. “What about Saudi Arabia?”
“He’s going in January as an unofficial advisor to the Russian Secretary of State. Putin ordered him, so he can’t decline. He has to go.”
Unofficial advisor ordered by the Russian President. A hit on foreign soil would be an enormous international incident. Did he care? No. But the ramifications could be huge. Three countries—USA, Russia, and Saudi Arabia—after Harden, Julius, and Emmet’s collective asses.
Harden pulled the blade from Mikhail’s arm and ran it across Mikhail’s throat. As blood poured, he buried the same blade deep in the man’s chest. Within seconds, he was gone, having bled out from the two fatal wounds, and Harden was handing over the knife for sanitation and sharpening.
“You shouldn’t have killed him so s
oon!” Leonid shouted.
“Yeah!” Pavel agreed. “How do you know he was telling the truth?”
“Everything out of his mouth could’ve been a lie.” Leonid grunted.
“Maybe.” But Harden didn’t think so. At the end of his endurance, Mikhail had nothing to give but the truth to stop the torture. He had no idea it was about to end. So, little reason to lie when he blurted the information.
And if it were true, then it was worth the blood on Harden’s hands and the tax on his soul.
Harden looked at his men. He didn’t have to justify his actions, though he did because they were a family. His family. And he trusted them even if none knew the entire story. Not even Bruno, though he was damn close to the center of it all.
Behind him, the body was removed. He really did wish he could ship it back to Russia on dry ice. If this party was at the docks, he would’ve. The best they could do was send a photo to Alezandar and, if possible, word to Emmet.
Their resident hitman would have a chance to end one thorn in all their sides. Leaving just Colin. His death was long overdue and coming fast.
Chapter Forty-Six
“I need a favor.”
Jentry walked into his office like a tempest and struck quite a pose with her feet planted as if for war, though her arms were full of Allie. Dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a loose sweatshirt that exposed one tempting caramel shoulder, and no makeup, she looked like she rolled out of bed and threw something on.
It should’ve been my bed she rolled out of. Instead, she remained in the apartment across the hall which may as well be in another zip code.
He should be grateful when he was certain he’d spend the weeks groveling for her forgiveness on top of the weeks she’d already spent ignoring him. Twenty-four hours were a cake walk.
The touch of her hand, the heat of her flesh, her breath caressing his skin, her scent, her laugh, three fucking weeks. She shut down, locked him out, and he let her. This was the state of their relationship. He hated it and was impotent to change it, not when he deserved her cold fury.
Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4) Page 34