Fuck. Maybe Remi was right… Ihavegone soft.
Just the thought of seeing Callie again fills my empty chest with hope. This feeling I have when I’m around her is new. Something that, because of my past, I’ve never allowed myself to open to, and it’s terrifying. But if I were to take a chance onmorewith any woman, it’d be her.
I circle through beat down neighborhoods and rusty corner stores, blending in with the night while I search the perimeter for any of Volkov’s men who might be waiting to ambush me.
Once I’m sure I’m not being followed, I carefully climb the fire escape outside a decrepit apartment complex.
“Not the mansion I expected for a drug lord,” I murmur, but then, Volkov wouldn’t waste money on luxury homes if he was sure he wouldn’t be here for long.
He’s in Chicago on business, and that business isme.
With my back flush against the building, I silently unclip my Death Bringers. From the window, I can see the place is dark and strangely empty.
I shift for a closer look.
Two coffee mugs and a laptop sit atop a small table in the living area. There’s a blanket on the floor, discarded without care, and the microwave is open, but there’s no sign of movement inside.
I check above and below once more before trying the window.
It won’t give, so I sift through my gear in the small pack around my waist. With a little force, I manage to wedge my lock pick under the flimsy wood frame, create a gap, and break the seal.
When no alarms sound, and no one comes rushing through the room, I slip inside.
The scent of stale coffee and cigars permeates the air. My heart thumps wildly as I walk through each room, twins at the ready. I scan every inch of the place for cameras, trip wires, and microphones, but after ten minutes of scrounging around this shithole, I’m forced to face the truth.
Volkov’s not here.
“Fuck,” I grit before holstering my Glocks and grabbing the laptop.
I sit on the couch with barely restrained anger simmering under my skin. A USB drive encrypted with hacking software does its thing while I run my thumb across my lip in thought.
The coffee mugs are still warm to the touch, which means the assholewashere. I just missed him.
There are no mistakes in the Syndicate. Clearly, they weren’t wrong about Volkov’s location, so what the fuck happened, and why does it look like he up and bolted?
The screen illuminates the darkness, and I get to work.
I sift through countless files, the ones most easily unencrypted, while others are full of unspeakable photos I wish I could bleach from my brain. I pause when I find a file on Nate and the shell companies attached to his name. The surveillance notes I stumble across next aren’t just on him, but on Isa.
My eyes scan faster than my mind can process. They were tracking her—something I already knew, thanks to the Remi’s help in locating Volkov—but the mouse stills over a folder within Isa’s file labeledKnight.
Stomach knotting, I open it. Inside are documents with my aliases, old photos, timestamps on sightings of me within the last six months, and the last record, my current address that no one, especially not Volkov, should have.
I scroll past the floor plan of my penthouse, going cold when I see Leo’s name and the school I pulled him from. Icy dread coats my insides when I back out of the file and right click on it.
Last accessed: 22 minutes ago
“Fuck,” I breathe.
Volkov’s heading for Callie and Leo.
I’m on my feet, the laptop left open on the table as adrenaline forces my system into autopilot. I’m already out the window and back on the fire escape before my pulse catches up.
My hands glide down the railing and my boots hit the ground with enough force to rattle my bones, but I don’t care. I’d break every one of them just to get to Leo and Callie before Volkov does.
The bike roars to life and I swerve in and out of cars and buildings while trying her cell.
“Pick up, Callie. Please, pick up.”
