Page 72 of Full Throttle

The man huff through his nose, clearly impatient. “And who might you be?”

I knew better than to give my name out to strangers—especially in this world. “An old friend.”

Shaking his head, he pushed off the counter. “Going to need a bit more than that. Cain has lots of friends,” he stated, pausing for a moment, allowing his eyes to take me in. “Though he’s never had a friend who looks like you.”

My molars were clenched to the point of pain, my nails digging into the palms of my hands. “I don’t have all night. Is he here or not?” I asked, my voice firm.

The man chuckled as he swiped up a glass. “You a cop?”

“Do I look like a fucking cop to you?” I shot back.

His eyes held mind for some time, forcing the hair on the back of my neck to stand straight. “No. You don’t.”

“Where is he?” I pushed. The man sitting a few stools down took a long drag of his cigar, holding the smoke in for a moment before he pushed it back out—in my direction.

I wanted to vomit.

“Cain’s out back. Just got done with a job,” the bartender sighed, jerking his head to the door across the bar.

Job?

Without thanking him, I moved, weaving through the tables and avoiding the stares. I pushed through the door, greeted with a small hallway, two doors at the end. One led to the bathrooms, and the other, I assumed, outside. I went for that one, my stomach churning with anxiety, my heart pounding—it was the only thing I could hear.

With my hand on the cool, rusted doorknob, I held my breath, opening it. The cold New York air hit me in the face, stinging my cheeks as I stepped into the crowded alley. Boxes and crates lined the walls on either side, the dumpster down towards the back.

A grunt, coming from the other side of the dumpster had my heart stilling, my breath catching in my throat. Twisting, I shut the door quietly before slowly making my way down the alley. Another grunt came, followed by a curse.

Rich, feminine laughter lifted into the air a few seconds later before a voice said, “Hold still, babe. It’ll feel better in just a second.”

“Hurry up,” a voice growled—Cain.

I took another step forward, movement filling my ears. I stepped into the shadows, looking around the dumpster, and my heart fell to the concrete with a splat.

Before me was Cain, his back against the wall, his face tilted to the sky as a groan left him—and a woman was on her knees before him.

“I’m going to make a mess,” she said, working both of her hands now, but her face hid the ugly truth from me.

Cain’s neck strained as he opened his eyes, that familiar pale blue looking up to the heavens as he pushed out, “I don’t care. Just fucking do it.”

The woman began working him again and, shortly after his eyes closed, a groan left him.

I watched in horror from the shadows.

When the pain became too much, I snuck away, leaving New York behind—leaving Cain behind.

Forever.

Chapter Fifteen

Cain

Present Day. Moscow, Russia.

With a grunt, I dropped the unconscious man onto the floor of the cargo plane, a thud bouncing off the metal walls.

“Right,” my brother said from behind me on the phone with Collin. “We’ll be back in about twelve hours.”

Turning, I grabbed my duffel from the snow-dusted concrete of the runway and tossed it in the plane. Xander’s eyes met mine as he said, “Yes, he’s right here.”

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