Page 75 of Never Distract a Biker

I clutch the clothes to my chest, hesitating. “I need some privacy,” I say, my voice trembling but firm.

He snorts, leaning against the doorframe with a leer. “No, you don’t.” Then his hand snaps out, backhanding me so hard I crash into the thin wall. My cheek throbs as I struggle to stay upright.

“You’re mine now,” he says, his smile full of tobacco-stained teeth. “Until it’s time to go swimming with the fishes.”

Everything in me revolts, but I force myself to stay calm. Fighting him would be futile, especially in my condition. I grit my teeth and strip off the maxi dress I was kidnapped in. His whistle pierces the air as I stand in my underwear, and I hurriedly pull on the black jeans and top he’s given me. The clothes cling to me uncomfortably, and their dark color feels like mourning attire—as if I’m already dead.

“Move,” he barks, shoving me toward the door. He leads me outside to a waiting group of three men. The air is cool, but it does nothing to soothe the burning fear coursing through me.

The three men close ranks around me, sandwiching me between them. Together, they march me toward a massive cargo ship looming in the distance. My heart pounds as the shadows of the night stretch long and foreboding, swallowing us whole.

“Let’s go,” one of them says, his voice flat. They march me forward, their footsteps echoing against the concrete. The towering silhouette of the cargo ship looms ahead, its lights casting an eerie glow over the dock.

My heart sinks as we approach the gangplank. Each step feels like a nail in my coffin. There is no shred of hope left for me to hang unto: Viktor is not coming for us.

35

Viktor

I scrub my hand across my face in rough motions, attempting to wipe away the weariness that's taken residence in my bones. The disarray of my once immaculate hair, the stubble grazing my jaw—every inch of me screams of exhaustion, yet rage fuels me.

"Damn it," I mutter through gritted teeth, turning sharply on my heel to face the men who hover at the door. They have just returned from scouting around with no further information. Their incompetence is grating on my already frayed nerves, and my hands are itching to shoot someone.

"Is this the best you can do?" I snap, my voice echoing off the walls. "This is supposed to be our turf, your playground, and yet you cannot get a fucking single word off the street?"

They cringe, not knowing what to expect from this unhinged version of me. I punch the guy closest to me and even though I hear a bone crack, he does well to swallow his pain and remain stiff.

"Get back to the mall," I order, pointing an accusatory finger toward the exit. "Comb through every inch, review every camera feed. I want answers, not excuses. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," one of them replies, a note of determination sharpening his words. They hurry out, leaving me alone with the stifling silence and the weight of my commands. Zasha is combing through private jets departing the JFK but has not seen any sign of her.

Lev is out there trying to get a hold of Marina. I am sure all these are connected to her. Meanwhile, I have contacted my men back in Russia, and Nikolai has put her mother under surveillance. Not only is she being watched, but her phone line is also being tapped.

I turn back to the window, the city sprawling below, oblivious to the turmoil brewing. Scarlett and my babies are out there, and I will move heaven and earth to bring her home. Now, more than ever, I understand the stakes are higher than just the family business. It's personal, and I won't rest until she's safe.

The last of my men closes the door behind him, their footsteps fading down the corridor. Silence claws at the space they leave behind, wrapping its cold fingers around my office like a vice.I'm still, finally, after hours of pacing and barking orders, yet restlessness bubbles beneath my skin.

The door creaks open again, barely audible. Yelena steps in, her presence like a whisper compared to the storm of my men. She moves towards me with the weariness of shared burdens etched into her every step. Her eyes, so like mine, are dulled from sleepless concern, but she's here, standing resilient despite it all.

"Starashiy brat," she says softly, extending a hand holding a steaming mug. Her voice is a gentle nudge against the fortress of my resolve.

"Thank you, Yelena." The words feel clumsy on my tongue “But I do not want a drink.” She nods and withdraws the offer biting her lips and blinking back tears.

“Where is Alina?”

“Finally cried herself to sleep.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“No fucking way.”

Her blue eyes lock with mine, a mirror of our familial bond and unspoken promises. We're Makarovs; we protect our own. And right now, our own needs us more than ever. The silence stretches out, a bridge between our thoughts, conveying more than any conversation could.

"Let's find them," she breathes out, breaking the quiet. “We must find them.” She vows.

"We will," I reply, the certainty in my voice a reflection of the trust we place in each other. We've weathered storms before, but none like this. None with such high stakes.

Yelena nods, a silent sentinel ready for what comes next. And I know, whatever it takes, I'll bring Scarlett back.

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