Page 78 of Never Distract a Biker

“Subtlety is not working tonight,” I mutter. I knock on the door, keeping my hand steady, my voice calm as I call out in Russian, “I’m here for the documents Vovka requested.”

There’s a pause, then the muffled scrape of movement inside. A voice answers, gruff and suspicious. “What fucking documents?”

“The ones for the shipment,” I reply vaguely, my tone clipped. After a moment of hesitation, I hear the bolt slide.

As soon as the door cracks open, I shove it hard. The burly man behind it stumbles back, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

“Intruders!” he shouts, scrambling to get up. Footsteps echo from deeper inside, pounding toward us.

“Where is she?” I ask him, my voice like steel.

“Fuck you,” he spits, his hand darting toward his pocket.

“Wrong answer.” I stomp on his wrist with enough force to make him howl. The crunch of bone is satisfying, but I’m already focused on the footsteps rushing closer. Two men appear, their faces twisted in anger, but Lev steps forward, moving with lethal precision. Within seconds, they’re down, groaning on the floor.

I grab the man I knocked down, dragging him deeper into the warehouse and dumping him onto a splintered chair. Blood drips from his nose, but his smirk is intact. “Where is she?” I demand again, my patience hanging by a thread.

“Swimming with the fishes,” he sneers, his teeth stained red.

The rage that ignites in me is instant. My fist connects with his jaw in a single, savage motion. His head snaps to the side, and the sickening crunch of bone breaking fills the air. Blood and teeth spray across the floor as his body goes limp, slumping forward.

I turn to the next man, already being dragged toward me by Lev’s two men. His eyes are wide with terror, and he starts talking before I can even speak. “Wait! Please! Vovka said—he said to put her on the cargo ship! She’s supposed to be thrown overboard once they’re far enough from the shore!”

“What is the name of the ship?

“Russian Roulette.” He says already wetting himself. “And the ship should have set to sea about ten minutes ago.”

The words hit me like a blow. My chest tightens, and for a moment, all I can hear is the blood roaring in my ears. Scarlett. My Scarlett. My unborn children. On that ship. My fist slams into the table beside me, leaving a dent in the metal. I take a deep breath, swallowing the grief that threatens to consume me. I can’t afford to break now.

Turning back to the room, my eyes land on a man with a tattoo snaking up his neck. Recognition dawns—this is the man from the CCTV footage. The one who took her. I stride toward him, grabbing his collar and hauling him to his feet.

“You kidnapped her,” I state, my voice deathly calm.

“I was instructed to!” he stammers, his hands raised in surrender. “I had no choice—”

I extend my hand. Lev places a knife in my palm without hesitation. I bury the blade in his heart, and leave the man to crumble to the floor, lifeless.

“Get me a speed boat,” I scream already running out. “I am going after that ship.”

Lev who is running beside me pulls out his phone and starts making arrangements.

36

Scarlett

The cold night air bites at my cheeks as they drag me toward the looming cargo ship. Its steel hull gleams under the dim, flickering dock lights, a monstrous shadow against the inky black sky. My legs falter with every step, the weight of despair pressing down on me, but the men on either side don’t care. They yank me forward as if I’m nothing more than a sack of grain.

My hands cradle my belly instinctively, as though I can shield my unborn babies from what’s coming. But I can’t. The reality of it slices through me with every labored breath. They’re going to kill me. They’ll toss me into the sea, and no one will ever know. Tears burn hot tracks down my cheeks, and my throat aches from holding back the sobs that threaten to escape.

A future I’ll never see flashes in my mind—a little girl with Viktor’s piercing eyes, a boy with his steady strength. My children will never have a chance to live. I stumble, and the man to my right yanks me upright, his grip like iron.

I whisper one last desperate prayer to the universe, to anyone who might listen. “Please, let us survive this. Grant us life. Let Viktor find me.”

One of the men laughs low and cruelly, his grip tightening on my arm. "Don’t bother praying, little mouse. No one’s listening." His accent is thick, his tone mocking, and it sends a chill through me.

Suddenly, the harsh vibration of a phone cuts through the night. The man on my left stops abruptly, letting go of my arm to fish his phone out of his pocket. He answers in Russian, his voice sharp and clipped. The others exchange glances, their postures tense. Even though I don’t understand the words, I can feel the shift in the air, the unease creeping in.

The call is short. The man snaps his phone shut and mutters something to the others.

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