Page 149 of Fierce Pursuit

The others dispersed, slipping into their vehicles and heading back to Gregor's compound. Their work herewas done, leaving behind only the smell of death and gunpowder.

Damien and I stayed behind to oversee the cleanup. It wasn't necessary, our team was efficient, professional, but it was protocol. And in our world, protocol was what kept you alive.

Damien leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed, his breath fogging in the night air. "So, your brother…he has his eyes on?—"

"I don't pretend to know my brother's mind." I cut him off, not wanting to hear the words spoken aloud. As if saying them might make them real.

He smirked, unbothered, his eyes knowing. "Have you considered finding him a woman? In my experience, they're an excellent distraction. A happy man is satisfied with what he has. If Artem is happy at home, maybe he'll stop coveting the property of others." His tone was light, but the suggestion wasn't.

I snorted, the sound harsh in the cold air.

A week ago, I would have thought Damien was full of shit. But now?

Now, I knew exactly what he meant. The way Marina consumed my thoughts, crowding out everything else. The way her absence felt like withdrawal, a physical pain that clawed at my insides.

"Artem has no shortage of women in his bed. But if he ever found one that was truly his match…" I shook my head, my breath creating ghosts between us. "May God have mercy on us all."

Damien chuckled, and I joined him, the rare momentof amusement breaking through the blood and tension. Our laughter hung in the air, incongruous against the backdrop of death.

The cleanup crew arrived in a nondescript white van, efficient as always. Within twenty minutes, the body was gone. Clean. Precise. No evidence left behind. No one would ever know what had happened here.

Damien and I said little else on the ride back to the compound. His sleek sports car hummed as it cut through the streets, classical music blaring from the speakers, the violent crescendos fitting for the night's work. Normally, I might have enjoyed it.

But I had only one thought in my mind, burning through everything else like wildfire.

My wife.

I needed to get back to Marina.

That urgency, that hunger, coiled tighter the closer we got, a physical ache settled low in my gut. I could almost taste her skin, smell the jasmine of her perfume.

And then?—

The second we pulled through the gates, I knew something was wrong. My instincts screamed, a primal warning that raised the hair on my neck.

The compound looked the same. No alarms. No smoke. No signs of struggle.

But it was too quiet. Too still. Like a held breath.

No one was outside.

A prickle of unease crept through me, cold fingers tracing my spine.

Something was off. The wrongness of it all settled in my bones like ice.

Artem stood near the counter, his mouth twisted in a deep scowl. Gregor mirrored his stance, arms crossed, unreadable but tense. They were both holding back something, their expressions tight, controlled. The air between them vibrated with unspoken words.

Sometimes it was easy to forget we were cousins. Other times, like now, it was impossible not to see it. The same stubborn set to their jaws, the same cold fury in their eyes.

"What happened?" I demanded, my voice rough with sudden fear.

"Yelena?" Damien pushed past me, his composure shattering like glass.

His wife ran straight into his arms, her body shaking as she buried her face against his chest. "We don't know when she left," she choked out, her voice broken with sobs. "She said she wasn't feeling well and wanted to rest. I'm so sorry. I'm—" Her words dissolved into tears, wet against Damien's shirt.

"Calm down, angel. Tell me what happened," Damien murmured, brushing a lock of damp hair from her face, his voice a soothing contrast to the steel in his eyes. His hands were gentle on her, a startling tenderness from a man I'd just watched admire a bullet wound.

And then it hit me, a physical blow that drove the air from my lungs.

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