Page 74 of Heritage of Fire

We exit the elevator with the other couple, and I instinctively place my hand on Luna’s back to lead her outside. After handing the valet my ticket, we wait.

Honking horns and wailing sirens puncture the air, and laughter spills out from the nearby bars—the unmistakable soundtrack of city life.

My hand skims up the back of Luna’s dress. Her breath hitches, body leaning back a few inches, seeking my touch.

I’ve never viewed myself as powerful, despite my position. That was always reserved for Luka and his commanding ways. Leadership is his strength, not mine. But in this moment—with Luna’s body drawn to mine—power courses through me. I’ve only tapped the surface kissing her, but I know, deep down, I could play her body like my own personal instrument and a symphony would come out.

My phone rings, but I hesitate to grab for it. Cringing, I rip it out and swipe to answer. Ineverhesitate.

“Nikolai. You’re needed at Warehouse Nine. Salvatore delivered our interrogation early.” Luka’s voice is muffled and echoey. He must be there already.

I sigh, glancing down at Luna.

“Da. I’ll be there.”

Luna turns to me, a questioning expression twisting her eyebrows.

“I have to go. I’m going to call Frank to come take you home.”

“You have to go,” she parrots, nodding her head while wrapping both arms around herself. “Okay. Be safe.” The downward twitch of her mouth turns into a slight quiver, and she spins away from me.

My chest feels like it’s being torn in half. I rotate her back toward me and grip her chin, causing her lips to slightly smush together. My thumb grazes across her bottom lip and finds its place in the dip beneath her mouth. Her eyes well with tears, but I can see her determination not to let them fall.

“Sir.” The valet steps in front of my car, which is now waiting for me on the street. I drop my hand.

“I’ll call Frank,” I say, before quickly getting into my BMW and driving off.

“What do you know about EV?” Luka’s voice booms.

The crunch of a nose being broken is so loud I can hear it behind the glass of the one-way mirror.

By the time I got here, Luka was already interrogating to the man. He looks at the mirror, and I can tell he’s struggling. His eyes are plagued by dark circles, and I know the weight of Dmitry’s death still haunts him.

Rapping my knuckles three times on the glass, I signal for him to come out. Now that I’m here there’s no need for him to continue.

Luka leaves the room, giving me an unobstructed view of the man. His curly red hair is long, hovering just above his shoulders. Freckles line his face beneath blue eyes currently full of fear. He’s strapped to a chair, both hands bound behind him, and there’s a wet spot seeping through the front of his pants.

“What?” Luka barks as the door to the joining room flies open.

“Let me talk to him.”

“Nyet. I can do this.”

“Luka,” I say, giving him a pointed look. “Letme, brother.”

He stares at me, his anger slowly morphing to sadness. Blood is splattered across his white shirt, and sweat beads linger above his top lip.

Striding over, I lay my hand on his shoulder, squeezing once before letting go. “It’s not your fault.”

With that, I plow into the next room. The stench of piss and sweat gags me when I enter, and the man startles when I barrel into him, jabbing my fist into his chin. His head snaps back and a pained scream erupts from his mouth. “What the hell!”

I walk around him, noting several drops of blood pooling in the cracks on the concrete floor. Fisting his hair, I yank up and back. I stare down into his broken face, swelling with black and blue skin.

“How did you come to work for EV? And what is their agenda?”

“Listen, man, I already told the other guy—ah, shit!” He shouts when I pull on his hair, yanking his neck farther back.

“How did you start working for EV?” I yell, patience wearing thin.

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