Page 2 of Filthy Lies

Rowan. Rowan. Rowan.

Her name beats inside my skull with each pulse of blood. Her face—those green eyes that saw through every defense I’ve ever mustered, that smile that somehow found beauty in a monster like me—hovers just beyond my reach.

And those images…

Blood smeared across white marble. The keypad flashing. One digit away from safety.

They won’t leave me the fuck alone.

I scrub my hands over my face. My fingers come away wet. I haven’t cried since my mother died. Eighteen years without a single tear.

Dreams become nightmares so quickly, don’t they?

I draw my phone from my pocket. The screen still shows my last text to Rowan:Meeting running long. Be home soon.

She never replied.

I dial a number I never expected to need.

“Vincent Akopov.” The man on the other end sounds surprised to be hearing from me. “The FBI doesn’t typically receive personal calls from men of your stature.”

“Special Agent Carver.” I keep my voice steady. “I believe we have mutual interests to discuss.”

“I’m listening.”

“My pregnant wife has been kidnapped. She’s in labor.”

Silence. Then: “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m prepared to offer certain accommodations regarding your ongoing investigation into Akopov Industries. In exchange, I need satellite coverage of the Greater New York area for the last six hours. Traffic cams. License plate readers. Everything.”

“That’s not how this works, Akopov. You know that.”

“Then listen to how it will work.” I grip the phone so hard the case creaks. “If my wife dies because the FBI refused to help, I will personally ensure that your career, your pension, and possibly your actual physical body end up at the bottom of the East River. In pieces.”

More silence. He sighs.

“You’re asking me to break about fifteen federal laws here, man.”

“No,” I retort, “I’m asking you to save a pregnant woman’s life. Everything else is bureaucratic bullshit.”

I hear him exhale. “Give me an hour. And Akopov? This conversation never happened.”

“Understood.”

I end the call as Arkady enters without knocking.

“We’ve got something,” he reports. “One of our guys spotted three black SUVs leaving your estate. Heading north on the Hudson Parkway, then east.”

I’m on my feet instantly. “Direction?”

“Best guess? The warehouses near Hunts Point. It’s remote, quiet, and accessible by water if they need to move her.” Arkady hesitates. “Vin, you should know… the informant reported significant blood on the back seat of one vehicle.”

My lungs constrict. The room darkens at the edges. The images again, beating into me, fucking relentless:

Red blood. White marble. Green digits on a black keypad.

“I’ll kill every last one of them,” I whisper, though fuck knows who I’m actually talking to. “Slowly. Personally.”

---