Page 45 of Deception

It wasn’t the plan.

“It isn’t the plan.”

“Plans change.” He nods, pulling his gun from his holster and checking it before putting it back and doing the same with the one on the other side. “If it’s changed, I need to know, because it means we need reinforcements. The situation with the Sarapovs is precarious. Them not showing yesterday wasn’t a coincidence…”

“I’ll deal with Mikheil and Sergi after.”

“If the girl’s escape and their no-show are connected, this could be a trap. So I ask you again, are you going to keep her?”

“All that matters is that you’re wasting my fucking time with your questions.”

I’m not done with her. Maybe I’ll never be done with her, but that’s not his concern.

“Whether I keep her or kill her, I want her back tonight.”

Nodding, he exits the Defender and straightens his suit jacket while he scours the surroundings outside the private members club the chief of police likes to frequent.

“Make it quick,” I tell him when he slams the door shut and heads inside while I put a call in to his right-hand man.

“Boss,” he answers on the first ring.

“You’ll visit the chief’s family and wait for my call.” It’s all the instruction he needs before I hang up.

The sound of the waves filters in through the slight cracks of the windows. The brine of the ocean is tinged with the sweetness of the mollusc-covered rocks below, clouding every one of my senses with the memory of the girl’s own dulcet scent. The honeyed recollection has my blood heating and pounding. From lust to rage. The need to break her has never been so volatile as Anton’s logic soaks in.

If he’s right, she doesn’t have much time left. These are the moves we make, striking when we can cause the most damage. And the thought of her getting caught up between me and the Sarapovs unhinges me. The thought of anyone else touching her has my hands clenching around the steering wheel, tight enough that my knuckles protest. My vision frays red at the edges, my control unravelling fast while I keep asking myself,Do I want to keep her?

Red is wild and unpredictable no matter how long I study her. Her adaptability means that she changes with the tide. It’s what makes her interesting. What makes me crave more of her. Every time I’m near her, I get a rush that I’ve never felt. Something that goes beyond the crazed animal inside me, screaming to be set free, to hunt and destroy.

I’ve always known something like this would happen, and it’s why I’ve never allowed myself to get caught up in women or feelings. Deep down, I knew she would become a weakness—it’s why I forced myself to keep my distance. But in the end, the addiction wins because the girl’s spirit is beyond anything I’ve ever known. Compelling and invigorating. Unruly and untameable.

So why did I trust her enough to take my eyes off her?

This shit doesn’t happen to me. I don’t make these mistakes.

Except with her.

Well, this is the last time. After today, she can rot in one of the cellars. I won’t let her go, but I won’t have her either. From this moment forward, she will be nothing but a prisoner.

The frantic ringing of my phone pulls me out of my head. Staring down at it, I ignore the first call from my father and every call that follows when Anton brings our friend out of his playpen and shuts him in the back.

“What’s going on?” he demands. When neither I nor Anton replies, he continues. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up, Hasim,” Anton finally barks, silencing him.

The bastard is on edge as I hurtle to his office a few blocks down the strip. The streets are dark and quiet, with patrol cars parked along the entry to every road. The town is locked down.

“What happened?” I ask as we make our way inside the back entrance of the precinct.

“There was a shooting.” The reply is quick, making Anton look at me dubiously. The same expression he had on his face yesterday at the Sarapov meeting point.

When we reach Hasim’s office, Anton guides him straight to his desk while I look around the place. My father handed Hasim this office on a platter so that he could open all the ports for us. He was nothing but a glorified errand boy then.

Clearing his throat as I round the desk and perch on the edge, Hasim looks between me and the screen.

“How’s your family?” The words come out hoarse and strained while I light a cigarette, offering him one too.

The rage inside me roars louder while the conceit falls from his face, making the worry in his expression haggard. The usual hollowness he possesses when we talk business is nowhere to be found now.

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