Page 137 of Carrick
I closed my eyes and ran a hand over my jaw. A slow, tight drag like I could scrape the tension loose. Oleg. Not just a soldier. Not a disposable thug or nameless enforcer.
I’d read the case files Quinn had provided us. We all had. This guy’s name had stuck out to me almost as much for the mystique surrounding him as it did because of his confirmed crimes. Apparently, his was the kind of name youdidn’tsay out loud unless you wanted someone watching your windows at night. A whisper in black ink. Rumored to be head of logistics under Borovsky’s direct command—one of the only men who knew every moving piece of the machine without needing a manual.
If the Dom Krovi was a living thing, Oleg was its circulatory system. The blood flow between the brain and the weapons. And Rayden had climbed willingly into a car with him.
“Yousureit’s him?” I asked, my voice thinner than I wanted it to be.
“Clear as day,” Quinn replied. “High-def footage. Good lighting. No hat, no hoodie. Bellamy’s brother, leaving the east lot of Blackmoor over on 83rd like he was headed to lunch, and slid into the backseat of that SUV like it was a rideshare.”
I let the words settle. Let them crawl down my spine and sink deep. Because this wasn’t a near-miss. Wasn’t an accidental association or a onetime mistake.
Rayden knew who those men were.
And he went anyway.
I could barely get the question out. “What the hell is he doing?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn admitted, and for once, he didn’t sound like a cop or a soldier. He just sounded tired. “But whatever it is, it’s not freelance. You don’t get into a car with Karsin unless you’ve already signed your contract in blood. Thatguy doesn’t do warnings. Doesn’t do leverage. If Rayden’s in the car, it’s because he’s already one of them.”
Static crackled faintly on the line, that low hiss threading through the silence like a warning.
I stared at the floor, jaw tight, letting the burn settle deep into my chest. It wasn’t the kind of heat that flared and faded. It was slow, corrosive—an ache that spread through the ribs and made everything feel heavier than it should. I didn’t need to see the footage to know it would change everything.
“Send me the footage,” I said finally, voice flat, too controlled.
“It’s already on the drive.”
Of course it was. Quinn didn’t wait to be asked. He was always three steps ahead, anticipating the blow long before the rest of us saw it coming.
I paused, chewing the inside of my cheek, staring at the glowing edge of the monitor beside me. The light cast a dull, sickly halo against the dark walls, flickering with a certainty that made my stomach turn. The weight of it all pressed in, and with it came the clarity I hadn’t wanted to face.
I could already feel the fallout—the way it would ripple through the house, through her. I could see the exact moment Bellamy’s face would fall, could hear the crack in her voice when she realized what I was about to confirm. And I hated that I knew it would happen before it even had. Hated that I couldn’t soften the blow. Couldn’t fix it.
But she wasn’t going to hear it from anyone else. That much, I was sure of.
I swallowed hard, the motion thick and slow, like my body was trying to choke down the inevitable.
“Alright. Well, at least we have an idea of where he’s been. And Quinn?” I asked, my voice quieter now, steadier only because I forced it to be.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t say anything to her. Let me handle it.”
The line went quiet. Not blank—but breathing. That kind of silence that stretches between people who know what’s coming and still don’t want to name it. One beat. Then two. I could hear him shift, could picture the look on his face—the hesitation, the weight of what he wasn’t saying.
“You sure?” he asked finally, soft and careful.
“I’m sure.”
It came easier than it should’ve. But only because there wasn’t another option. Whatever deal Rayden had made, whatever hole he’d crawled into—it wasn’t about him anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.
It was about her.
And if someone had to break her heart—had to tear out what little hope she had left—it wasn’t going to be Quinn. Or anyone else.
It was going to be me.
I ended the call with a flick of my thumb. The silence that followed was louder than the static had been. I didn’t sit. Didn’t breathe too deep or let myself think. I didn’t go looking for Bellamy. Not yet.
