Page 89 of Enforcer Daddy
The leash ripped from my hand with strength I didn't know his small body possessed. One second he was pressed against me, the next he was racing across the concrete, desperate to escape the noise that chased him like a physical thing. His path was pure panic—zigzagging between pillars, nearly tripping over his own feet in his desperation to find somewhere, anywhere, that the sound couldn't reach him.
"Bear, no!" I lunged after him, my voice lost in the siren symphony.
He headed straight for the only shelter he could see—the open van with its padded interior that must have looked like a cave, like safety, like the blanket forts where we hid from the world. One desperate leap and he was inside, disappearing behind equipment cases into the vehicle's depths.
I didn't think. Didn't calculate. Didn't consider anything except that Bear was scared and alone and might hurt himself trying to hide. My baby needed me, and that overrode every instinct, every warning bell, every lesson the streets had taught me about survival.
I climbed into the van after him, the step-up awkward in my sneakers, having to use my hands to pull myself in. The interior was darker than expected, padded walls muffling the sirens slightly. I could hear Bear whimpering from somewhere behind a stack of cases.
"Bear, come here, baby. It's okay, I've got you."
My hands found him cowering in the corner, his little body pressed as small as possible, shaking like he might vibrate apart. I gathered him against my chest, his heart hammering against my palm, and for a second relief flooded through me. I had him. He was safe. We could—
A voice sounded behind me. “Well, that was a lot easier than expected.”
The doors slammed shut with professional efficiency, the sound of electronic locks engaging like bones breaking.
My blood turned to ice water in my veins.
I spun, still clutching Bear, to find the van's interior wasn't what I'd thought. No equipment cases—those were built into the walls. No tools or supplies. Just padded walls and a metal partition separating the cargo area from the cab. Through the partition's small window, I could see Martinez pulling off hishelmet, and underneath wasn't the tired city employee face from before.
This face was younger, sharper, with the kind of dead eyes I recognized from Dmitry's world. He spoke into his phone, and even through the partition I could hear the language—Russian, rapid and businesslike. "Poluchil yeye."
The van lurched into motion, tires squealing on concrete as we accelerated up the ramp. I threw myself at the back doors, Bear still clutched in one arm, pounding with my free hand.
"Help! Someone help me!"
But the padding absorbed sound as efficiently as it would absorb struggle. My fist made dull thuds that wouldn't carry ten feet, let alone to anyone who could help. The windows were tinted so dark I could barely see through them, and what I could see made my chest tighter—Anton and Mikhail just emerging from the building, looking around confused, not yet understanding what had happened.
They thought I was with the other residents. The other residents thought I was with security. And in the gap between those assumptions, I'd been disappeared as efficiently as any street kid who crossed the wrong people.
My phone—I fumbled for it one-handed, but there was no signal. The van's interior was lined with something that killed transmission, turning my lifeline into useless plastic and glass. The encrypted phone Ivan had given me was just as dead.
The driver spoke again, louder this time, and I pressed my ear to the partition to catch words. Most of it was Russian I didn't know, but then, clear as a bell: "Chenkov."
Viktor Chenkov. The Morozov enforcer whose USB I'd stolen. Who had a reputation for keeping people alive far longer than they wanted to be, who enjoyed the artistry of pain more than its purpose.
My legs went weak, and I slid down the padded wall to sit on the floor, Bear pressed against my chest. He'd stopped shaking, sensing maybe that there were worse things than sirens to fear now. His small pink tongue licked my chin, trying to comfort me the way I'd comforted him.
"It's okay," I lied to him, my voice steady despite the terror crawling up my throat. "Daddy will find us. He always finds us."
But even as I said it, I did the math. Dmitry was probably just arriving at the building, would waste precious minutes figuring out I wasn't with the evacuated crowd. By the time he understood what had happened, put together the false fire alarm and the fake marshal and the van that was even now turning onto FDR Drive, we'd be wherever Chenkov had prepared for me.
Through the back windows, I caught glimpses of normal city life—people walking dogs, buying coffee, living their ordinary lives while I was carried past in a rolling cage. A woman pushed a stroller, and I wanted to pound on the glass, scream that I was here, that I needed help. But she couldn't see me through the tinted windows, and even if she could, what would she do? Call the police? The same police that the USB had shown were deep in Morozov pockets?
The driver turned sharply, and through the partition window I glimpsed the Manhattan Bridge approaching. Brooklyn. They were taking me to Brooklyn, but not to the Volkov compound where safety lived. Somewhere else. Somewhere Chenkov had prepared his tools and his questions and his particular kind of artistry.
Bear made a small sound, and I realized I was holding him too tight. I loosened my grip, pressed my face into his fur, and tried to memorize everything about this moment—the way he smelled like puppy shampoo and the treats Dmitry snuck him,the warmth of his small body, the trust in his eyes that said I'd keep him safe even though I couldn't even keep myself safe.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to him. "I'm so sorry, baby."
Chapter 17
Dmitry
Thebuildinglookedwrongbefore I even got out of the car—too many people on the sidewalk, that particular flavor of controlled chaos that meant official emergency without actual danger. Fire trucks angled across the street like red metal walls, firefighters moving with the bored efficiency of another false alarm.
No fire. No smell of smoke.
