My blood turns cold.
Korsakov.
Of all the names in this city—
“She was digging on him?” I ask, voice sharp.
Wesley nods grimly. “For hours.”
My mind races.
The damn Parker Building.
“She has a fucking death wish,” I grit.
I open the GPS tracking app.
Let’s see where you went, little doe.
You like being watched, don’t you?
Good. Because now I’m coming for you.
I pray I get to you beforehedoes.
Chapter fifty-seven
Olivia
This is stupid.
Lying to War is stupid.
I could die.
They’d probably bury me in some Bratva ditch behind a meat warehouse and no one would ask a single damn question.
I stare up at Exile.
Now or never.
In the daylight, the club still looms, black brick, sharp steel awning, windows masked with thick, matte-black curtains that choke out even the idea of sunlight.
Red neon letters flicker above the door like a threat dressed up as a welcome. The entire building hums with something… dangerous. Coiled.Waiting.
The moment I step inside, the temperature seems to drop.
A bald man blocks my path. Built like a bulldozer in a too-tight shirt, his expression screams‘wrong move and I break your jaw.’
“We’re closed.”
“I’m looking for Maksim Korsakov,” I say, straightening my spine, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
His eyes drag over me, slowly, and a sickly tingle creeps up my spine. I don’t flinch, but I want to.
He says nothing. Just pulls out his phone and starts speaking in Russian, voice low and clipped.
I try not to panic.