Five fucking years. That’s how long it has taken me
to find her. And the only reason I did was word circulating about Petrov having
been duped.
Felix Pérez going into hiding.
Bastard.
I climb out of the car at the entrance of The Hudson
Hotel. An icy drizzle pelts me as I adjust the collar of my coat before looking
up at the penthouse windows more than twenty floors up.
She’s here.
It’s her.
It has to be.
The second SUV comes to a stop behind ours and as
Matthaeus flanks me, three more men fall in line behind him. I push my hands
into my pockets and walk toward the entrance. A bellman opens the door. I don’t
miss the widening of his eyes when the light from a passing car dances across
my face. Maybe it’s not my appearance that’s got him freaked. Maybe it’s my
entourage. Because we look like trouble.
And we are.
I make my way to the concierge desk and give the
attendant my name. Well, not my real name. The name of the asshole who paid
extra to get his turn early in the night. Before she’s used up. He’s dead
now.
The attendant can’t quite keep eye contact. I blink,
watching him as his eyes move over the eyepatch, the deep, still angry X-shaped
scar across my cheek. I let him look. Let him clear his throat in embarrassment
as he makes a point of rearranging his desk while asking for identification.
I pat my pockets. “Guess I forgot it.”
He finally forces himself to meet my gaze, his neck
and face flushed.
“Envelope,” I say, holding out my hand. I don’t have
time for this buffoon.
“Yes, sir.” His hand trembles as he hands the
envelope over. He wants me gone and I can’t blame him.
I check my watch. We have to time this exactly
right. I walk toward the elevators followed by my men. As if to oblige us, the
doors slide open just as we get to them, and we step inside. I rip the envelope
open, press the key into the slot marked Penthouse and let the doors slide
closed. Matthaeus sets the black duffel bag on the floor, unzips it and hands
each of the men an automatic rifle. They have suppressors in place, although
there’s really no way to muffle that sound. But if all goes to plan, it won’t
matter.
An upbeat tune plays in the background as I stare at
my own face in the mirrored doors. I make myself look. Make myself see. I
wonder if she’ll be scared when she sees me.
My phone buzzes. I reach into my pocket, take it
out, scan the text. Cristiano telling me the soldiers are in place, both inside
and outside the property. Chopper is on its way, and they’ve secured our exit.
If I can
get out.
If.
Because he thinks this is a shit idea.
But no, it’s not if I get out. I
have no intention of dying tonight. Not until I’ve killed that fat fuck Petrov.
Not until I’ve buried my knife in Felix Pérez’s gut. Not until I have their
blood and the blood of anyone else who touched her on my hands.
Then, I can die.
Only then.
He reminds me again of Petrov’s soldiers nearby, the
distraction we arranged only giving us minutes inside the suite. He asks one more
time if I know what the fuck I’m doing.
I text him a pirate emoji, along with the middle
finger, then silence my phone. He’ll be pissed but this is mine. What happened
to her happened because of me. What happened to all of them happened because of
me. All while I simply walked away.
So, as the elevator approaches the penthouse, I
crack my neck and pull my pistol out of its shoulder holster. Then twist the
silencer into place and hold the weapon at my side.
Because tonight is the beginning of their end.
Tonight, I take back what they stole.
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