Page 11 of Reaper’s Wrath

As if on cue, I get a text from Michael Savin—the man I unexpectedly teamed up with months ago. He and his father were part of the Russian operation under Biba Mikhailov. In the middle of a run-in with Michael while we were actively trying to kill one another, I informed him that Biba was behind his father’s recent death. The next thing I know, Michael and I are working together.

I never meant to form any sort of permanent roots when I came back to the city. I didn’t even mean to be here more than a few weeks. Four months later, and we have a combined crew of twenty men.

I don’t feel like I can leave until I finish what I came for, which has nothing to do with the woman who has shredded my ability to focus. I need to remember why I’m here.

Michael: Have a surprise for you at the warehouse

Me: Don’t like warehouses and I hate surprises

Michael: You’ll like this one

Cryptic texts are fucking annoying, but that’s Michael. Despite his menacing look with tattoos covering everything but his face, the American-born Russian is one of the most laid-back, good-humored criminals I’ve ever met.

It’s fully dark out when I arrive at the warehouse we’ve been temporarily renting. We use it and two other smaller properties for an array of purposes while we’re stationed here in the city.

One step inside, and my skin crawls at the sight of concrete floors and the dusty open-air interior. I wasn’t kidding when I said I hate warehouses. Having your throat slit in a place like this tends to make a lasting impression.

I nod to the men standing watch and find Michael farther inside. He’s with three guys watching a prizefight on a tablet, like kids with a favorite cartoon.

“Please tell me this isn’t why you called me over here,” I say dryly.

Michael grins up at me. “Of course not, though having a little fun wouldn’t kill you.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Michael stands and motions for me to follow him. “As you know, we got a grainy image pulled from CCTV of the guy who got away the night you were ambushed. After weeks of trying to track him down, I think we’ve got him.”

The prospect of finally getting more information after hitting a dead-end weeks ago is invigorating. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to get the answers I need and then get back to open water.”

Not entirely true.

There’s nothing I should want more, but Isa has me entertaining a very dangerous alternative.

“You really not going to see your family while you’re here?” Michael asks cautiously.

“Not planning on it.”

“Why not?”

I consider telling him it’s none of his damn business, but he’s been loyal in ways I never expected, so I have no reason to be rude to him. “If they wanted me around, they had their opportunity to bring me home. They chose not to. I don’t need to be a part of a family who abandoned me.”

“Fair enough, though it doesn’t explain why you’ve been so concerned about the Italians.”

“Maybe that’s just about having a little fun.” I shoot him a challenging look, hoping it will distract him from his current line of questioning. “I thought you were the expert on that.”

“Stopping the alliance is about fun for you?” He looks skeptical.

“Never hurts to keep the opposition isolated from one another.” I shrug. “And if they end up at war, pointing fingers at one another, I wouldn’t cry about it.”

Michael stares at me, penetrating dark eyes probing.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

He lifts one shoulder and frowns. “Can’t say that you seem the type to cause chaos purely for amusement’s sake, but I won’t claim to be an expert on anything about you.”

I huff. “That’s because you don’t know jack shit about me.” No one does. Not really. There was one person who knew me as well as I knew myself because we were the same person. Genetically identical. I’d always thought we were a package deal, but it turned out I was the disposable spare.

My feelings about my brother are complicated. I know he wasn’t responsible for my abduction, but a part of me still blames him, and I hate myself for that. Hate myself for not trying harder to get back to him. If he knew I was alive and had voluntarily kept away, I’m not sure I could face the betrayal I’d see in his eyes.