Page 120 of Monstrous Urges

My friend inhales slowly. “Is there a reason you haven’t just asked her who she met the other night?”

I have, in fact. Once. But instead of saying a name, she looked me in the eye and asked me to drop it. She asked me to trust her and said it was merely someone who might have answers to parts of her past.

And I agreed to let it go.

I do trust her. But that’s not why I agreed.

I agreed because I already knew who the fuck she’d met. I just needed confirmation of it.

I nod at the folder under Milos’ finger. “Can I assume you’re about to ‘surprise me’ with cleaned-up night-vision shots of Kenzo Mori sitting in my rowboat talking to my wife in the middle of the night?”

Milos scowls darkly. “You fucking knew?”

I say nothing as I slip the folder out from under his finger and flip it open. Sure enough, the somewhat shit images taken by a security camera on the shore have been run through a computer program that uses AI to clean up photos, giving me a clear shot of the man sitting in the bow of the boat, talking with Taylor.

Kenzo.

I know they were just talking. I know from the photos he didn’t touch her, aside from pulling her out of the water, which not for nothing is enraging enough.

But I don’t trust him. Specifically, his interest in her. And I sure as fuck don’t like that he somehow had access to her and got her to come meet him in the middle of the night.

In a bathing suit.

Insecurity? No. Jealousy? Perhaps. A murderous sensation that some other man was sneaking around in the night to meet up clandestinely with what is mine?

Fuck yes.

“Our guys are trying to track him down?—”

“They won’t,” I grunt.

I don’t know Kenzo that well. But I know enough to be sure that if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. The man is half Viking and half samurai. He can charge at you with a goddamn axe and a battle cry, or he can slit your throat from the shadows before you even know you’re dead.

I exhale. “But try anyway. If nothing else, he’ll know he’s being tracked, and it’ll occupy a sliver of his attention.” I drum my fingers on the desk and raise my eyes to Milos. “What was the other shit news? Involving a meal?”

“You and Annika have been invited to one. Dinner, specifically.”

“With?” I ask curiously.

His face darkens. “Vadik Belov.”

Fuck.

“Obviously, this is where I advise you what a terrible idea it would be for you to get within shooting distance of that fucker,” Milos mutters. “After the other night.”

I turn to look out the doorway to the veranda and the ocean beyond.

“We don’t know?—”

“Drazen,” Milos growls. “We know.”

The men I killed after I found them chasing Taylor through the dark the other night were hired guns—mercenaries from the Russia-based Werner Group, made up of ex special forces from all over the world. Contractors who’ll do dirty work for the highest bidder.

They’ve got two positions vacant after the other night.

“They were obviously hired by Vadik. They knew the island, they knew how to get past security?—”

“To be fair, she knew how to get past security,” I grin at him.