Page 96 of The Councilor
That didn’t necessarily mean anything depending on where she was in the house. “The fucker might be a released disgruntled prisoner, someone I defended a long time ago.” As I said the words, they sounded so hollow.
Vadim turned slowly. “Then we will track him.”
I was beginning to wonder whether the bastard was having too much fun, the vicious game everything he’d planned while behind bars.
Track him. I moved further into the house, noticing she’d taken a bottle of wine from the cabinet. The door still stood open, her phone dropped onto the floor.
As the realization of the situation finally began to settle in, the adrenaline wearing off, I slowly fell to my knees, placing my head in both hands. The agony was too much to bear, the feeling that there was nothing I could do debilitating.
It was just like when I’d lost my baby sister. There’d been nothing I could do, her death nearly destroying our family.
As I took deep, scattered breaths, I knew in my gut I would never be the same if she was taken from me.
I sensed Vadim from behind, the man remaining quiet while I suffered.
When I sucked in my breath fighting to stand, he finally said something.
“We’ll get her back, Aleks. That’s my promise to you.”
“Yes, we will. One way or the other.” There was only one way to do this, to win against a deranged human.
Dive to his level. Think like him.
Be him.
Even if that meant slithering to the bowels of humanity. I didn’t care.
My partner had no sooner walked inside my house when I jumped him, shoving him into the entrance foyer wall. The anger had only continued to spiral. I hadn’t been able to stay there. I couldn’t stomach being in the place where our passion had started taking a turn for something truly special.
I’d stood on the beach for almost thirty minutes, staring out at the water, making a promise to her, myself, and the bastard that if it was the last thing I did, I would hunt him down.
After that, things had started spiraling downward.
Now I was little more than a shell of myself, a crazed man on a mission of revenge.
I shoved my weapon under Roman’s chin, pushing up with force.
He was immediately sweating. He knew when he’d pushed me too far. I was closer to the edge than I’d been my entire fucking life. When Fiona had died, the cancer ravaging her fragile body, I’d lost my shit. It had been the first time I’d almost killed a man, my father and Ivan barely able to stop me.
The heartbreak had resurfaced but this was more painful, breathing difficult as my mind went to some dangerous places.
“You fucked with me, Roman. Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet into your brain right now.” I was spitting in his face from the heightened level of rage.
“Whoa. Whoa. Don’t do this,” Vadim hissed from beside me. He knew better than to pull me off when I got like this. He’d been on the end of more than a few unfortunate punches.
Roman was cowering, his face reddening as I squeezed. The barrel of my gun remained exactly where it had been, although I was ready to shove it into the man’s mouth.
“Why?” I growled all over again.
“Because…” he said sheepishly. “I think I know the name.”
“The name?” I repeated for sport.
“His name. His name! The killer.”
Vadim’s phone rang and while I glanced over, hopeful one of our men had found something, I had a bad feeling there was little to tell.
I pulled the weapon away first, issuing a single hard punch for effect.