Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(3)

“Good. Then we go.” He rises and offers a hand to Goliath. The large man stands on unsteady legs, but we each reach out to support him.

“Service elevator is at the other end of the hall from this one,” Belevich says.

I shoot a suspicious stare at him. “How do you know? Why are you even helping us?”

Goliath grunts as we take the first step down the hall, and blood is already seeping through the makeshift bandage.

Fuck, he needs a doctor.

Belevich keeps walking, steadying Goliath with one hand as he grips the pistol in the other. “Because you’re the daughter of one of the most influential men in Russia. A man whose favor I would like to be in.”

My father.

Another wave of chills ripples across my skin. I didn’t even think of him.

“Could he . . . could he have done this?”

Goliath replies to my question with a shake of his head that makes him groan. “They were young. Wearing balaclavas.”

“This is not Federov’s style,” Belevich says, agreeing. He pauses in front of the door smeared with blood, probably from Goliath’s hands as he stumbled out. The entrance to the penthouse suite that Jericho and I shared. “If you want any of your shit, run and get it now so we can get the fuck out of here before we all get arrested.”

The clothes inside mean nothing to me. Nothing means anything to me except Jericho.

Fuck. Fuck. Tears burn the back of my eyes as another wave of despair washes over me. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. But it is, and I don’t have time to cry.

I gather every bit of fortitude I have and blink back the tears. “I don’t need anything except my husband. Let’s go.”

“Good. Then we go,” Belevich replies.

When we reach the service elevator, I punch the call button. As we wait, my thoughts race.

“Are you sure it couldn’t be Federov? Wouldn’t he have motive?”

Belevich’s blond hair swishes across his collar as he shakes his head. “What motive could he have? From what I have heard, all he wants is to be reunited with his daughter. Not buy her animosity for life by kidnapping her husband.”

I pray he’s right, because Jericho’s life depends on it.

“Then can he help us find him?” I ask, not sure if it’s a viable solution, but right now, I need all the big guns we can find.

“Perhaps,” Belevich says. “He may be able to help.”

“What about Koba?” My shoulders stiffen as I look up at Goliath. “Where the hell is Koba? What happened to him?”

Goliath’s brows dip together and his nostrils flare. “Fucking traitor. I knew it.” His black eyes focus on me. “We find him, and we’ll find Forge.”

Scenes flash through my brain—

Koba unable to get to me when the man sliced my side and snatched my purse in Saint-Tropez.

Koba still in his car when Alanna’s efficiency unit was being trashed . . . and not able to catch up with the kid who took off running.

“I’m going to kill him myself if anyone so much as harms one hair on Jericho’s head.” I look from Belevich to Goliath. “Let’s go. I want my husband back.”





3





Forge





The memory of the day I pulled Isaac’s body from the wreckage of his boat batters my brain until I finally open my eyes.

Instead of light, I’m surrounded by darkness. As I change position, fabric rubs against my face, so I reach up to push it away but can’t move my arms. My wrists are bound behind my back, and when I yank against the binding to free myself, thin pieces of plastic cut into my skin. Zip ties. My ankles are trussed too.

What the fuck?

I open my mouth to speak, but my lips are sealed shut. Duct tape.

I lie still on my side as I try to figure out what the hell happened. My brain feels like I’m swimming through the ocean in the dead of night, in a fog. Something’s not right. Was I drugged? I try to piece together how the fuck I ended up here.

Indy’s poker game. Prague.

Fuck. Indy. Please fucking tell me they didn’t get her too.

My memory is fuzzy, but I remember being on the phone in the hotel room before the door crashed open and masked men rushed inside. Gunshots popping through suppressers. Goliath yelling. Spinning around to see Donnigan going down before he could get a shot off. They rushed me, and I swear I got in a few punches before everything went black, but I don’t remember.

Jesus fucking Christ. Who the fuck did this?

I stretch out my arms and legs, feeling around and trying to get any sense of where I am. I’m praying Indy isn’t tied up in here with me. Please fucking tell me she’s safe at the hotel.

My face is pressed against a floor that vibrates against my jaw, and my fingers brush a rubber mat. I breathe in the acrid scent of exhaust. I’m in a vehicle. Maybe a van? Or the back of a truck?

My foot hits something. I try to say Indy’s name, but it comes out as a garbled series of grunts.

If they took her . . . I will burn down the entire fucking world if that’s what it takes to free us both.

Nothing touches her. No one hurts her. Ever.

But I did. I took her. Used her. Kidnapped her.

The recriminations rip through me. I never should have pushed her to bet that fucking room key. I never should have gone after her in Monte Carlo.