Bratva's Brat (Loftry University Playthings 2)

Chapter 12

Grigori

I stareat the computer screen, heart in my throat. How the hell was her piercing signaling that she was inside my house. When we made love that last night, it was in her. I checked her as she slept the next morning. How was it still here? Even though I told myself this was for the best, that I should just let it happen, I regretted my decision the moment they grabbed her. Her eyes just stared up at me, the trust slowly slipping away as the light left them. I wanted to punch all of them. I wanted to kill them - rip them apart with my bare hands. The only thing keeping me sane was knowing the tracker was safely nestled between her thighs where no one would think to look.

Now, as I stare at my screen, disbelief filling my brain, I see that it's here. What. The Fuck. I stand up at my desk, resisting the urge to fling my laptop across the room. Destruction is not going to help right now. Sasha and Nikolai whine in their beds, their noses buried in their bellies. I hope it's because they're afraid of me and not because they can sense something wrong with Chelsea.

Running my fingers through my hair, I close my laptop and pace the room, the dogs' heads moving with every lap. There's got to be some explanation. I swear if Chelsea took it out for some reason and left it there, I'm going to strap her ass until she can't sit for a week. Screaming my rage to the ceiling, I tear open the door and step outside. Sasha is right on my heels, booping at the back of my leg with her long snout.

"Sasha, stay."

She whines, her tail tucked between her legs. I take another step, and she's right there with me.

"Sasha, not now, sweet girl. I have to find my Chelsea."

At her name, Sasha perks up, her ears coming to half-mast. Soft, brown eyes look around, the whining intensifying. Poor thing must be missing her too. I reach down and scritch behind her ears, pouring out my worries into that soft fur. I have to find her. I should have figured out another way.

How could I be so stupid to throw away the best thing that happened to me in a long time? I was so naive to think I had everything figured out; the plan was foolproof. Racing down the hall, Sasha on my heels, I wrench open her door and burst inside. It still smells like her. That subtle scent that's all her mixed with the citrus lotion she likes to wear. My stomach knots as I start in the bathroom.

No drawer is left unturned. Everything is emptied out onto the counter and sifted through with precision. Next, I head to the bed. Each blanket and sheet is examined before placing it into a pile. The last thing on there are her pillows and the stuffed bird. Just seeing it makes everything clench. I run my fingers over the mattress, going through each dip and crevice. I look under the bed with my phone light. Each drawer and closet space is gone through. Nothing.

I stand there in the middle of the room, helpless. Falling to my knees, I hold my head in my hands, ripping at my scalp. I slam my fists into the floor, bellowing my rage into the empty room. Minutes go by as I sit there, unable to think, unable to breathe. It's Sasha's wet nose that pulls me out of my stupor. I'm not going to find her throwing a tantrum. I rise to my feet, dusting off my pants.

Sasha gives one more whine before loping over to the bed and jumping on it, circling a few times before lying down. A soft smile turns up my lips as I watch her pine for Chelsea. I must bring her back. I leave Sasha be and head back out into the hallway, prepared to go to my office when I stop short. The only other person that knew about the piercing was Ivan. My fingers go numb as I grip them into fists. What would he possibly have against Chelsea? So she was a brat. That's for me to deal with and not him.

Growling, I storm off to my office, arming myself before I approach him. I weigh the Glock in my hands, convincing myself that it couldn't be him. No matter what, all facts pointed that way. He knew about the piercing, and he was there when she was taken. He could have easily told someone about it. Couple that with the fact that it's in this fucking house. The only place she could have taken it off would be her bedroom. I could have easily missed it, but my gut tells me I didn't. My gut is rarely wrong.

Reaching into the top desk drawer, I pull out my clip and slide it in, the snick of metal on metal sending a thrill through my body. Turning off my brain, I go on pure muscle memory. First is the safety. I turn that off and pull back to chamber the bullet. The sound of it falling into place is like a balm to my nerves. I click the safety back on and slide it into the holster hanging on my belt. I smile, recalling her face when I whipped it off the first time. I WILL get her back. If I have to tear down the entire U.S. I will have her back under my roof.

Ivan sits in the communal area, watching some sport on TV. It's on mute, but his eyes are glued to the movement. The moment I see him, my vision tunnels. Instead of the rage I expected, a still calmness pervades my body. I set my hand down on his shoulder, gripping it as I greet him. He has the wherewithal to sit there and sip his beer as if nothing has happened.

With Chelsea not there, there's no reason for him to speak to me in English. In fact, I prefer the tongue of my ancestors for what I'm about to do. It feels more poetic this way. With my syllables clipped, each word coming out with distinct precision, I begin to question him.

"Where is Chelsea?"

He pauses for a moment too long. My fingers dig in deeper.

"I will not ask again."

"You have the tracking system. I wouldn't know where to start."

The lie drips smoothly off his lips. It's not surprising since he's my top assassin. You don't last long in the business if you can't lie. I remove my hand and draw my gun, easing around so he can see it.

"I will not repeat myself."

He sneers as he stares down the barrel, rolling his shoulders as if his very life doesn't hang in the balance.

"She's a bitch, not even worth your time. If you can't find her, it should be no worry."

That icy calm spreads through my body at his words. If he were innocent, his responses would be very different. Dropping the gun from his face, I shoot his thigh, the crack of gunfire almost drowning out Ivan's shriek of agony. His body bows up, his muscles bulging as he reaches for me. Sidestepping him, I bring the butt of my gun to the back of his head, a smile crossing my lips as he slumps over.

My men pour into the room, alerted by the gunfire. Once they realize it’s me holding the gun, they stand down and wait for my orders. We drag Ivan down to the chamber where we pierced Chelsea. I haven't had to use this room since then, and the nostalgia of picturing her lying there, her face stuffed with my cock sends it lurching forward. They strap him down into the chair and leave us. Nothing in their demeanor gives me a reason to question their loyalty, but Ivan sure showed how fucked up complacency can be. Once this is over, I'm doing a complete overhaul. No one is to be trusted.

I circle the chair, waiting for Ivan to wake up. I can't kill him until I have all the information out of him I need. His bulk spills out over the frame, muscles upon muscles bulging with every breath he takes. Normal tactics aren't going to work. He was trained to withstand pain. Sliding my fingers along the various bottles behind the chair, I pause at the one labeled Sodium Pentothal. If pain won't make him talk, this should help. If I give it to him now, it should take effect by the time he wakes up.

I double the dose I'd normally give, hoping it doesn't actually kill him. I slide the needle into his arm, ignoring the small grunt as I jam it in. Setting the needle down, I pick up my favorite knife and hold it in my hand, letting my fingers settle into the familiar grip. Glancing at the clock, I will my heart to slow down. For every moment he's out, that's another moment she's at someone else's mercy.

With a pained groan, Ivan opens his eyes. His breathing slow and sluggish. Perhaps I did give him a little too much, but fortunately, he'll live.

"Where is she."

"Go fuck yourself," he slurs, tugging at the restraints.

“Okay, let’s try this one then. Where is Anastacia?”

“In hell.”

“Not the answer I’m looking for.”

Taking the end of the knife, I slam it into the hole left by the bullet, precum welling up my shaft by the sound of his screams.

“You were the only one that knew about her piercing. It’s in this fucking house. Were you ever trying to help me find Anastacia? Or were you double-crossing me this whole time?”

Ivan spits on the floor, venom darting from his eyes. “You kill your father and not expect repercussions?”

Bile rises in my throat. I promised Chelsea my men would always protect her. With that one sentence, he made me a liar. Everything runs through my brain, clear as day. I should have listened to Sasha that day when I caught them in front of my door. She’s never wrong. If I fired him right then, there’s a chance I’d still be able to find her.

“That and Dima pays better.”

Scratch that. She was never safe. From the moment I brought her into this house, there’s been a target on her back.

“How long.”

“Since before your dad died.”

Anger flows through me, flooding my brain. I want so desperately to maul him, to rip his head from his body. Breathing deep, I force myself to calm down. I need answers. Right now, he’s the only one that knows where Chelsea might be, and he might actually know something about Anastacia. I can’t let this opportunity go by. Reaching down, I take his index finger and pull it back, ignoring his screams as the bone pops and snaps. His howl of agony sears into my brain, spiking my bloodlust and arousal.

“What do you know about Anastacia?”