The second the door to the plane opens, I'm out. The cold wind burns my face as I step down the stairs.

"Jude," Tor shouts behind me. I ignore her and continue across the snow-covered tarmac. "Jude."

"What?" I spin to face her and she glares at me.

"Where are we going?"

"To some fucking hotel." I continue toward the tiny airport, my pulse throbbing through my jugular. "Don't worry about the details, Tor."

She runs to catch up with me, and grabs my hand, winding her chilled fingers though mine. Such a simple fucking touch, yet it leaves me uncomfortable. There's so much that has been left unsaid, and so much that has been said that can't be taken back. Maybe that's the way it should be. I don't know. I can't think straight right now, so I just give her hand a subtle squeeze and keep walking.

Soon enough, we've hailed a cab. The ride through Moscow is silent. The large man in the front of the taxi looks angry, a permanent scowl set on his pale face. He drops us at the hotel and we check in without a word to each other.

Tor seems on edge as we head down the hotel hallway, her eyes constantly assessing each person that passes us. She stands close behind me when I unlock the room, and as soon as the door closes behind us, Tor bolts it, checking that it's locked. She turns and presses her back to it, watching me for a moment. I can see the worry churning in her steel-blue eyes.

That woman is my weakness on every level. I'm torn between wanting to throw her down on the bed and fuck her until she can't move, and choking her. Everything's changed, and I don't know how to handle us. "I guess we stay here tonight," I say.

She nods and slowly takes a deep breath. "Do you hate me, Jude?"

"No." I look away from her. I don't hate her. I'll always love her. I’m just angry and anger is an emotion I don't have the best ability to manage. "It's fine, Tor."

I look up in time to see her nod. "I'm going to take a shower." She reaches for the bottom of her shirt and pulls it over her head. My eyes roam over her bare skin, over that damn scar that is like an eternal reminder of how destructive my existence has been to her. I've destroyed her body, her mind, and now her heart. I swallow around the lump in my throat and turn to cross the room. "Jude, look at me," she says.

I drag my hands through my hair, sighing before I turn to face her. "Yeah?"

She studies me for a second, as if she's taking in every single feature. "I love you," she says, and then she walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I stare at the door. After all this, she still loves me, and I still love her, and that has to mean something.

I sit on the edge of the bed and drop my chin to my chest. I have no fucking clue what I'm going to do. This shit is so deep and although I've known nothing outside of a life of crime, I know nothing of the level of depravity I'm now submersed in. This is not fucking Alabama. This is not a bad bet. A drunk redneck who just needs a good beating. This is the Russian mob and the cartel. What the actual fuck?

How the hell am I going to infiltrate this shit? I pull a cigarette from my pocket and stare at the "no smoking" sign as I light it, blowing a ring of smoke and watching it dissipate across the sign. Guns. I need guns and contacts. Shit.

I take another drag and a sudden knock on the door startles me. There's another, more determined knock and I stab the smoke out before I grab my gun from the bag, cock it, and hold it behind my back as I head toward the door. Staring through the peephole, I see two Russians—one of them familiar—Boris number two. Fuck my life right now. I happen to catch movement and can barely make out the glint from the gun in Boris' hand. Ronan has Cayla, and now what? He's lured me here just so he can kill me? I don't have time to fuck around with this shit. I place the gun to the door, lining it up where I figure the other guy's head is and pull the trigger. Blood splatters the peephole. A bullet comes flying through the door, whizzing by my ear and I move my gun to the right and shoot. Boris grunts and I hear one of them fall against the wall. I quickly open the door with my gun still aimed. The guy I don't know is sprawled out on the floor, blood pouring from his head and Boris is slumped against the wall clutching his stomach. Blood wells between his fingers, and his face is twisted in pain.

Propping the door open with my foot, I lean down, grab his arm, and drag him into the hotel room, locking the door behind me.

"Where's Ronan?" I shout, aiming the gun at his head. The door to the bathroom slams against the wall and Tor comes bolting out, a thin towel wrapped around her soaked body.

"What the hell, Jude?" She rushes to the door and opens it. I know she sees the dead guy on the floor in front of her, and now she's glancing up and down the hallway. Sighing, she turns around, clutching her towel in one hand as she walks toward me. "Give me the gun," she says, holding out her hand. “Go drag the other one in here before someone sees."

"It's fucking Russia. No one gives a shit," I mumble as I drop the gun in her palm, open the door, and drag the dead fuck inside.

"I give a shit," she mumbles, pointing the gun at Boris. "Did you need him?" she asks me.

"I don't fucking know." I shrug and stare down at him. "Where the fuck is Ronan?"

She lets out an aggravated sigh and rolls her head to the side. "He's going to bleed out, Jude. If you need him, now would be the time to say."

"Well," I wave my hand at him. "Fix him or some shit."

Grumbling, she shoves the gun into my hand and grabs a towel. She kneels beside him and presses a wadded-up towel against his bloodied stomach. Boris glares at her, gritting his teeth. "Hold that," she says to him.

She walks over to our bags, taking out some clothes before she slams the bathroom door. A couple of minutes later and she comes out dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoody, her hair braided over her shoulder. “Why are you braiding your hair when you’re telling me he’s going to bleed out?”

She huffs as she drops to her knees beside Boris and lifts his shirt, examining the bullet hole. She presses her hand over it and glances up at me. "Jude, go to my bag and get the tampons."

"The what?" I stare at her. "You want a pussy plug?"

She rolls her eyes. "Oh my god. Yes. The purple box."

I glare at her as I go to her bag and rummage through it. I grab one of the slender packages and hand it to her. "There's your tampon." I look at Boris. "Where are they keeping my daughter?"

He grits his teeth, staring at me while Tor rams that tampon right into his gut. "Another one." She holds out her hand, wiggling her fingers, and I get her another one. She's ramming shit into him left and right. "Now," she pats his cheek and then grabs his jaw, forcing him to look at her. "I really think you should tell us where she is, or things are about to become really unpleasant for you."

He spits on the ground and curses at her in Russian. She shrugs and climbs to her feet. "Bad choice. Now you get him." She points at me. "And that's going to be so much worse than bleeding out." She turns and walks over to me with a smirk. "Try not to make too much noise. It is a hotel." She walks into the bathroom, and I hear the taps turn on.

A sick smile spreads across Boris' lips between groans. "I'm not afraid of you, bookie."

"Yeah, fucking yeah," I mumble as I walk over to him and crouch beside him. "So, did you know you were fucking me up the ass when you were in Mexico? 'Cause that really doesn't set well with me." I lean close to his face, my heart pounding in my chest. "I can't fucking stand when people think they outsmart me, and you, Boris number two, you thought you outsmarted me, didn't you? You and that slimy, pale bastard.”

He laughs, and well, that just flies all the fuck over me. I grab his suit jacket and yank him up, and a phone clatters to the floor. He glances back at Tor. “Pity,” he says. “She really is too pretty to have been a Mexican’s whore.”

There is no thought. I lift the gun, shove it under Boris' chin, and pull the trigger. Blood splatters my face and his body slumps over.

“Why did you make me waste tampons if you were just going to shoot him?” Tor groans.

“He pissed me off.”

“Of course.” She steps beside me, staring down at Boris number two. "Well, we won't be getting the deposit back.”

"Did you really expect any less?" Here we stand with two dead Russians at our feet. Blood everywhere.

I can see it in her eyes, I can see that she revels in this more than she lets on. This violence has leaked into her soul, her mind, her body. She thrives in it just like I do, and it's in this moment I realize I've missed it. Some men are destined for great things and some of us are destined for bloodshed.

I take a step toward her and grab her by the back of the head, yanking her body against mine. I stare down into her eyes filled with vengeance. I'd be a fucking fool to think I'd find anything better than this right here, to think that anything would ever be able to come between us. I slam my lips over hers in a brutal kiss. My tongue brushes against hers and my dick twitches. "Fuck," I say against her lips. "I've missed this."

My hands roam over her body, my skin heating with a primal need to own her, claim her. She moans into my mouth, her fingers threading desperately through my hair and then, Boris' phone rings in my hand. I break away from Tor and stare down at the screen with Ronan's name flashing across it. My jaw tightens when I answer it.

"What," I say.

A low chuckle comes down the line. "Ah, bookie. Is Alex still breathing?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

"You just cannot get good men these days." He sighs. There's a long pause, the creak of a chair and shouting in the background. "I want to meet with you...and Victoria. We will discuss terms, and then you can see the child. All will be well." I hear gun shots come over the line, followed by muffled cursing in Russian.

I should have known it wouldn't be so simple. All will be fucking well, what a load of shit. "Somewhere public," I say.

"Keep the phone. I will be in touch." He hangs up.

Tor folds her arms over her chest, chewing on her lip. "I don't like it. I don't trust him."

"Well, it's not like we have much of a choice, now is it?"

She turns and paces toward the window. "Let me meet him."

"Have you lost your fucking mind, woman?" Groaning, I shake my head.

She turns to face me. "Jude, I don't trust him. If we both go, he can kill us both. Then Cayla has no one. If anything happens to me, she'll still have you." She shrugs one shoulder like it's the simplest fucking thing in the world.

"No way in hell I am letting you go. Jesus, he wants something from me, Tor. He's not going to kill me and besides, you're a woman for Christ's sake."

"Yes, Jude,” she glares at me, “I'm a woman. I'm the woman that birthed our daughter. I’m the woman that helped you kill Joe. And I am the woman who killed the boss of the Sinaloa cartel. Don't come at me with your bullshit."

"Oh, I guess you want a crown now?" I mumble as I step over one of the bodies on the way to take a piss, "I don't care how badass you think you are, you're not going by yourself. End of, Tor." I whip my dick out and piss.

"Ugh! Can you not? For a second, just stop and think about it logically, Jude?" she says from the bathroom doorway.

"I did." I shake my dick before I stuff it back in my jeans. "The answer is no." I smirk as I step around her and back into the room. I flop down on one of the chairs, pull a cigarette and light it as I stare at the two dead Russians on the floor.

She leans against the wall next to the bathroom door, looking at me. "No, it is not logical. You don't put all your eggs in one basket."

I cock a brow at her. "Tor..." I grab the gun from the table and pull the chamber out, loading it with more bullets. "Fucking drop it, would you?"

She crosses the room, snatches the gun from my hand, and slams it down on the table. Grabbing the arms of the chair, she leans over and brings her face close to mine. I should be looking at her eyes but I can see straight down her shirt. "Jude!" My gaze snaps up to hers. "Please," she whispers.

Her eyes drop to my lips and she scratches her nails over my jaw before she leans in. "For me," she whispers before she kisses me, scraping her teeth over my bottom lip. I try to cling to my anger, but she speaks to every ingrained bit of primitive need inside me.

I pull away from her, lifting a brow as my cock swells. My hands come to rest on the curve of her waist and I groan. "Fuck me..." I mumble when she straddles me, pressing herself over my hardening dick.

"Please," she whispers against my ear. The heat from her breath sending chill bumps racing over my arms. She is too fucking good at this seduction shit.

I let her kiss my neck for a second and then she works her way down, pulling and tugging at my shirt before she falls to her knees between my thighs. My expression remains stern as she undoes my zipper, freeing my cock. She glances up at me with those innocent fucking eyes just before she licks over the head. I stifle a groan, my fingers digging into the arms of the chair as she swallows me back. "Shit..." I mumble. As good as that feels, it's been so long since I've been inside her and I crave it, so I grab her shoulders and shove her away before I pick her up and carry her to the bed. I know she thinks this shit right here will work, but it won't.

I throw her onto the mattress, pull both our jeans off, and hold my dick right there. "This what you want?" I breathe against her throat.

"I always want you," she says, scratching her fingers through my hair as she stares up at me. God, she makes me weak, but not as weak as she thinks.

My fingers wind around her throat, my grip growing tighter. She tosses her head back. Her lips part on a breathy moan and just as I slam inside her, I say, "And I always have the final say and the answer is no."

Growling, she bucks underneath me until I'm balls deep inside her tight pussy. I grit my teeth, my hold on her throat tightening. She pulls at my hair and drags her nails down my back. "I missed you," she breathes against my lips, and I drive into her deep and hard, fucking myself into her, claiming her. Because this is mine. She is mine and she always will be. Within minutes, she's panting, her body tensing just before she comes. I give one final thrust and all that tension, the anger, it all bleeds out of me in a warm heat. I hang my head, sweat dripping from the bridge of my nose before I gently kiss her and roll to the side of the bed. She sits up and drags her hands through her tangled hair as she glances to the side of the room.

"That's not creepy at all," she mumbles, her eyes aimed at the two bodies sprawled out in a pool of blood.

"We've done worse, Tor." I laugh. "At least you're not covered in blood this time."

She rolls her eyes and climbs on top of me, straddling me. "Look, you don't want me to go, so you go and meet Ronan. I'll stay." She traces circles on my chest with her fingertip.

"That easy, huh?" I smirk "Don't go doing some stupid bullshit. You hear me?"

"I told you, I don't trust him. Both of us in the same room...it's too easy." She leans forward and grabs my face in both hands, and something inside me grows uneasy. "I don't want you to go either, but one of us has to. I'm just thinking of Cayla."

"I know, doll. I know."

She touches her forehead to mine, holding me so tight it’s like she’s afraid I'll disappear, so I hold her. I just hold her thinking about how much I hate that we're always on the edge of disaster, that we have to make choices about which of us might live or die. I pull away and look at her. “I love you.”

And just like it's been orchestrated, Boris number two's phone dings. I get up, grab it from the table, and read over the text: An address with a demand to be there in one hour.

***break***

I’m in the center of Moscow, staring up at an old stone building with Savva is written in script on the glass door. Just as I step up to it, the door swings open and a man in a tuxedo motions me in. The smell of fresh bread and steak hangs in the air. Classical music plays softly in the background. The blonde woman at the hostess stand smiles and says something in Russian. I glance to the restaurant behind her and see Ronan sitting at a table. He taps his fingers over the white table cloth. There's a dark-haired woman sitting next to him, and he is staring at her like she’s a piece of prey. The candle in the center of the table flickers, casting shadows over his face. I can’t help but think he looks like the damn devil. Or a vampire. Or some crazy demonic shit.

He looks away from the table and the moment his eyes land on me he smirks. I go to move past the hostess stand and the hostess says something else to me. "I'm fucking American," I say as I wave her off and weave my way through the restaurant toward Ronan.

Ronan stares at me as I approach, his face breaking into a smile. "Ah, my friend, sit." He looks past me as I pull out the chair. "No Victoria?" The disappointment is clear in his voice.

Blood pounds through my jugular. "Let's skip the formalities."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Sit." His voice changes, a demand, not a request.

I take a seat, my gaze straying to the woman sitting next to him. She looks annoyed as all fuck as she drums her long nails over the table.

"I'm not here for a lunch date, Ronan." I want to tell him to fuck off, and I try to restrain that because that won't end well. A waiter stops at the table and pours three glasses of red wine.

"No, you are here because I have something you want." The waiter says something in Russian. Ronan's eyes never leave mine as he answers, and within minutes, the waiter hurries away. "I ordered for you," Ronan says with a smirk.

"I want my daughter. She's not a fucking pawn." I glare at him. "What the hell is it that you want from me, huh?"

Sighing, he lifts the glass of wine to his lips. "I would never hurt your daughter. On the contrary, I saved her from the circling vultures of the cartel." He shrugs and sips the deep burgundy liquid. "Now, your child is safe, your woman is no longer Jésus' whore, and all I ask in return is a favor from you, American."

I glare at him and cock a single brow. It’s not a favor when he's holding my daughter hostage. God, I want to choke him.

He puts his glass down and leans forward, propping his elbows on the table. "Camilla here has been caring for young Cayla." He motions toward the woman.

Her eyes trail over my face, down my chest, and a slightly arrogant smirk crosses her red lips. "Bookie," she says, her Spanish accent thick. I should have recognized her, I guess, she has similar features to Gabe. So the Russian did take his sister which means we are fucked in the ass. This bastard has the strings pulled so tight from every angle...

"The bonita ángel is safe." She glares at Ronan. "I would not allow any harm to come to her." Something about her makes me believe it.

I nod at her before redirecting my attention to Ronan. "I'm losing my patience, so how about you tell me what the fuck it is that you want me to do?" The waiter stops back by and tops Ronan's glass off, and I notice a slight shake in his hand, the way his eyes are locked nervously on Ronan.

Ronan smiles before lifting Camilla's hand to his lips and attempting to kiss it. She slaps him, the clap echoing around the restaurant. A sadistic grin spreads across his lips. "A challenge," he says, his eyes flickering with excitement. She folds her arms over her chest.

My temper spikes and I slam my palms down on the table, the sudden movement causing the glasses to rattle. "What do you want?" I shout.

He closes his eyes and exhales a breath as he shakes his head. "Careful, bookie. All in good time." He straightens in his seat and steeples his fingers together in front of him. "Simple. I want you to end the entire Sinaloa cartel."

Fuck me. Tossing me head back, I groan. "Tor already killed Jésus—"

He holds a finger up with a smirk. "Yes, she is quite a woman. However, Jésus has already been replaced. Cut off the head of the snake and another grows. You must burn the body."

Here he goes with his motherfucking riddles again. "So, you want me—a single man—to just burn the entire cartel to the fucking ground?"

He tilts his head to the side. "It is because you are a single man that you are equipped to do it. If I send my men, it's a declaration of war. War is not good for business. Victoria and yourself have proved resourceful." He taps one finger over his bottom lip. "And really, you wouldn't be doing it for me. Even if you had your daughter, where would you go? You ratted on Domingo, attacked the cartel head on, and your woman killed Jésus. You, my friend, are a dead man walking, unless you take the war to them."

Heat washes over my body, my muscles tense. I point my finger in his face as I push up from the table. "I fucking hate you."

He claps his hands together. "That's settled then. I will have my new Boris organize the details."

"Don't let anything happen to my daughter, or I will find a way to fucking kill you." I shove the chair back under the table and turn to walk away.

"And American," Ronan says, "do tell Gabriel that his sister is here in Russia, and that his assistance in this matter would be greatly appreciated."

I don't acknowledge him. I just weave my way through the crowded restaurant, a sense of hopelessness settling uneasily in my gut.