Bullet ✔️

Chapter 38

The street we finally stopped at was filled with all the cars from the Strac family. Kurt shouted over the mess that a van was there, and when I walked up to him I confirmed it was the same one that drove away from my home that morning. Kurt nodded, put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Don't worry, we're getting him." Then he left me by the van to go help James and Michael arrange everything else.

The place stunk. Garbage floated on the street, lawns were overgrown, and one of the houses further down the street looked like it'd been on fire a decade ago, without anyone trying to either fix it or tear it down. It was so bad. If anyone lived in the houses around me, I felt sorry for them.

I stared at the van. It was black and stupid, and I wanted to rip all the cables I could find out of it, just to be a bitch, so I opened the passenger door. To my surprise, it was unlocked. I gasped as the door swung open in front of me, nearly hitting my face with much more force than I ever thought I had. I guessed rage made me into some sort of a monster. But there—on the passenger seat was a sheet of paper, folded in half, with my name on the outside.

They knew I'd come, they knew we'd find the building. There was no way they were still in there.

I picked the note up, looking around me carefully, before I shut the car door and started reading.

Dear Isabelle,
I want you to come back to the Strac warehouse—alone.
Only then will I let your boyfriend go.
If you tell anyone, he dies.
Sincerely,
Orlov

The air was knocked out of me, but I had to keep my head in the game. I folded the paper and put it into my jeans pocket, before I carefully made my way through the crowd of people to find Elina.

Tapping her shoulder, I asked, "Can I borrow your car keys? I forgot my knife in there."

"Sure," she said with a small smile, "here."

She handed them to me with such trust and ease, I felt really, really bad for practically stealing her car. But I had to go alone.

I could feel every last eye on me as I walked back to Elina's convertible, making myself look as small as possible, my face blank. It was like I was betraying them and all their help, but I didn't know what else to do. So I got into the driver's seat, pressed the ignition button, and slowly backed away from the chaos and turned around.

To be honest, I barely knew where I was, so I had to look at the map several times to make sure I was going in the right direction. I practically hung over the wheel, staring at the road in front of me. Thankfully, it wasn't too dark yet, so I could recognize where we drove earlier.

My heart was going through my chest—I was positive my ribs were cracking under the pressure and continuous hammering. Time didn't move fast enough, and my foot pressed way too hard on the gas, making it seem like I was inside some sort of trance. My surroundings passed in a normal speed, while the road and the car drove fast, almost to the point where I had no control.

Every possible scenario went through my mind as I made my way through the city. It wasn't too far, but far enough, and I wanted to get there now.

My phone started ringing, but I silenced it through my pocket, knowing it'd probably be Elina or James calling me to know where I went. But I couldn't tell. I couldn't risk Damian's life like that.

So when I stopped outside the warehouse, I turned my phone off to keep them from tracking it and left it in Elina's car. I pulled my gun out from my pants, cocking it back and turning off the safety. My fingers trembled, my body shook with adrenaline and fear, as I slowly made my way to the door.

The sun in the distance was on its way down, painting the sky red. Fitting, I thought, swallowing my fear—or at least trying to. Through the door, I heard a groan, and then a cold, cold laugh.

So I opened the door and walked into the so familiar place.

Damian sat in the middle of the big warehouse, his face bruised and bloody, his shirt ripped, revealing more blood. I couldn't see if he was bruised there, too, because of his tattoos, but I didn't doubt it at all. His eyes met mine the same moment I walked in, and I could see they flashed with something. Pain, maybe? Or disappointment? Either way, I didn't stop to think about it. Instead, I raised my gun at the man with his back to me, and forced myself not to look at the blood dripping from Damian's chair.

"You came," Orlov said, as he turned around. He smiled, and it widened when his eyes ran from my face to my hands, and the weapon pointed straight at him. "And you didn't disappoint."

He nodded, and before I could react my arms were seized and the gun was knocked out of my hands. I thrashed against the man holding me against his torso, but all I got in return was a big chuckle.

I knew that chuckle.

I turned my head to get a better look at the man holding me captive, and I couldn't hold in my surprise. "Charlie?!" My ex boyfriend smiled at me, holding me in place, while Orlov picked up my gun and took out the magazine.

"Brave of you to come armed," Orlov said, "but I have two people who know you here."

"Let Damian go," I ground out, "I came alone."

Orlov's chuckle was full of darkness and evil, and I braved myself to spit on him. He was close enough that I hit his shirt, but he didn't react with anger and recklessness like I hoped, no, he laughed at me.

"Let go of her." Damian's voice was darker and hoarser than I'd ever heard it before. Broken, even. When I looked at him, he avoided meeting my eyes and just stared at Orlov instead. "She's got nothing to do with this."

"Oh, she's got everything to do with it," Orlov replied. He clapped his hands, smiling like a true maniac as he walked around the chair where my mystery man was bound and stuck, bleeding and in pain. "You see, Charlie was heartbroken when she broke up with him, so I promised my protégée that I'd help him get her back with a long-term plan. Then she met you, and you fucked it all up." A smack sounded through the big room as Orlov's hand connected with Damian's jaw. "But," he continued, "it gave me an opportunity to hit two birds with one stone: Get your father's empire, and help Charlie with the love of his life."

I kicked behind me, hitting Charlie's shins, as Orlov spoke. He groaned, holding me tighter. I couldn't believe that my ex was mafia, and that I'd somehow end up entangled in all this anyway—I just got myself in it sooner than planned.

"When daddy dearest is ready to retire, Damian," Orlov went on, "sign everything over to me, and you'll have your girlfriend back." There was no response from him at all. Not even a glance in my direction. His eyes were emotionless, with no trace of the mischievous darkness I looked to for comfort. Charlie grabbed my chin and held my head up as Orlov added, "Or kill her."

The ugliest man alive walked over to Damian Strac and cut off the many layers of tape that held him to the steel chair. As soon as he was loose, the chair flew back and made a terrible noise, making my ears thrum with pain. Damian still didn't look at me, but I couldn't take my eyes off him.

His hand was instantly around Orlov's throat, but the man remained calm and held up a big kitchen knife with one hand, and a gun with the other. "You choose," Orlov said, the sound of his voice clearly telling the rest of us that his windpipe was being crushed.

Charlie held me tighter, his hand pressing my back into his torso, moving upward as if he would grab a handful of my chest. I tried to get my hands free, tears clouding my vision and staining my cheeks, but they were locked in place between myself and my ex—who'd worked for Orlov's mafia family for all these years.

"My family's empire, or her life?" Damian asked, still not looking at me. When Orlov nodded, Damian let go of his throat, knocked the knife out of his hand with calculated skill, and grabbed the gun. He pointed it directly at Orlov's head first, snarled, and turned towards Charlie and I.

My body froze as the man I loved pointed a gun towards me. Moreover, my knees buckled and I fell to the floor as the gun went off without any hesitation at all. Charlie let me go, and I heard a horrible, horrible thud behind me, and a gurgling sound.

I was suddenly cold, but warmth seeped in under my knees, and I stared up at the gun Damian still pointed at me, smoke coming from the barrel.