The Marriage (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 3) Bethany-Kris (read this if txt) 📖

made phone calls to every contact that was relevant.

One of the many reasons Roman had picked that facility for Karine’s treatment was because he didn’t have a strong connection in Nevada to anyone or anything. He knew neither the Yazovs nor the Avdonins had much power or control out there, so she would be safe outside their territories where contacts were limited.

That backfired.

Roman didn’t have many people to draw on as he raced to catch up with whatever footsteps Maxim and Karine might have left behind.

A lot of good it did.

He was in the same place where he started—right in the middle of fucking nowhere.

His guys at the loft were watching over Masha, and she still hadn’t talk, sticking to her claim that she knew nothing. Maxim hadn’t divulged that information.

Roman had come terribly close to ordering her death. The call would have been easy, and the minutes it might have taken before he got the confirmation could have been sweet, but he didn’t.

His remaining conscience stopped him but still, the rage inside him festered. Poisonous as it ate away at his dying heart. It wasn’t even the anger killing him—it was the unknown sucker punch to the fucking chest with every passing second that his wife wasn’t beside him doing the job.

Fair was fair.

The universe gave Roman everything he felt like he deserved.

Distracted in his self-loathing, it took his cell phone three rings before he noticed it vibrating in his hands. Peering over the back property from a spare bedroom, he answered the call with a snapped, “What?”

Exhaustion was getting the better of him, but who could sleep?

“What’s the fucking plan?” Lincoln asked. “For the rat problem in the basement, I mean.”

Even on burner phones. One couldn’t be too safe considering the circumstances. Roman immediately knew what the man meant as they were still holding down the issue at the loft with Masha.

Roman scrubbed his hand over his face to muffle the sigh. Masha needed to be kept in check and subdued until Karine was found, and then he would decide what to do with her. She was the least of his problems when she was just one more issue that was better kept contained at the moment. It was the man’s short patience for watching Masha that irritated Roman the most, though.

“I have other shit to handle, man,” Lincoln told Roman.

If only he cared.

“And? The organization has a problem. It trumps yours every time. As for the rat ... leave it be, feed it occasionally. Otherwise, nothing,” he growled into the phone.

He knew the guys didn’t want the added responsibility of having to keep an eye on Masha. Tough shit—they really had nothing left to do after they removed the remaining stolen car from the garage. Work was out of the question with attention on them again, anyway.

Reminding himself everybody was human, he unlatched the window’s lock, pushed it open, and lit a smoke. He went back to the conversation with Lincoln after the first drag of nicotine soothed his frayed nerves with a slightly better attitude.

Not by much.

“Listen, I get nobody wants to play babysitter, but it won’t be for long, okay?” he asked the man.

Lincoln grumbled something too low for Roman to hear before muttering, “Whatever, man.”

“Bill me for the food,” Roman joked dryly. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t speak so soon. Kostya just made another run about a half hour ago. That’s our fifth in—”

Beep.

Roman jerked the phone away from his ear to eye a number on the screen he didn’t recognize. Call-waiting. Only a select few people had the digits to his burner phone at any given time as he replaced them often and only kept in contact with people he needed to at any given moment. Everything else could wait, and for a long time, it served him well.

Lincoln’s voice buzzed in the phone, but Roman was already answering the strange number. “Da?”

The Russian came out smooth, and the reply was damn near as instant.

“Roman—it’s Chet.”

The unknown voice spoke like the two men were friends.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Not important. Listen, it’s unfortunate that your man Kostya had to die, but he was kind enough to give me your phone number. Tell his friend I left the food on the dumpster. The rats might get it, though. I digress ... I have a message for you.” Roman didn’t even have time to process what was being said before the man named Chet added, “A message for the Devil of Little Odessa—bit dumb, that name.”

A hired gun?

Maybe.

He got that impression, but who knew? Dima could be working with anyone. A lot of people would do a lot of things for the right price.

“Who’s sending the message?”

Although, he was sure he knew. Bringing up a childhood moniker that had chased him into a wild adulthood like it was a joke screamed pettiness.

And Dima.

Roman wasn’t wrong.

“Dima wants to meet with you,” Chet said on the phone as Roman checked the windows, scanning the property. He had moved into the room across the hall to survey the front of the house as the man added, “Your father has refused to sit with him, so he will settle for meeting you instead. For now as this is his last attempt at peace.”

Peace?

Since when had Dima shown any concern for someone’s peace?

At the moment, Roman was fairly certainly Dima didn’t have eyes or hands on Karine. Gut instinct told him that, more than anything else. Dima might not get him closer to her, if anything, and he wasn’t going to entertain the asshole if it could be helped.

Not if Karine wasn’t safe ...

It was clear the guy had a sick plan for her. Roman’s mind was just creative enough to torture him with possibilities. He wouldn’t inadvertently walk his wife into a lion’s den.

“You can tell him to go fuck himself. Nobody from the Avdonin family will ever talk to that piece of shit. He’s a dead man walk—”

“Your best friend was just the start of it,”