The Hunter King: A Dark Bratva Romance (Hunted Duet Book 1) by Jagger Cole

Author:Jagger Cole [Cole, Jagger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

20

“These things take time, Kristoff.”

My eyes narrow. I’ve had my chain jerked around before. Private clients in my days as a monster, for instance. Clients who thought, for some bewildering reason, that it would be fine if they simply did not pay the very demon they’d hired to destroy their enemies.

And this smells like bullshit.

“You’ve had weeks, Jana,” I hiss, a dangerous tone slipping into my voice. “You have your proof. Give me my fucking information.”

She sighs heavily, flippantly. It’s not stupidity that has her ignoring that warning edge to my tone—she’s not an idiot. Which means it’s hubris, which is equally as dangerous.

“Kristoff, I’ve told you, I’m working on it. You’ll have the location of Nikita’s remains soon, I promise.”

“Your promises mean fuck-all to me.”

My hand clenches the phone tightly.

“Don’t make me go over your head and go to Mik on this.”

I can hear the sharp intake of her breath. She doesn’t need to know I’ve technically already gone over her head. But I like that this seems to be her pressure point.

“Give me two weeks.”

“The fuck would you need two—”

“Because I don’t have it, okay?”

Threatening her with Mikhail has thrown her off her little high horse. In a way, I get it. I used to understand that power he has over people. I may hate him, and he may be a sociopathic sadist. But he knows how to use people. It’s been his life’s career to use and mold people to his needs and aims, and he’s fucking good at it.

Jana’s his own niece, for Christ’s sake, not to mention his number two. And even she’s terrified of his retribution.

“Mikhail?”

She’s silent for a moment.

“So help me God, Jana, I will go to him—”

“Please,” she mutters darkly. “Please, just let me handle this, Kristoff. I’ll get you what you want, okay?”

“You have two weeks until I’m done playing games.”

I hang up with a scowl, glaring out over the slowly setting sun across the water. Slowly, a smile creeps over my face as I watch a solitary figure swim languidly back and forth, parallel to the shore, about ten meters out.

Tatiana.

Who I happen to know is swimming naked.

I’d like to take credit for her going from being averse to baths or swimming to suddenly loving the lake. But, who knows.

For about the hundredth time this week, I make a note that it might be a good thing to actually get her some clothes if she’s going to be staying here… indefinitely, I suppose.

It’s a thought that’s immediately followed by a second one—also for the hundredth time this week: why the fuck would I get more things used to cover her up from my eyes?

I simmer in the chair on the shore, gritting my teeth and feeling my pulse hum as I watch her.

I’ve known addicts. In my youth, where and when I grew up? Everyone knew a junkie. Hell, most people had one in their family back then when heroin ravaged the slums of Liverpool.

Through my years, I’ve seen people do terrible, debased things for their fix.

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