Hunted by Jaycee Clark Page A

the diamonds and been done with it.
    The faceted crystal bit into his fingers as he gripped the glass harder.
    “Any sign of her?” he asked without turning around.
    “No, sir.”
    “Did you bother to apprehend the man who was passing himself off as Reyer?” He knew the answer before he asked it.
    Luther cleared his throat. “No, sir. I’m sorry. We lost them.”
    “Them?”
    “The man and the woman.” Luther cleared his throat.
    Mikhail turned from the window and leveled a look at Luther. “What else do you have to tell me? What is it you are afraid to report?” He tapped his fingers against the glass before taking another drink.
    Luther didn’t drop his eyes to the floor. A reason that kept Luther with him. “The thing, Jezek—there’s a report from the police.”
    He frowned, and the gnawing in his gut started to burn. His fingers bit into the rim of the glass. He picked it up and took another drink.
    “There was a fire . . . A-a car, sir. And . . . ” Luther trailed off and cleared his throat again.
    At the end of his patience, Mikhail snapped, “And?”
    “There was a body inside. He was wearing one of our medallions.”
    Mikhail bit down. Everyone who worked for him, for the bosses, earned a medallion. Those who lived and frequented the Devil’s Strip or Hell’s Alleyknew of the medallions. No matter which family the guard or drone worked for, essentially they were all part of the same team. The medallions had been his idea and the bosses liked knowing there was unity among them all.
    He looked down at his ring. The design matched that of the medallions, which were simple silver pieces the size of a coin. An engraved D— a pitchfork and devil’s tail wove the letter together.
    If someone had been found with the medallion, it meant one of them was dead.
    “Explain.”
    “Our informant said the car was a black limo, or appeared to be. The man was sitting in the front seat and appears to have been killed by a gunshot wound to the back of the head before the fire started. He was not certain though. The only thing known is the medallion found on the remains.”
    Peter. He knew. Without being told, Mikhail knew.
    Just as he knew that Dusk was gone.
    Fuck!
    He threw the glass against the wall, shards shattering down in a crystal fall. “Damn bitch!” Zmrd— the asshole. He’d find the bastard! And her! Kurva! Rage hot and thick roared through him.
    He glanced around the living room of his home, not seeing the expensive furnishings of leather and silks, ignoring even the scantily clad women draped on the chaise. He kicked a stand that held a priceless Ming vase. It crashed to the floor and he stamped on the pieces that were left.
    No one, no one left him. And by God . . .
    His heart pounded in his head, roared against his ears.
    This was the second girl this month he’d lost, if in fact . . .
    He vaguely heard Luther say something, heard the clatter of heels as the women scurried from the room. He didn’t care.
    Damn it all to hell and back.
    The bosses would not be happy. He wasn’t to lose another. Mikhail Jezek didn’t lose anything . And he never let down the bosses. No one, no damn one made him look bad to the bosses. Not ever.
    Dusk. He saw her fighting him, saw the anger in her, heard her screams in his head as she’d been taught her place.
    He could still see the pale glacier eyes staring at him in fear and submissiveness as she’d begged for her life, as she’d promised not to ever escape.
    “N-no. No, I promise, I won’t ever do that. I won’t ever escape . ”
    A roar ripped from his chest. He’d actually thought, actually believed he could change her, let her see all he’d give her, make her accept her place with him. He picked up the side table from the end of the sofa and tossed it, the lamp, its custom-made Moravian crystal shade, shattering as it hit the hard floor. He wished it was Reyer’s skull.
    Bastard. How dare he take what was Mikhail’s. No one, not a single