"What the hell were you thinking?" Nikita scolds me, and I'm grateful the door is shut to the bedroom. Hopefully, no one else can overhear his disdain.
"I didn't know who she was. Her background check we did came back clean." It's the truth. I didn't have to fudge her credentials. The feds did that for me.
My options are limited. I kill Nikita and let the secret die with him or face the consequences. Killing a man I've come to accept as my brother wouldn't be easy, but it'd be worse for me to go head-to-head with Mikhail for my mistake.
Nikita exhales loudly through his nose. "We clean this mess up. Just you and me. No one else has to know."
"Kill the girl?" I don't like even suggesting it, but if I don't, he'll never believe I'm still on the bratva's side. And right now, I don't know what I want more: my life or hers. Both of us aren't going to survive.
I'm not a selfless man. I'd burn the world to the ground to get what I wanted. That includes destroying the club if necessary, but that won't save Savannah or me at this point.
"Unless you're in love with her?" Nikita asks.
I don't fall in love, least of all with a vixen who toyed with me to get information. "Let me get dressed."
Within the hour, we're driving up to her apartment complex. Our guns are equipped with silencers to keep the neighbors from calling the police. Although I doubt the situation is going to go down smoothly.
Savannah is FBI. She's not going to go down without a fight.
"Park around the side," I say, pointing at a nearby space around the corner, the opposite side of her apartment. The last thing I want is her noticing we're on our way up.
It's warm outside, stifling, and easy enough to blame my palms sweating on the weather, except for the rock in the pit of my stomach. If there were a better option, I'd suggest another choice.
Kill Nikita.
No.
He hasn't betrayed me. I won't shoot him, even if it means destroying the one person who's made me happy recently.
But it was all a lie. Nothing Savannah said was true. Her desire for me was probably just as much of an act as everything else.
I bite down on my bottom lip, and the pain sensation jolts me back to reality as we head up the stairs.
Five long-ass flights.
It didn't seem long with Savannah at my side. Her wistful smile and laugh made my heart hammer in my chest.
All I feel is pain, bitterness, and emptiness inside. Her betrayal burns me. The darkness will inevitably consume me. Killing Savannah isn't what I desire, but I see no other way out.
I stop in front of her apartment. We don't knock. Nikita pulls out a lock pick and gets the door open in seconds.
I breach the entrance, gun drawn, as I search for any sign of the blonde. There's no sign of her in the living room or kitchen. I search the bedroom while Nikita checks the bathroom.
"She's not here," Nikita says.
I open her closet, making sure that she isn't hiding. The hangers are empty, the closet barren. I yank open the top dresser drawer and then slam it closed, repeating the motion with the next one.
"She cleaned out and left," I say, glancing behind myself at Nikita.
I shouldn't be surprised that she bailed. Convincing her to work for the bratva and worm her way into the cartel for intel was a long shot.
Savannah played me.
She made me think that she would go along with it just to get me out of her apartment long enough for her to pack her bags and leave. Did she go home? Or maybe she fled for a safe house since the bratva knew her identity?
Nikita's jaw is firm, and his eyes tighten. "Did you warn her we were coming?"
I scoff under my breath at his suggestion. "How long have I been out of your sight?"
He folds his arms across his chest, unconvinced, and peers out the window.
"Damn, we just missed her," Nikita says.
I stalk up beside him. She's climbing into a cab. Her luggage must already be loaded into the vehicle.
We'll never make it down five flights of stairs before losing sight of her vehicle if we attempt to follow her.
"We know where she works," Nikita says.
"I'm not going to be able to breach the FBI building with a weapon." He's crazy for even suggesting it.
"No, you'll follow her when she leaves work. Find out where she lives."
I run my hand over my jaw. It's not a bad plan, but there are better ones. "We could just ask Detective Scott for another favor." We're paying the man well for his usefulness to the organization. What's the harm in having him dig a little deeper?
"And he'll likely relay the information to Mikhail," Nikita says, glancing at me. Like the man knows that I can't stop thinking about Savannah.
I'm torn.
I know what needs to be done, but when I'm faced with the decision of pulling the trigger, will I be able to go through with it?
Is that why Nikita insists on accompanying me? He has no relationship with her. He's barely spoken to her. There's no attachment or her clouding his judgment. He'll effortlessly be able to kill her.
I can't say the same.
We head out of her apartment and back into the SUV. Nikita drives us toward the bureau, not that I expect to see Savannah lugging her suitcases inside the building.
There are plenty of people on the street, but no sign of Savannah. For all we know, she could have gone home or to a safe house. Even if we spot her, there are too many witnesses and surveillance cameras surrounding the vicinity.
He circles the block, but there's no sign of Savannah. If she came here, she had a several-minute head start. "Let me out," I say.
Nikita glances at me as he pulls the vehicle over to the side of the road. Cars behind us honk. "What's your plan?"
"Something incredibly brave or stupid," I say and climb out of the vehicle.
He shakes his head as I step onto the sidewalk and lean into the SUV.
"I'm going to turn myself in to the feds." I slam the door shut and head for the main entrance.
Nikita is probably cursing, and I hear the front door slam as he hurries out after me, chasing my ass down. "Mikhail will kill you," Nikita warns. "Think about what you're doing. The betrayal to all of us."
He grabs me by the lapels, trying to make me see things his way. Convince me to come back to the vehicle with him. "You can't do this, Anton."
"I'm in love with her." The words spill out before I even realize what I'm saying.