His Ruthless Negotiation

I built the route for him. Seven years of cash drops, bike shops, and motel breakfasts across four states, all of it invisible, all of it mine, and I told him in a diner in Tucson that I was done. The Bratva sent Kirill to negotiate instead of sending a bullet, and Kirill is the one man I have never been able to say no to, which is exactly why he was the wrong choice. He offered me a number that insulted both of us. I walked out. He followed. Two shops later somebody burned one down with the owner still upstairs, and I found out the skim that has been bleeding this route for two years belongs to the man who wears the club's patch. Now Kirill has to decide whether the patch or the woman who built his route means more, and I have already decided for him. I am not walking away this time. I am walking in.