CAPTURED

  QUINN STORM

  CAPTURED. Copyright © 2025 Quinn Storm

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Beta reader: Petra and Caty

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Behind the Words

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  VIKTOR

  There are two things that have to be done: make this city remember who owns it, and remind every family that once bent the knee to Father they answer to me now.

  I walk toward Vespers, my boots hitting the pavement with a weight that says this street belongs to me. I’m not the Pakhan yet, just a dead man’s son moving through a city that thinks it can forget the right Morozov name. My ribs ache, the dull throb reminding me that the harbor meeting didn't go as quietly as I wanted.

  The bass hits first, vibrating through my boots as we carve through the crowd. This is our territory. The bodies part for us out of habit, and we hit the bar. The bartender doesn’t wait for an order; he just lines up three tumblers and fills them with the good stuff.

  Lev snatches his up and slams it back before the liquid even settles. He exhales a sharp, burning breath, eyes bright with adrenaline. “Fifty million, Vitya. I had them sweating through their suits by the time I walked them through the new security contracts. That’s just the first quarter. Can you believe that?”

  “I can. If they deliver what they promised.” I tap my glass against his but don’t drink. My eyes stay on the crowd, scanning faces for the flicker of a threat. I have the harbor now.

  “You’re still scanning the room,” Nikolai notes, leaning his back against the bar so he can watch the floor. “The contracts are signed. The ink is dry. Drink your damn vodka before it evaporates.”

  “The ink’s never dry until the first shipment clears the crane,” I counter, my gaze settling on a group of men by the far exit. “And even then, people develop memory loss.”

  Lev chuckles, wiping a stray drop of alcohol from his lip. “He’s right, Niko. My brother doesn’t sleep; he just waits for people to disappoint him.”

  “It’s a full-time job,” I mutter.

  I eye my younger brother. He looks like Father did before the end. Proud. Untouchable. And breakable.

  “Well, I bet the bastard pissed himself when he saw Lev’s pretty face walk into that boardroom,” Nikolai scoffs. “He thought he was dealing with a kid until Lev started tearing into them. Pretty face, sharp brain.”

  I bump my best friend’s shoulder, feeling the muscle beneath his jacket. “I think the guy was just relieved I showed up to keep Lev from taking his head off.”

  Nikolai’s mouth quirks. “Exactly. Still, you gave them a minute to think.”

  “That’s because I had it handled.” Lev straightens, adjusting his collar. “They were bluffing.”

  Nikolai snorts, and I don’t bother holding back my laugh. Lev thinks it was a game of poker; I know it was a standoff.

  “What?” Lev blinks, glancing between us. “What?”

  “Nothing, mladshenkiy... I watched you skin them alive tonight. I told you that. They wouldn’t have even opened the doors if they knew you were that cold behind a smile.”

  Lev practically glows at the praise.

  “Perhaps we should find Lev some entertainment for the night.” I wink at Nikolai. “As a thank you.”

  “Please. The last time I took a girl home, you practically kicked her out of the house.”

  “That’s because she was sniffing around the office.”

  “She wasn’t sniffing, she was practically conducting an audit,” I remind him. “I don’t care who you fuck, Lev, as long as they don’t have a wire or a hidden agenda. Which, in this city, narrows your options to about three people.”

  “And two of them are related to us,” Nikolai adds, cackling.

  Lev huffs, his gaze drifting back to the crowd.

  “Maybe you should try a guy this time?” Nikolai nods toward the door where a group of boys filter in. “Like, that one? Black shirt. Blond hair. He’s cute.”

  “A guy,” Lev mutters. “They’re even harder to get.”

  The waitress slides a separate tray of shots onto the wood before we can even ask. She’s worked Vespers long enough to know the Morozovs don’t like empty glasses. “For the Morozovs. The real ones.”

  “You’re a darling.” Nikolai grins, his dark eyes tracking her movements. “How’d you know I was thirsty again?”

  She rolls her eyes and walks away. I drag my tumbler across the wood, then tip it back and swallow the rest in one burning reach. “Sergei’s going to break something when he hears we took the docks.”

  Lev gives the guys by the door one last look, then turns away and downs his shot.

  Nikolai huffs a short laugh. “Your uncle can go and fuck himself. Traitors always think they deserve a cut.”

  I set my jaw, my fingers curling instinctively toward my father’s dagger at my hip. “Not a fucking penny is what he gets. Father built those ties. We only finished what he started.”

  Lev studies me, his expression softening. “You turn twenty-five tomorrow. Father and Mother would’ve been proud of you.”

  The words land deeper than he knows. Nikolai watches me too, and for a breath, it’s like we share the same memory. He breaks it with a quiet huff. “Don’t let him get in your head. Sentiment. Lies. They get men killed faster than bullets.”

  He’s not wrong. Ever since Father died, the rules haven’t held the same way.

  Always check your surroundings. Never trust the quiet man.

  I scan the room once more. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is wrong tonight. The noise is too rhythmic, the shadows too stationary. I set my empty glass on the bar. “I’m going home.”

  “Already?”

  “Already. Come on, mladshenkiy. Let’s go.”

  “You’re being paranoid again,” Lev groans, though he’s already reaching for his coat. “We just won the docks. We should be celebrating, not running back to the fortress to count the silver.”

  “I count the silver so you can afford to lose it at the tables,” I snap, but I keep my hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the door. “Move.”

  Nikolai falls into step behind us, his humor drying up as he scans the exits. “The queue is too long for a Friday. Too many cars idling on the curb. Vitya is right. Something smells like shit.”

  We could retreat and wait for the armored detail, but a Morozov doesn't hide from his own curb. The shadows aren't right, yet I keep walking because the alternative is letting this city see me flinch.

  “Can we at least open the Beluga?” Lev asks.

  “Tomorrow, for Viktor’s birthday. Right before we find you someone to fuck. You’re clearly lacking.” Nikolai’s grin is sharp in the dim light.

  “Oh, fuck off.” Lev swings at him and misses. Nikolai just laughs and keeps walking.

  The blond guy in the black shirt is leaning against a pillar near the exit, looking too clean for a place like this. As we pass, he catches Lev’s eye and offers a slow, knowing smile. My brother stops mid-step, a dark flush creeping up his neck before he quickly looks away, his movements suddenly clumsy. I dismiss the interaction as the drink and the heat of the club. Lev is soft. He needs to harden if he’s going to survive this city.

  Outside, the bouncer pulls the rope wide the second he sees me. He keeps his head down in a mix of respect and fear. I give him a quick nod as we hit the sidewalk.

  Across the street, Artyom is already waiting by the black Maserati. The rain streaks the pavement, the streetlights smeared across the wet asphalt. A line has already formed along the curb. I feel their stares like heat on the back of my neck. In this part of town, everyone knows the Morozov name. Still, tonight the crowd is quieter than usual. I don’t like it.

  Lev and Nikolai are still bickering as we reach the car.

  “Enough about sex.” I slow beside the curb. “Lev, take home whoever you want. Just keep them out of the office.”

  “Viktor,” Lev’s brows draw together, offended. “I was just saying to Nikolai that⁠—”

  “You’re looking for something serious.” Nikolai clicks his tongue. “You barely had your fun yet, mladshenk
iy. Don’t tie yourself to someone who’s watching what you can give them instead of who you are. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Lev mutters.

  “No. I’m just being honest.”

  We reach the Maserati. Artyom tips his head.

  “Take us home.”

  “Da, Pakhan.”

  I let the others drift ahead. The line by the bar is too still. I look back once more, counting the exits. Artyom goes for the driver’s door. His shoulders are set higher than usual, his jaw locked. His hand pauses on the key fob. Just a fraction, but enough to put my instincts on edge.

  “Why isn’t the door opening?”

  He doesn’t answer, but clicks the fob again. It chirps and goes nowhere. He tries it a third time, his thumb white against the plastic now.

  “Artyom?” My pulse kicks as the logic of the situation clicks into place. Someone has jammed the signal. “Get down!”

  The glass explodes, raining down in shards as the first scream cuts through the music. Gunfire follows, rattling my chest and forcing the air from my lungs. I feel a sudden, wet heat against my ribs, spreading through my shirt until I start to tilt. I can't track the movement. It's all too fast and it seems I'm just a witness to my own ending.

  “What the fuck?” I shout, but my voice comes out wrong. The words echo inside my head. Another shot rings out. Then another.

  I see Artyom go down. He hits the pavement hard. Blood spills from his leg.

  “Vik? Vitya!”

  Lev’s voice is a sharp spike in the chaos. I try to push up and find him, but my vision blurs. Nothing stays in focus.

  “I’ve got you.” Nikolai grabs my arm, hauling at me, but my legs won’t hold. My body doesn’t answer.

  “They fucking shot him! Oh my god, they shot my brother!”

  “Lev?” I try to say his name. I want to tell him I’m fine, that he needs to calm down. The words never make it past my throat.

  “Come on, brother,” Nikolai says, hauling at me. “Get up. We’ve got to go.”

  Sirens cut through the noise, close now. Dozens of headlights swing around the corner, flooding the street with blinding white light. I’m so cold. I want to say I’ll be right there. I know, even as the thought forms, that it’s a lie.

  Lies get you killed faster than bullets.

  “Someone called the cops!”

  “They’re almost here!”

  “If we stay, they’ll lock us in a hole and Sergei takes the city by morning!” Nikolai swears, his grip tightening as the flashing lights hit the wet asphalt. “Move, Lev! We’ll come back for him!”

  Nikolai tries again, dragging me upright. My weight pulls him down. My legs fold.

  “Fuck.” His grip tightens on my jacket. “He’s too heavy.”

  Hands grab my face. It’s Nikolai. They’re rough and shake. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him this rattled before.

  “Vitya. Stay with me. Look at me. We need to move. Now.”

  “Lev…” I whisper. Blood spills from my mouth.

  Hands drag me across the street. My back scrapes pavement. Pain flares, then dulls into a distant hum.

  “We have no time. We need to go. Now!”

  Nikolai’s hand slips inside my coat, fumbling at my chest until my father’s dagger slides free in his grip. It’s the last thing I have. My fingers won’t close around the hilt. My eyes flutter.

  “I’ll find you,” Lev whispers, his voice breaking as hands pull him away. “Vitya. Don’t die on me.”

  Then their voices are gone.

  And I’m flat on the wet asphalt. Rain pools against my side, soaking through my clothes. I watch the taillights of the SUV disappear down the street, leaving me alone.

  My chest hitches. Then everything goes quiet.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  JONAH

  I should’ve ignored the call the second I saw his name flash across my screen. But he said he needed me. So like the loser I am, I came. Now he’s standing by my front door like he never left.

  “Jonah.” He steps out of the shadow as if he has a right to be here. He doesn’t. He’s ten years too late, and still, I can’t say no.

  “Dad.” I stop on the gravel. My keys are still clenched in my hand. He stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket. “You said you needed me. What is it?”

  He rubs his neck. His eyes flick past my shoulder, down the drive, then back again. “I need you to come with me.”

  “Come with you? Where to?” I stare at him. A strand of blond hair falls forward and I shove it back behind my ear. I haven’t cut it in months. “Right now?”

  “It’s only a short ride.”

  I shift my weight. My feet are throbbing inside my shoes. “Where to? I just came off a twelve-hour shift at the hospital.” As if to prove the point, my scrubs cling to my legs, damp and stiff with the smell of the ER. I want them off my skin.

  “We’ll be quick. I need you, son.”

  My chest tightens. I hate that his voice still sounds familiar, and I hate that I’ve missed him. I cross my arms, my nails biting into the cheap fabric of my sleeves. “What does that mean? Are you in trouble?”

  His gaze flicks over the worn steps, the busted railing, and the trash scattered across the drive. His mouth thins into a hard line when he glances at his watch. “No. But I will be if we’re late. You were always difficult.”

  My jaw locks. “Is that why you left?”

  Irritation flashes across his face. “And dramatic.” He turns toward the driveway. “I don’t have time for this. Come on. We’ll talk on the way.”

  “I’m not⁠—”

  “Jonah.” The word lands like it always did.

  You’re the biggest mistake of my life.

  I swallow hard. “Can I at least change? Maybe shower? I smell like antiseptic.”

  He doesn’t respond. When I glance back, he’s already walking toward the car idling at the curb. I should turn around. I should tell him to fuck himself and crash in bed, remembering his silence for the past ten years. But I don’t. I follow him because a part of me is still that kid waiting by the window for a man who never came home.

  From up close, the car is worse. Old coffee cups and fast-food bags crowd the floor. It smells like stale smoke and cheap air freshener. Dad drives without looking at me. The trailer park slides past, then the dark strip of road lined with closed shops and crappy bars.

  I shouldn’t be in a car with the man who kicked me out the day Mom was buried, her clothes still in the closet. He didn’t even say goodbye.

  Dad clears his throat. “I told you a long time ago you should get yourself a proper job. One that pays decently.”

  “Like your job, you mean?” I stare at the glove compartment. “As strange as it might sound to you, I love what I do.”

  He wrinkles his nose.

  “So, you disappear for ten years, and now you call. Tell me why you needed me.”

  His jaw tightens. He keeps his eyes on the road. “I told you I needed you to come with me.”

  “Where?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. “It’s not far.”

  Around us, the streets change. Brick gives way to high walls and cameras that track the car. Every lens we pass feels like a deadbolt sliding home, but I stay in the seat and let him drive me into it.

  I keep waiting for the moment I’ll wake up. This isn't my life. This is a scene from a movie I’d usually turn off because it feels too impossible to believe. “Where are we?”

  “This won’t take long.”

  We slow near a guarded gate. Two men stand under a small roof in black coats and earpieces. One looks through the windshield while the other leans toward the window. Dad rolls it down and gives his name.

  When the gate slides open, my heart gives a weird lurch. “Dad,” I say quietly. “What is this place?”

  “Don’t start now, Jonah. Just behave. It’s important.” His hand tightens on the wheel.

  “Behave?” Like I’m fourteen again and talked back at dinner. “Really? You’re dragging me to this place and⁠—”

  I shut my mouth as the headlights sweep over the drive. The mansion is massive, a wall of white stone and glass. Before the car even stops, it is swarmed by guards. “Dad…”

  “I told you, this will only be a short meeting.” He parks under an arch. Before we even have time to get out, the car is already swarmed by guards. They’re all dressed in the same black coats, earpieces tucked away, coiled wires disappearing into their collars.