Mile High Daddy (Forbidden Silver Foxes #3)

29. Mikhail

29

MIKHAIL

A lexei.

He watches me, his own weapon raised but not firing.

Not yet.

His jaw tightens, something flickering in his expression—like he’s weighing his next move.

I don’t give a damn.

“You’ve been under my nose this whole time,” I growl, stepping forward, the rage inside me turning razor-sharp. “Hiding. Playing games. And now you?—”

A blur of movement from my right.

I turn just in time to block an attack, a knife swinging toward my ribs. The blade skims my side, tearing through fabric, grazing skin. I grab the bastard’s wrist, twisting hard, snapping bone before shoving my gun against his temple.

One shot.

His body slumps.

I whirl back around?—

Alexei is gone.

Fuck.

I grit my teeth, scanning the area, gun raised. He slipped away.

“Coward,” I mutter under my breath, pushing forward.

The warehouse is in chaos, bodies littering the floor, gunfire still rattling in the distance. I step over a groaning man, my boots slick with blood, my mind razor-focused.

I need to find Lila.

Now.

A pained whimper comes from the side.

I pivot fast, gun aimed?—

Maggie.

She’s slumped against a stack of crates, clutching her leg, blood seeping between her fingers. Her face is pale, her breathing ragged.

I holster my gun, moving toward her. “What the hell happened?”

She lets out a breathless laugh, grimacing. “Tried to run. Didn’t work out too well.”

I crouch beside her, assessing the wound. It’s shallow, she’ll survive.

“Where’s is she?”

Maggie presses her lips together, eyes flicking past me.

A beat of silence. Then?—

“The garden.”

My heart slams.

Maggie lets out a shaky breath, still clutching her bleeding leg. She looks up at me, eyes glassy with pain.

“Go,” she says, her voice hoarse. She glares. “Don’t you dare waste time on me when your wife is out there.”

My chest tightens.

She’s right.

There’s no time to waste.

I move fast, cutting through the shadows of the garden, my boots barely making a sound on the damp earth. The scent of crushed flowers and gunpowder lingers in the air, the only reminder that this place was once something peaceful.

Not anymore.

A man steps out from behind a hedge, gun raised. Too slow. I fire once, the bullet punching through his skull before he can react.

Another one rushes me from the side. I duck, grab him by the collar, and slam him headfirst into a stone fountain. His body goes limp, blood dripping into the water.

Three more by the path, trying to block my way to the warehouse doors.

One lunges at me with a knife. I sidestep, twist his arm back until I hear the sharp snap of bone, then drive my blade into his chest. The next one fires at me. I roll behind a statue, then pop up and take him out with two precise shots to the ribs. The last guy hesitates. I can see the moment he realizes he’s not walking out of here alive.

I give him no time to react.

I charge forward, grab the barrel of his gun, twist it to the side, and pistol-whip him so hard his skull cracks against the cobblestone.

Silence.

I exhale, gun still raised, pulse pounding.

The warehouse doors stand in front of me, slightly open. Lila is inside.

I push forward, stepping into the dim, industrial space.

And I find her.

Lila.

She’s bound to a chair, her hands tied behind her back, her breathing uneven. Her eyes fly to me the moment I enter, wide, desperate.

Relief floods her face—then vanishes when she looks past me.

I don’t hesitate. I drop low as a gun fires from the side.

The bullet whizzes over my head.

I pivot, fire back, and the man drops instantly.

Another one rushes me. I grab him by the throat, shove him against the wall, and crack his skull against the concrete.

More movement in my periphery. Two more men closing in.

I fire once. The first one drops.

The second lunges. I sidestep, grab his wrist, twist the gun from his grip, and drive my knee into his gut. As he staggers, choking for breath, I fire point-blank into his chest.

Silence.

My breath is sharp, controlled.

I turn to Lila.

She’s shaking, her lip trembling, but she’s alive.

I crouch in front of her, reaching for the rope binding her hands. “Are you hurt?” I murmur, scanning her face, her body, looking for any sign of injury.

She shakes her head quickly, but something is wrong.

She’s trembling.

Her breath shudders, her wide eyes flickering past me.

A warning.

I register the movement too late.

A sudden, brutal force slams into the side of my head.

The world spins.

Pain explodes through my skull as I hit the ground, my vision darkening at the edges.

Footsteps.

A presence looming over me.

I blink rapidly, forcing myself to focus, my instincts screaming at me to move, fight, kill.

Through the haze, a familiar voice sneers, “You didn’t think I’d let you walk away from this, did you, Mikhail?”

Evans.

That smug bastard.

Lila gasps, her voice breaking. “Dad, don’t?—”

He grabs her by the arm, yanking her away from me.

My rage ignites, sharp and deadly, cutting through the dizziness.

He put his hands on her.

I push off the floor, shaking the fog from my mind, but a boot slams into my ribs, sending a white-hot spike of pain through my side.

Evans crouches beside me, grinning. “You were always too arrogant to see it, weren’t you?”

I spit blood onto the concrete, lifting my gaze to his. I force myself upright, my ribs aching from the blow, but I don’t break eye contact with Evans.

He holds the gun casually in front of my face.

Lila struggles in his grip, her face twisted in panic.

“Let her go,” I growl, my voice rough.

Evans chuckles. “You still think you’re in control here, boy?” He jerks Lila closer, his fingers digging into her arm.

Lila winces, and my patience snaps. I lurch forward, but he sees it coming.

The gun whips across my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain flares, sharp and immediate, but I don’t go down.

Lila screams my name.

I blink through the ringing in my ears, my vision narrowing to one goal.

Kill him.

Evans shakes his head like I’m a damn disappointment. “You still don’t get it, do you? This was never about you.”

I flex my fingers, measuring the distance between us, searching for an opening.

He continues, his voice smooth, taunting. “You think I’d let my only leverage slip away?” He strokes Lila’s hair with his free hand. A mistake.

Her knee jerks up—slamming into his crotch.

He lets out a choked curse, his grip on her loosening for half a second.

That’s all I need.

I move, lunging forward, gripping his wrist before he can aim the gun again. The shot fires wide, the sound echoing through the warehouse. I twist his arm, wrenching it back until I hear the sharp pop of bone.

Evans howls, his body jerking in pain, but I don’t let go.

I slam my fist into his face—once, twice—until he staggers back, blood spilling from his nose. He tries to lunge for the gun, but I kick it across the floor. He stumbles, breathing hard, glaring at me through swelling eyes.

He’s still smiling.

“You think killing me changes anything?” he pants. “You’re already too late.”

He smirks at me, blood dripping from his split lip, and I press my gun harder against his skull. My finger tightens over the trigger.

“I should kill you for touching her.”

His lips twist into something close to amusement. “Then do it.”

I almost do.

But before I can pull the trigger?—

A gunshot cracks through the air.

A sharp pain explodes in my right hand, and my gun goes flying, clattering against the concrete. The force sends me staggering back, clutching my bleeding palm.

Fucking hell.

Another shot follows, barely missing my head. I drop low, rolling behind a stack of crates as more bullets rip through the air.

Lila screams.

I twist, eyes locking onto the shooter?—

A man I don’t recognize.

He’s tall, wiry, dressed in dark tactical gear, his gun still smoking. His stance is confident, precise, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. A trained killer.

His cold gaze lands on me.

I don’t know his name yet, but I know his type.

Evans exhales, brushing dust off his jacket like he wasn’t just about to get his head blown off. “Took your sweet time, didn’t you, Ryan?”

Ryan doesn’t answer him. He just cocks his gun and aims at me again. I brace myself, ready to dodge, attack, something?—

Then a second gunshot rings out.

Ryan jerks backward, a bullet grazing his shoulder.

From behind.

I turn sharply, and my stomach clenches.

Alexei.

He stands in the warehouse entrance, gun raised, expression unreadable.

Ryan growls in pain, gripping his arm, and finally speaks. “You fucking traitor.”

Alexei steps forward, cocking his gun at him. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Ryan fires back.

Alexei moves fast, dodging the shot, and in the chaos, I don’t hesitate.

I lunge for Evans.

He swings first, his fist crashing into my jaw, but I take the hit, slamming into him and knocking him to the ground.

I drive my elbow into his ribs, hear the breath leave his lungs, but before I can finish him?—

Ryan turns the gun on Lila.

Everything stops.

She freezes, wide-eyed, hands protectively over her belly.

My chest goes tight.

Ryan’s lip curls. “Put the knife down, Mikhail.”

I hadn’t even realized I’d grabbed one.

Lila shakes her head at me, terrified. “Don’t.”

I exhale slowly, keeping my voice calm, cold. “You pull that trigger,” I say, “and I will make you suffer in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Ryan just grins.

I see his finger move over the trigger?—

I move before I think, diving forward, grabbing Lila and twisting just as the shot fires.

Pain tears through my side.

I grunt, stumbling, but I don’t let go of her.

I push her behind a crate, shielding her. “Stay down.”

She gasps, pressing her hands to my side, where the blood is spreading fast.

I ignore it.

Alexei fires another shot, forcing Ryan to stumble back. “Get up, you bastard,” he snarls.

Evans is still on the ground, groaning in pain. I grab a broken pipe from the floor and slam it against his temple.

He goes limp.

Ryan sees this, curses, and starts to run.

Alexei doesn’t let him. He moves fast, tackling Ryan, both of them crashing hard against the floor. They struggle, fists flying, the gun skidding across the room.

I force myself up, ignoring the pain in my side, and grab my own gun from the floor.

Ryan sees it too late.

I fire, and the bullet slams into his chest.

His body jerks, his eyes going wide. He stumbles back, blood blooming against his dark shirt. He gasps, like he wants to say something—then collapses.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

Lila is still crouched behind the crate, her hands shaking, her eyes locked on me.

Alexei shoves himself off the floor, dusting himself off, his expression unreadable.

Evans is still breathing, barely. I step forward, pressing my gun to his bloody forehead.

Lila stands, her voice shaking. “Mikhail, don’t.”

I glance at her. Then, slowly, lower my gun.

Her cold fingers clamp around my arm, and I barely have a second to register the way she’s shaking, her chest rising and falling too fast, before she gasps, “Mikhail?—”

Her nails dig into my skin.

“The babies—” She sucks in a sharp breath “They’re coming.”

Everything else falls away.

Because Lila is doubling over, clutching her belly, her face contorted in pain.

I catch her before she collapses, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Breathe, kiska ,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady even as panic claws at my throat.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping my jacket. “It—hurts.”

I glance up. Alex is already moving.

“We need to get her out of here, now,” he says, his usual calm completely gone.

I don’t waste time.

I scoop Lila into my arms, ignoring the fire in my ribs as she buries her face in my shoulder, trembling. Alex leads the way out of the warehouse, stepping over bodies, kicking Evans’s half-conscious form aside.

Outside, the night is cool, but Lila is burning up.

Torres is already pulling up in one of our SUVs, the tires screeching against the pavement. His eyes widen the second he sees Lila in my arms.

“Shit,” he mutters, yanking the back door open. “She in labor?”

“She’s having contractions,” I grit out. “We need to move.” I slide into the back seat with her, keeping her pressed against me.

Torres slams the gas.

Lila gasps again, her body going stiff. I cradle her face, forcing her to look at me.

“We’re almost there,” I promise, even though I have no fucking clue how much time we have.

Her eyes flutter, her breath shuddering.

But she nods.

And I hold her tighter, praying we make it in time.