32. Vadim
32
VADIM
The heavy cathedral doors close behind us as we step outside.
Lacey's hand trembles in mine, but her steps remain steady despite the weight of the Archbishop's bible beneath her dress.
A line of black Mercedes waits, three abreast, at the bottom of the steps. I guide Lacey into the nearest one. As soon as the door closes, I open door facing away from the church and the door to the middle Mercedes.
Demyon stays in the one we just exited. He'll serve as the decoy meant to throw off anyone following us, and rejoin us at the airport in Melun Villaroche.
The rest of my men arrange themselves in formation, blocking potential sight lines from surrounding buildings while we complete the ruse.
"Almost there," I whisper to Lacey. "We'll be alright."
She squeezes my hand in response, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. The cathedral bells toll overhead as we descend, marking what should be a joyous occasion.
But all it does is send my pulse racing with controlled urgency.
As soon as our doors close, I tap the partition. "Champs-élysées. Keep it fast, but smooth."
Through the bulletproof glass, I watch the Alexander Nevsky recede behind us. Lacey's wedding dress rustles as she shifts closer. The scent of her perfume, citrus and lavender, fills the space between us.
"Did anyone notice?" she whispers.
"No." I brush my thumb across her knuckles. "You did well in there."
Traffic moves surprisingly well along the famous avenue. Tourist buses and taxis fight for their space in the lanes, providing the perfect excuse for our car to weave through them towards the Seine.
Lacey peers out the window at the Arc de Triomphe rising before us. "It's beautiful."
"We'll come back someday," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "When this is finished."
The boat is exactly where Demyon arranged it, tucked against the riverbank under the bridge. It's hidden in plain sight among the tourist vessels. Just a few more minutes and we'll be free of this place.
I watch Lacey's face as she takes in the view of Paris on both sides of the Seine as I put the boat in motion.
Her beauty in the soft light of day makes my chest tighten. The engagement ring catches the glow from the riverbank, and her blonde hair flutters in the wind.
For a moment I dare to let myself forget why we're really here.
A flash of movement catches my eye. Three boats trailing us, keeping pace but trying to look casual about it. Lacey notices too. I can see it in how her shoulders tense.
"Kirsan's men?" she whispers, leaning closer to me.
"Most likely." My hand slides inside my jacket, fingers wrapping around the familiar grip of my Glock. "Stay down."
The boats edge nearer, their wakes creating ripples behind them. I push the speedboat faster, and they keep pace. I count six men on each. Too many to be tourists out for a cruise.
Looks like Sayanaa is acting exactly as I predict she would.
Whatever blood she intends to spill, it sure as shit wasn't going to be inside of that church.
"Vadim..." Lacey's voice wavers slightly. She's scared but trying not to show it.
"It's alright, zvyozdochka ." I draw my weapon, keeping it low and out of sight from the shore. "I won't let anything happen to you."
The nearest boat surges forward, coming alongside us. I can see their weapons now, poorly concealed under jackets. A bloodbath is about to start.
The first shot comes from our left.
I drop and push Lacey down to the deck with me as bullets crack over head. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils.
"Stay down!" I shove Lacey behind the helm station and slam the throttle forward. The boat lurches beneath us.
A heavy thud rocks the deck. One of Sayanaa's men has landed on our boat. His boots scrape against the fiberglass as he regains his balance. I don't give him time to steady himself.
I surge up, catching him in the jaw with my elbow. He staggers but manages to grab my jacket. We grapple, trading blows in the confined space. His knife flashes in.
I catch his wrist before the blade finds my throat, and fire two shots into his abdomen before kicking him into the water.
Lacey gasps behind me. I can't let her see this, but I have no choice.
Her hands cover her mouth, eyes wide with horror as the body disappears behind us.
The Seine swallows him without a trace, dark waters closing over yet another secret. When I turn back to Lacey, her face is pale as moonlight, but there is no fear in her eyes. She's stronger than she knows.
More shots ring out from the pursuing boats. I aim at the nearest one and fire back, but there's just too damn many.
I whirl back toward the helm, but Lacey has already beaten me there.
"I'll drive!" she shouts over the gunfire. "You focus on shooting back!"
For a split second, I hesitate. But there's steel in her eyes and her tone brooks no argument.
I give her a sharp nod and shift to cover her as she takes control.
The boat surges forward under her command. She handles it with surprising skill, weaving between the tourist vessels while I focus on the threats closing in from behind.
Two more of Sayanaa's men leap aboard. I meet the first one before his feet touch the deck. His body crumples as a pink mist of blood and brain appear in the air from a single bullet.
The second attacker slashes at me with a knife. I dodge, feeling the blade whisper past my ear. He's good. But I'm better.
I catch his arm on his next swing and slam him against the rail. His head cracks against the metal. Before he can recover, I snap his arm and send him to join his friend.
A third man lands behind me. I spin, but I'm not quite fast enough. His fist catches my jaw. Pain explodes through my skull. I taste blood.
Then the boat jerks hard right. The man stumbles, thrown off balance by Lacey's expert timing. I don't waste the opening. One precise strike to his temple drops him, a shot to the stomach stuns him, and a kick dislodges him.
Finally, the pursuing boats fall back. Whether they've run out of men willing to die or simply lost their nerve, I don't care.
Lacey cuts the engine, breathing hard. I cross to her in two strides and pull her into my arms. Her lips crash against mine, fierce and wild. She tastes like adrenaline and victory.
When we break apart, she's grinning. "We actually did it!"
"Not quite yet, zvyozdochka ." I brush my thumb across her cheek and then point into the distance. "There's a car waiting at that dock. From there, it's a straight shot to the heliport at Issy-les-Moulineaux."
She nods, determination replacing her triumph. We dock quickly and make our way to the waiting vehicle.
As we get in, I can't help but admire how her wedding dress, despite everything, remains pristine white.
The city blurs past as we speed toward the heliport. Lacey shifts beside me, the rustle of her wedding dress filling the silence.
"This feels familiar," she says, a hint of mischief in her voice. "But last time, you were much less gentle about getting me into the car."
"You weren't exactly as cooperative as you are now." I can't help but smirk. "Or carrying such precious cargo."
"And now look at us." Her hand finds mine in the darkness. "Me, willingly sitting next to you after we just stole from a church."
"Technically, we borrowed a bible and left a replacement." My thumb traces circles on her palm. "And you looked just as beautiful fighting me as you do now as my accomplice."
She doesn't say anything, but leans closer, her citrus and lavender scent teasing my senses.
The car turns onto the private road leading to the heliport. Through the windshield, I can see the helicopter's blades already spinning, ready for our arrival.
"Come on," I say as we pull up to the tarmac. "Our ride awaits."
I help Lacey from the car, supporting her as she gathers her dress. The wind from the rotors whips the fabric around us as we make our way to the helicopter. Once inside, I secure her harness while the pilot runs through his final checks.
"Irina's waiting with the jet." I tell her over the headset. "Twenty minutes and we'll be on our way home."
She squeezes my hand as I help her into the helicopter. Even through the thundering blades, I catch her whispering the word "home."
The helicopter lifts off, carrying us away from the chaos we've left behind. Lacey's hand remains firmly in mine as the city shrinks beneath us.
The helicopter touches down at Melun Villaroche. Through the windshield, I spot Irina standing by the jet's stairs, her red hair whipping in the rotor wash. Relief floods through me.
We're almost there.
I help Lacey down from the helicopter, her wedding dress billowing around us as we rush towards the jet. The tarmac stretches empty and long before us.
Suddenly, the sound of engines cuts through the air.
Multiple black SUVs screech onto the tarmac. My heart drops—Sayanaa's men. They must have figured out that this was where I'd be and radioed ahead to cut us off.
"Run!" I grab Lacey's hand and sprint toward the jet. Gunfire erupts behind us. Irina pulls a pistol from beneath her jacket and starts firing back, providing us cover.
Lacey stumbles in her wedding dress. I wrap my arm around her waist, half-carrying her as we race across the concrete. I can feel the bible bouncing against her with each step.
We're almost there!
A bullet cracks past my ear. Another pings off the jet's fuselage. Irina's gun barks steadily, keeping the attackers at bay as the two of us rush up the stairs. There's a triumphant smile on her face when she sees us.
"You did it!" she cries out as she keeps firing.
Then I hear it.
The unmistakable sharp crack of a rifle, louder and more terrible than the other weapons.
As if in slow motion, Irina jerks backward, red blooming across her chest like a grotesque flower. Her emerald eyes go wide with shock as she stumbles, and the pistol slips from her fingers even as the smile on her face remains.
"No!" Lacey's scream is piercing.
She breaks free from my grip and rushes towards Irina's crumpling body. Blood stains the pristine white of Lacey's wedding dress where she cradles Irina to her.
"No! No! No!" Lacey sobs, pressing her hands against the wound. Blood seeps between her fingers, staining them crimson. "Please! Please stay with us."
More bullets strike the jet around us. I need to get them inside, but Lacey won't let go of Irina.
The blood keeps spreading, soaking her wedding dress in a dark nauseating red.
I drag both women behind the jet's armored door, and slam it shut as bullets ping off the fuselage. "Take off! Now!" I bellow to Demyon in the cockpit.
The jet engines roar to life, drowning out the gunfire outside.
Turning back, my heart clenches at the sight before me. Lacey kneels on the floor, her once-pristine wedding dress now marred with crimson. Her hands press desperately against Irina's chest, trying to stem the bleeding.
"Stay with me, Irina!" Lacey begs, her voice breaking. "We'll get you help, just hold on."
But I recognize the vacant stare in Irina's eyes, and the way her chest has stopped moving.
I've seen that look too many times before.
The woman who helped me save so many others, who survived Kirsan's cruelty only to find freedom through my organization, now lies lifeless on my jet's floor.
"Lacey." I touch her shoulder gently. "She's gone."
"No!" She shrugs off my hand, continuing her futile efforts. "We can save her. We have to save her!"
Blood covers Lacey's hands, stains her wedding ring, and seeps into the delicate lace of her dress. Each press of her palms against Irina's wound sends another wave of red across the white fabric. The sight burns itself into my memory.
This is what happens when I let people get close to me. This is the price of my protection.
" Zvyozdochka ." I wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her away from Irina's body. "Let her go. There's nothing more we can do."
Lacey struggles against me for a moment before she collapses into my chest, her body wracking with sobs.
I hold her tighter as the jet lifts off, leaving Paris behind.