10. Vanya
10
VANYA
I t’s way too fucking early when I open my eyes.
Especially with how much I drank last night. Yet I could barely sleep after what happened with Ciro. The way he made me feel, the way he touched me, the way he dominated me.
Unacceptable, insane, fucking wonderful.
I dreamt about it, and I woke up soaking wet.
My hand trails down, stroking my clit. So tempting. I ponder seeking him out, going down to his room.
Until I hear a car screech out front. Hopping out of bed, I rush to the window in time to see Ciro get in Fyo’s car and peel out.
Shit.
Too many thoughts zip through my head.
Did that domineering asshole find out about last night? Is he going to retaliate? Or is he just taking Ciro to fuck with him?
Either way, I can’t resist the urge to follow.
Throwing on some black jeans, boots, and a sweater over a midriff tank top, I’m out the door. I grab my coat in the hall and head out to the garage, pinging Fyodor’s phone as I get into the Jeep. They are heading toward the docks.
Hm.
Fyo would kill me if he knew I hacked his phone. But this is not the first time I have wanted to know where he is, or isn’t.
As far as Bratva captains go, he is the best. Otherwise, he is a pain in my ass.
In this case, with Ciro and me involved…
He hates anyone who comes near me. And he hates Ciro with a passion. Put those two together and they’ll both be dead by noon.
I keep my distance once I spot their car, finding a good place to park and tailing them across the shipyard. Rooftops are easy access in this part of town. And they give me an overview of the situation.
Up ahead, I spot several boats docking, most unremarkable. But something seems off about them. They do not hold much cargo.
A moment later I hear a gunshot, and I do not have time to wait to see what those boats are carrying. Leaping down, I tumble, roll, and I’m running toward the sound of fighting.
I see my path clearly before I see the altercation.
Off a low overhand, onto a pile of pallets, over a crate, leaping the gap. A man dressed like the ones we met last night stalks below me, his gun raised to fire.
My dagger in the back of his head drops him quietly.
Two more are closing in on Fyodor. I spot him struggling with three attackers behind a stack of lobster cages. So I assist, dropping right behind the incoming assault, drawing my pistols and double tapping them in the skulls.
Out in the open, Ciro is fighting for his life.
Rushing the first enemy I see, I slash the back of his knee, dropping him and popping off another bullet at a shooter taking aim from atop a shipping container. Fyo shouts as the body drops beside him, followed by a cheer.
“Help has arrived! You bastards are fucked now!” He hoots, laughing maniacally.
Someone screams and my attention is back on Ciro.
“Where the fuck did you get a machete?” I yell, hurrying to join him against the press of enemies.
“Sometimes I think I just make wishes and weapons fall out of the sky!”
“I cannot tell sometimes if you are joking.”
Both of us grunt as six assailants circle in on us. And Shakal falls into a dance of death like he was meant for this.
He’s fucking magnificent.
Parrying, dodging, disarming, and maiming. We fall into sync, providing openings for one another, killing the ones the other missed, blocking wayward blows that would surely incapacitate or kill.
It’s honestly the most romantic thing I’ve ever felt.
No one has ever been able to keep up with me in a fight, let alone complement me. Before long, we are pushing them back, several dead. But more are on the way.
“This seems a little less like a smuggling operation and a lot more like a?—”
“Down!” Fyo bellows, unloading a shotgun in a spray as he kicks the last of his own opponents to the ground. It clears a path for us.
“Move, we can regroup on the other side of the pier.” I break into a run, not waiting to see if they follow.
“You showed up at just the right time,” Ciro snarks. “Almost like you were following us.”
“He is not wrong.”
“Shut up, both of you. I saw you leave and figured it was to go get into trouble.”
“Be honest, you thought Fyo was going to drown me in the river.”
I glare back at him as we run, all while clamping down on the urge to laugh at the thoughtful expression on Fyodor’s face.
“It was on the list of ways I thought of to end Shakal.”
“Hey! You said I was here for backup and good fighting!” Ciro fakes offense.
“You are. I just considered making accident with your body afterward.”
“Why does everyone want my body so bad?!”
“What does he mean by this?!” Fyo growls, giving me and Ciro a dirty look.
“Nothing!” We both shout at him simultaneously.
Reaching the far side of the pier, we duck down, catching our breath. Dozens of squads appear down below, fanning out, searching for us.
“How much ammo you have left?” I ask.
“One clip. Five shells for shotgun.” Fyo snaps, scoping out our position.
“I’ve got five bullets and a dozen knives. And Eddie.” Ciro rolls his shoulders, bouncing on his toes.
“Eddie?’”
“Eddie Machete. He’s rusty, but he’s trusty.”
“Why did I ask?” I grumble.
“I hate you so much right now,” Fyodor adds, edging out along a row of stacked boxes. Two of them explode right beside him in quick succession.
“Answers that question.”
“Snipers?”
“Snipers.”
We are pinned down. Outnumbered.
“Best route is through the factory, there. Good cover from fire.” I offer, gesturing for Fyo to cover me as I roll to another spot.
“Lead them into a funnel?” The bull of a man nods, signaling for Ciro to move.
“Deathtrap. Da .” I raise my gun as a few shouts announce that we are spotted. Three shots sends the group scattering for cover.
“Deathtrap. I like it. Reminds me of Sheila.” Ciro muses, waving us on, keeping an eye on a closing troupe of gangsters moving back into formation.
“Who is Sheila?” And I regret it the second I ask.
“My ex. Had to call the fire department with the jaws of life to get her off of me.”
“Keep your head down!” Fyo barks, shoving us forward. The way ahead is clear and we scurry like rats. Without a proper bead on the sniper, we cannot be careless. Clearing the factory doors, we slow, assessing the surroundings, looking for a back door.
There is no way out except the upper-level catwalks.
A few shattered windows high up near the rafters will give us access to the adjoining roofs. If we can make it up the broken stairs, the rusted ladder.
But by the time we reach them, this warehouse will be full of black-clad bastards with guns.
“We need backup, I will call it in—” I flip out my cell, pulling up the number.
No bars.
No signal at all.
“This fucking building is blocking my signal!”
“New plan,” Fyodor cocks his gun, setting it next to the door. He proceeds to haul machinery, anything he can reach in front of the opening, blocking the way. They will have to climb. Ciro joins in.
Angry shouts outside announce the arrival of our pursuers. Dozens of them. A few wayward shots ring out before the front of the building erupts in a ticktack of bullets. Only a few make it through the doorway, sending us diving.
“One of us should get out, try to get help.”
“Vanya, you are fastest?—”
“No way. I am not leaving you here to die.”
“Van…” Fyo growls a warning, spinning to unload a spray of pellets into the first face trying to get through the opening. “Do not make me pull rank…”
“Bullshit!”
Because technically he can in a situation like this. He is in charge of missions, troops. I am the operations manager. So in the field…
“Fyo, do not be stubborn. We will find a way?—”
Ciro shoves me aside as a canister clatters into the factory, spraying smoke.
“We are going. Now!”
Their tactics actually buy us time. They think they will smoke us out, so they do not rush in right away.
Just enough time for the three of us to climb the scaffolding in the back corner, reaching the rickety catwalk. But the window is too small for Ciro or Fyodor.
“Go!”
I start to argue but they both move to lift me up, forcing me bodily out of the thin gap. A part of me wants to scratch and kick for the indignity of this.
“I swear, I will kill you both when this is done!” I shout, climbing to my feet and running for the edge of the building. Gunfire echoes around me, down below and inside. They see me, but I am too quick, hopping down onto an old fire escape.
Landing hard, I look around the old yard, blocked off by high walls. The only way out is an overgrown gate.
But a grin spreads across my face as I take stock of the various vehicles. This is a parking lot. For industrial vehicles.
I only have eyes for the massive crane in the center. Let’s hope it still works.
Scrambling up into the cab, I fumble around, discovering the keys in the cup holder.
The ancient thing roars to life after two tries.
“What is it Miley said?” I grit out through my teeth, cranking the levers, “I came in like wrecking ball !”
Spinning the cab and the entire structure around, I build speed, dragging the enormous metal ball around, straight at the wall. The impact nearly unseats me, bashing through old brick.
“Holy shit!” I hear in the haze of dust ahead as I stumble down, raising my gun to pick off a couple of shadowy figures inside.
“Ciro!” I yell, scrambling over the rubble.
He and Fyo shoot out of the hole in the wall like bats out of hell. Which means any other shapes in the gloom are targets. I empty my clip, skidding as I reverse directions to follow my guys.
Fyodor is already in an old truck, coaxing the engine to life.
“Into the bed!”
I almost squeal as Ciro swoops an arm around my middle, lifting me effortlessly and tossing me over the side of the truck. He hops in behind, slapping the fender.
The chain gate barely puts up a fight as Fyodor bashes us through, out onto a gravel road. We barely make the end of the drive before I hear the sounds of cars firing up to follow us.
Leaning around the side, I shout to Fyo, “We need to get word to Pyotr and the others!”
“You try to call again?”
“ Net . No signal.”
“For me too.”
Ciro nods, flapping his hands and shaking his head.
“You think they have jammed communication?”
“ Da . This is not just a ring of smugglers. This is a full-scale invasion.”
The realization sinks into my gut as he says it. Confirmed almost immediately by the view to my right. We fly out along the wharf, hauling ass right beside the water.
Across the way, I see boats lining the dock. Dozens of gun-toting men in black form up on the shore.
Not to mention the caravan of trucks and SUVs that swerve out behind us.
Fyo takes a hard left, veering back into the industrial zone, backtracking and buying us time. After several minutes without a sign of a tail, he screeches to a halt right next to my Jeep.
“Come, we will get back to compound, regroup,” I affirm, rushing for the driver’s side door.
Fyo slams it as soon as I get it open.
“What the hell?”
“This is not protocol.”
“I do not care about protocol, our people need to know!”
“If our scouts are not already aware of the problem, we are already dead.”
Anger wells up, frustration taking control. With a furious snarl, I turn away, pacing. “I will not hide.”
“Uh, anyone wanna fill me in on ‘protocol’?”
“ Fyodor wants us to split up. Go to meeting points. Wait for instruction from base.”
“Sounds smart.”
“I will take Jeep. Lead them on goose chase. See if I can find out who they are. Gather men along the way.”
“Fyo—”
“This is my duty. You have yours. It’s more important that you stay alive. Stay safe. Use brain. Not balls, woman.”
I quiver with rage as I glare at him, but I cannot speak. He is right.
I am not thinking clearly.
We stand there in silence for a moment, longer than we should. The three of us are battered, bruised. Fyodor has a couple of gunshot wounds on his arm, his leg. Ciro bleeding from a half dozen cuts. A gash on my forehead has me squinting out of one eye as blood trickles down.
Everything is going to shit. Gunfire echoes across the city.
“How did we not see this coming?”
“Maybe someone did.” Ciro’s eyes harden, meeting mine, then Fyodor’s gaze.
“You think this is inside job?”
“If it is, then protocol changes,” Fyo growls, leveling a stern look at me.
“Safe house.” I sigh. “We will wait out the storm. But you better radio me as soon as you make it to redoubt. As soon as you make contact with Pyotr and Matvey.”
“ Da .”
Turning away from me he addresses Ciro. “Shakal.”
“Yes, Kapitan .” Ciro snaps to attention.
My eyes widen at the immediate response. Not even a snide remark or a raised eyebrow.
“Protect her with your life.” He’s right in Ciro’s face, speaking low and calm. “I trust you now, Shakal. Do not dishonor Volk.”
“ Krov’ i chest’ . On blood and honor. I swear I will.” They clap hands together like a cheesy American action film. But no one is laughing. Ciro takes the keys to Fyo’s car.
“Do not die today, brother,” I whisper, grasping Fyodor’s arm.
Fyo smiles grimly. “If I die, I do so for honor. For family.”
“For family.” I agree.
“Give ’em hell, Flattop.” Ciro nods, pulling me away.
“Fuck you, komik . There is reason I park here, lead them down this route.” He slides a device from his pocket, flipping open the panel on the front.
Ciro’s eyes widen as we climb into the Porsche, revving the engine.
“ Dobro pozhalovat ,” Fyo salutes the line of SUVs rounding the corner several hundred yards out. “On behalf of Volk Bratva, I welcome you to your deaths.”
He hits the button, firing off explosives and blasting the first few cars sky-high. Right as Ciro pulls away.
All I can do is watch in the rearview as he climbs in the Jeep and drives off in another direction. Despite our sometimes awkward relationship, I worry I will not see him again.
Our route takes us an hour, doubling back, assuring that we are not followed. Once we are on the highway, I settle back for a bit.
“Where am I going?” Ciro asks softly. I must have spaced out. We are already on the far side of the city.
“Head left up here. We can disappear, so to speak, by taking that back street.”
“I like it.”
“I do not.” Any of this. Not being there at headquarters. Not knowing if my people are safe.
But I know my duty.
We park in a coded garage, continuing on foot through several buildings, underground tunnels. By the time we reach the apartment building, we are both huffing. At the top of the stairs I lean against the wall, resting my hands on my knees.
“Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?” I look up, noting the hint of a smile on his face.
“Saving our asses.”
“I could not let you die. Not without getting you back for last night.”
“You rescued me so you can get revenge?”
“So I can do this.” All of the pent-up frustration in me bubbles over. My fears, my anger. Everything rushes to the surface and all I can think about right now is distracting myself from running away, from hiding. The last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind.
And I need him close to me. Inside me.
Before he can say a word I throw my arms around his neck, kissing him, claiming his mouth. He lifts me into his arms, swinging me around toward the door, turning circles as I fumble the key from my pocket, ram it into the lock, never once pulling apart as he devours my lips.
Then we are inside, slamming the door.
I tear at his shirt, dropping my coat as he tosses his aside.
“Van—”
“I need you. Now. No games.”