Chapter 40
FORTY
November
MADS
I’m tired and cranky. It’s been a long summer and now fall of creeping around Europe and the Mediterranean, waiting for assholes to pop out of their little holes so I can slice their necks.
I got to build a bomb in Zurich. That was fun.
Domhn helped source supplies for it. He wasn’t happy about that, but then, what the hell is that man happy about these days?
Every time I call, it’s grouch grouch grouch, all maudlin I-miss-yous and when-are-you-coming-homes and you-don’t-need-all-this-blood-on-your-hands blah blah blah.
I don’t mind the blood. Anna stays safely tucked away most of the time unless the parasite needs dealing with—like yesterday, when the heartburn and back spasms were so bad, Red and I both noped out and let Anna have every minute of it.
Pregnancy at eight months in is worse than having your fingernails pried off, in my humble opinion.
We spent August in Madrid in a flat with no air-conditioning, and I thought I was gonna murder Red, if I could’ve got her separated enough from me to do it.
The little sociopathic bitch kept sucking on all the ice to cool herself down and then not refilling the trays.
I glare down at the parasite making us so lumbering and off-balance.
Seriously, who the fuck came up with this design?
Why couldn’t we be like lizards and just lay an egg you could put under a heat lamp or some shit for nine months? This was some serious evolutional fuckup, if I do say so myself.
Red’s a pretty dexterous and lethal little shit, but even she’s become off balance and almost not able to hold her own in this new pear-shaped body.
We topple sideways at unexpected times, have fat ankles, and retain water like a bitch when we travel.
Which is almost constantly, since staying on the move is all but a requirement in this line of work.
Hardly ideal for always keeping the drop on the enemy.
Last week, Red actually broke a sweat when a bullet zinged within half an inch of our fucking head.
At least there’s one advantage of being a whale on feet.
Everybody underestimates a little pregnant lady.
And I mean, fuck, I’ll take it. I’ve never been more invisible in my life. Invisible is good in the spy world. Or assassin world. Is that what I am? I mean, it’ll be a short-lived career, but still.
The parasite kicks against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, and I wince, pressing a gloved hand to my side. “Easy there, little psychopath,” I mutter. “You’ll get your turn to wreak havoc soon enough. There are too many of us in here as it is. Be glad you get to be pooped out soon.”
Today, I’m huffing through a snowy forest so I can stay under the tree coverage, in snowshoes and trekking poles on top of a goddamn mountain in Russia.
A fucking mountain in fucking Russia. With a huge fucking parasite sticking out of my belly like a lead bucket trying to knock me off balance every goddamned step.
Why is this my fucking life? I mean, Jesus, the shit I’ve put up with to keep the girl alive at this point! I deserve retirement on a beach somewhere with Domhnall bringing me endless Mai Tais and dropping his drawers to be my fuckboy whenever I need to be railed hard and put away wet.
My snowshoe slips sideways, and I topple into the hip-deep snow.
“Motherfucking taint of a cunt!” I hiss under my breath.
At least this is only the second time I’ve tipped over into the fucking snow. I manage to climb out and resettle my wide snow shoes back in place—the only thing keeping me on top of the drift, for the most part.
It would’ve been faster to come in on a snowmobile, but also more noticeable.
Kozlov has to know I’ll be coming for the facility after the other strikes, so I can’t risk anything out of the ordinary.
This bastard was Pavel’s connection to Brad Blackwolf—the whole fucking money-laundering operation that got Domhnall’s sister and me kidnapped in the first place.
I’ve been systematically dismantling their network for months, leaving a trail of bodies across three continents.
Kozlov is the last. The final loose end.
I wanted him to be afraid, knowing the reaper was coming.
The snow crunches under my feet, each step deliberate despite the awkward weight distribution.
My breath comes out in white puffs, and I can feel sweat beading under my thermal layers despite the bitter cold.
Pine trees tower above me, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally drops in chunks, making me flinch and reach for weapons I’ve carefully concealed beneath my winter gear and in my backpack.
But even if there are hidden cameras I don’t see, I make sure to smile brightly all around me, like I’m just a tourist taking in the majestic scene before me, even if I am on the mountain far too late for a tourist. It’s just past sunset.
It’s only when I’m nearing the edge of the forest to the Kozlov fortress that I freeze in my tracks and dive inelegantly behind a tree, grabbing my belly as I drop into the snow.
Because fuck!
There, at the edge of the trees, is another man, hunched over on his belly in the snow with binoculars trained down on the ski lodge where the Kozlov Bratva kingpin holes up over summer, and whenever he feels threatened, like now.
But shit. Is this guy one of his guards? Shit shit shit.
Yeah, these woods are patrolled, but I thought I knew the patrol schedule. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I feel the parasite respond to my adrenaline spike with a series of sharp kicks that make me bite back a curse.
This complicates everything. If this is one of Kozlov’s men, my cover could be blown. If it’s someone else—well, that could be even worse. Competition means unpredictability, and unpredictability gets people killed.
This was supposed to be a nice, easy job.
Save the easy one for last. That was why I wanted Kozlov scared. So he’d come here.
I pull out my phone and text Domhnall. I can’t go into any portion of this blind.
ANNA/MADS: Got company. Need ID on surveillance target. Sending photo.
I angle my phone carefully, zooming in on the figure. There’s just enough light to get a good pic. The response comes back almost immediately—because, of course, Domhnall is sitting by his phone waiting for any contact from me, the beautiful, devoted fool.
DOMHNALL: Ian McKenzie. Former Navy SEAL. Sister kidnapped in Moldova 2 years ago. Filed 47 complaints with Interpol. You need to get out of there NOW.
My blood runs cold. McKenzie. I know that name from the files. His sister Chloe was one of the girls trafficked through Kozlov’s network. One who didn’t make it out alive. Unless…
I sigh. Well, shit.
ANNA/MADS: Can’t retreat. This ends today. Stay on comms.
DOMHNALL: Mads, no. Russia is the one place I can’t get to you quickly. Please, love, just wait for backup.
His desperation bleeds through even in text, and for a moment, my resolve wavers. I think about our baby and the life we could have if I just walked away. But then I remember Moira’s bruised face, the fear in her eyes, and how close we came to losing everything.
Blood feud. Kozlov will never stop coming for me. Or my child.
This ends today. All of it.
I pocket the phone and a heavy flashlight in the large outer pocket of my coat, then, in a stage whisper, call, “Ian!”
The figure goes rigid, weapon snapping toward my voice. I hold up my hands, making sure my pregnant belly is visible.
“Chloe. Your sister,” I say loudly, then drop my voice to barely audible. “I know what happened to her.”
He freezes, and I see the moment understanding hits. The grief, the rage, the desperate hope—all of it flickers across his face in the space of a heartbeat.
“Who are you?” he whispers back.
“Someone who wants to make them all pay.” I move closer, keeping my hands visible. “Same as you.”
He frowns. He recognizes my accent is American, and between that and my pregnant belly, he’s let his guard down.
I strike fast, using the momentum of my awkward belly to throw him off guard.
I land a blow with my heavy flashlight to the base of his skull, and he drops like a stone.
He’ll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, but he’ll be alive, which is more than I can say for everyone waiting inside that lodge.
I drag his unconscious form behind a fallen log and secure him with rope, positioning him so he won’t freeze to death. Then I circle the perimeter until I find what I’m looking for—a ventilation shaft hidden beneath a camouflaged grate that’s clogged with moss and decaying leaves.
I grimace at the dark hole. Ugh. I really didn’t want to have to do it this way. I pull out my phone and thumb quickly.
Going dark. See you on the other side, love.
Then I drop into the tunnel system, my phone vibrating in my pocket letting me know Domhnall clearly disagrees with my decision.
But I harden myself against the desire to hear his voice, instead working quickly to swing my backpack to the floor and pull out everything I need.
Before I can overthink it, I activate the EMP device I pulled from my pack, and everything goes silent. No comms, no cameras, no electronic surveillance.
Just me, my little parasite, and the darkness ahead.
The night-vision goggles I pull out next flicker to life—EMP-proof, thank you very much—and I begin my descent into the mountain.
The tunnel is narrow, forcing me to move in an awkward crouch that makes my back scream in protest. The parasite seems to sense the danger, going still and quiet as if it knows survival depends on stealth. Aw, that makes me feel a little proud.