31. Roman
CHAPTER 31
Roman
“Katerina!”
I couldn’t give less of a shit who hears me shout her name. My focus zeros in on her and nothing else.
I’m no longer a brigadier in the bratva. I’m a crazed man racing toward the woman who has come to mean more than I ever anticipated.
When I’m coming through, it’s best to get the fuck out of my way. If not, expect to be mowed down.
Several in the theater learn the hard way as I charge forward. A male server in a loincloth gets knocked to the ground after failing to move in time. Another scantily clad woman in a sparkling bra and panty combo shrieks as she stumbles back on platform heels.
Some of the guests in the theater room suffer the same fate. As I bulldoze through the crowded space, I flip tables and shove aside chairs that stand in the way. Drinks spill everywhere. Bottles shatter.
The once sociable air in the room morphs into shock and dismay.
But I don’t give a fuck. These people have my kitty cat, which means every last one of them can be on the receiving end of my wrath.
Katerina’s looking at me—and so has everyone else in the room—and the way she stares shows she’s questioning her sanity. If she truly sees me or if she’s hallucinating.
I’m mere footsteps away when some ugly motherfucker steps in my path and holds out his hand like he expects to stop me. He’s middle aged with a wiry mustache and the yellowed eyes of an alcoholic, but he seems to believe he has authority.
“Stop!” he yells at me in a Russian accent. “What do you think you’re?—”
My fist slams into his jaw in a brutal uppercut. He drops to the ground like a stiff wooden board, knocked out cold.
“Borys!” another woman shrieks, then she scurries away once she realizes she’s next in my path.
With no one else between us, Katerina runs to my side. “Roman!”
I pull her against me and then cast a murderous look around the room, daring anybody to object. The front doors have flown open and a group of armed security from the Midnight Society have flooded inside.
I draw my own weapon. The handful of men I’ve brought with me follow my lead. They’ve risen from the table I’d been seated at with the pakhan, ready for a fight if necessary.
For his part, the pakhan has remained nonplussed. He’s at the table with a vague expression on his face, his gaze set on me.
The pakhan is not unlike my father in his demeanor. He’s a stoic and calculated man who isn’t the type to approve of theatrics.
Causing an impromptu firefight with the Midnight Society’s security would fall under that category.
But that’s where I differ from my father and the pakhan—I’m a hotheaded, impulsive man.
My moniker is Zver for a reason.
I’m not only the size of a beast. My rage is as destructive as one.
I kick things off, pulling the trigger first. I open fire on the group of security guards and take two of them out right away.
All hell breaks loose.
The security scramble to return fire. My men jump into the mix, providing cover for me.
Bullets fly everywhere, traveling faster than the speed of sound. Each one is invisible to the human eye until it pierces something.
People drop like flies. Shards of glass whiz in all directions. Smoke fills the room.
Everyone is either retreating from the gunfire in some way or fighting against it.
The guests in the theater are diving under tables and cowering for their lives. Me and my crew are battling it out with the Midnight Society security.
And then there’s the pakhan.
His corner of the theater room has remained relatively unscathed. He watches the battle as if watching any other show performed in the theater.
Waiting to see who comes out on top.
I ignore the weight of his stare.
I’ve put Katerina behind me, backing away while I shoot at the advancing security.
“Get down!” I bark from over my shoulder. I kneel behind a table, muscling it onto its side to use as a shield for us.
Bullets splinter the wood. A few lodge in the thick material.
It won’t be long before the table’s useless and riddled with holes.
I grit my teeth and back away some more, popping out from behind my makeshift shield to blast a couple more rounds.
“Roman,” Katerina murmurs from behind my back. “There’s a door right there!”
Thankful for my second set of eyes, I veer off to the right, sensing she’s matching my movements.
“Open it!” I yell at her. I’ve leaned slightly out from the table shield to land another shot at one of the guards.
Katerina does as she’s told, scurrying to open the door for us to rush through.
“THIS WAY!” I roar to my men, who have gradually been gravitating in my direction in between a heavy exchange of bullets.
Once we reach the door, I drop the shield and take off running. Only occasionally do I glance back to fire more rounds.
I’ve locked onto Katerina’s arm with my free hand so that I can drag her along every step of the way.
We race behind what’s backstage and then shove open the door marked emergency exit. We spill onto the side alley outside the theater. Recognizing where we are at once, I make a left toward the end of the alleyway.
We come out onto the street where two of our Hummers are parked.
“POYDEM? * !” I shout over the chaos.
My men who have survived the shootout rush to join us inside the Hummers. We speed off from the scene with adrenaline still coursing in our veins.
It’s only after for several blocks that it wears off and my senses return to normal.
Heaving a deep breath into my lungs, I holster my weapon and wipe a hand over my sweaty face.
Katerina’s in a state of shock. She’s tucked into a far corner of the back seat, staring at me like we’re strangers. One of her sky high heels is missing and both straps of her bra hang low on her upper arms.
Without her vibrant purple hair she looks so different. So easily blendable with crowds.
Likely what the traffickers at the Midnight Society wanted. For her to stand out less. For her to be easier to make disappear.
I reach for her, and she flinches as if out of an involuntary tick. Her skin is cold, covered in gooseflesh, and just by looking into her dark eyes I can tell the past few days have been hell for her.
“Kat…” her name leaves my lips as more of a ragged breath.
I reach for her a second time and pull her toward me, my wide palms framing her face to study her closely.
Something has changed. Even in the last seventy-two hours she’s been gone.
“Are you alright, kitty cat?” I ask.
She blinks, then lowers her gaze to my arm. “You’re bleeding, Roman.”
“It’s only a graze. But I asked you a question first. Are you alright, Katerina? Are you hurt anywhere?”
Again, she can’t seem to meet my gaze. Instead of diverting to my wounded arm, she closes her eyes altogether. “I… please let it be over.”
Her voice cracks getting the words out.
I decide not to push her on it.
We’re speeding away in the Hummer and some of my men are within earshot. She’s still in the degrading outfit they’ve made her wear… which isn’t much of an outfit at all. I tug off my crewneck t-shirt and pull it over her head to cover her up. The fabric is tight and clingy on my broad, muscular build but like a loose dress on her.
For the rest of the ride, silence engulfs the Hummer.
No one follows us. We’re able to leave the city of Easton without any trouble.
Which tells me the leadership at the Midnight Society decided it was against their best interest to put up more of a fight than what happened in the theater room. It tells me likely out of respect for the pakhan they let one of his captains escape.
…unless it was the pakhan’s orders that made them stand down.
He had been so cool and unfazed through it all that there’s no telling what the fuck’s going on. Why was he visiting the Midnight Society in the first place?
He claimed the shows were very good.
It’s true that the bratva participates in the flesh trade like many organized crime syndicates do. But we usually do it without the fanfare of live shows, where human beings are sold at auction.
One thing has become certain through this situation.
The secret I was seeking to protect is out now.
He knows Katerina is mine. He could possibly know she was involved in the kidnapping attempt.
It’s a precarious position to be in, both the pakhan and the sovietnik aware of my greatest weakness of all.
Once we finally reach the latest base of operations me and my crew will be using, we get out of the Hummers and head inside. Kazan is at my side almost immediately, briefing me about the mission he’d gone on to collect info about the sovietnik ’s movements.
I’m only half-listening. I stop short and look over to make sure Katerina’s with us.
She’s several steps out of pace, trailing behind like a reluctant kitten. I can’t listen to intelligence briefings when she’s like this.
Though she’s said nothing specific, I can tell she’s unwell.
“I’ll find you in the war room,” I say to him. “I have other things to address first.”
“Zver, we really need to?—”
“War room, Shram. You fucking heard me the first time.”
Once Kazan and a couple of my other men have walked off, I grab Katerina’s hand.
“Come, devochka. I’ll show you where we’ll be sleeping.”
Holding her hand in mine marks a first time in my life that I’m confronted by a sobering truth I thought could never come true. I could possibly lose this fight because I’ve allowed my feelings to color every move I make.
Rather than attend a crucial intel briefing, I’m choosing to spend alone time with her. Is there any clearer sign?
Yet as I steer Katerina toward our private chambers, I regret nothing.
I’m a powerful man who has made an age-old mistake. I’ve allowed myself to fall in love with a woman. Even if she might not realize it yet.
* ? Poydem - let’s go