Chapter Two #2
I lower my radio, watching as she desperately twists in his grip. But against Mikhail’s strength, she writhes as uselessly as a ragdoll. The panic makes her even more reckless and, when one of the men moves closer, clamping a gloved hand over her mouth, she struggles harder.
Until her body slackens.
I lift the radio to my lips, gaze narrowing. “What the hell just happened?”
Mikhail swears under his breath as her head falls limp against his arm. “She fainted,” he sighs into the comms.
I exhale slowly through my nose. “Bring her in. Without a scratch.”
“Understood,” comes his response, before static erupts through the radio and the channel closes.
Five minutes later, they carry her onto the yacht unconscious. I remain near the upper lounge as Mikhail brings her inside. Artem stays rooted by my side, one hand over his mask, the other clutching the gun holster on his belt. His eyes are steady and focused, with rage visible through every blink.
I drag my gaze from the gun to him, then lift a brow. “The girl’s unconscious,” I mutter in Russian, and he shrugs.
“You never know what cards our enemies have up their sleeves these days.” He faces me, and his voice comes through the mask, muffled. “Best to keep a bullet or two ready to blow her brains out if she decides to try something stupid.”
The corners of my eyes crinkle tightly. “Rest easy. This one’s not going to sneak up on you while you sleep with a hammer. You haven’t given her a reason to.”
“They don’t need a reason,” he clips out. “They’re all the same: vicious, malicious, emotional beings who only care about themselves. And when you’re no longer beneficial to them…”
He looks at me, then slowly slides his index finger across his throat.
I smile, making sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Who’d have ever thought the day would come when we’d see Artem in love?”
“In…love?” He grimaces like he just bit into something sour. “Where did you ever get an idea like that?”
“Sasha hurt you a lot, didn’t she?”
His gaze hardens, and then there’s a tick in his jaw. “Sasha’s resting six feet under. What does she have to do with anything?”
“A lot. You’re projecting,” I say, then face him briefly. “And I don’t need misdirected shit flying around in the air right now, Art. Contain it.”
Artem scoffs in disagreement beside me while I take a step forward.
The overhead light sends a warm glow across the polished wooden floor and expensive leather furniture, but my attention fixes entirely on the girl in Mikhail’s arms.
Up close and surrounded by the broad statures of my men, she looks smaller, more fragile, almost as delicate as a flower. A flower that should be protected, preserved even. Not crushed by mafia soldiers whose hearts know nothing but darkness.
Again, her youthfulness and blatant innocence irritate me.
Honey-blonde hair spills from her tangled ponytail across Mikhail’s sleeve. Her face has gone pale beneath the marina lights. Long lashes rest against flushed cheeks, and her breathing comes shallow but steady.
“Her head hit the dock when she fell,” Mikhail mumbles, like the explanation is necessary to save his head from getting chopped off. “If she has a concussion, it’s probably not too bad. It’s the struggling that completely knocked her out.”
I stare at her another moment before speaking.
“Put her somewhere secure. We’ll have Carew check her vitals soon.”
Mikhail nods once, then adjusts her body in his arms. “Guest cabin?”
“For now, yes. And post someone outside the door,” I reply immediately. “The new recruit, what’s his name?”
“Ace,” Artem responds behind us.
I shake my head, brows furrowing with seriousness when I say to Mikhail, “Don’t post him.”
Mikhail’s brow twitches, but he makes no sound, and neither of the men question my order. With Artem leading, the men disappear down the narrow hallway, carrying her deeper into the Mona. I watch their backs slowly disappear, then pour myself a drink from the crystal decanter sitting nearby.
Vodka burns down my throat, but its effect is useless against the sudden tension that’s settled beneath my skin tonight.
Artem is the first to return.
As soon as he reaches me, he tugs down his mask, exposing pale skin. He runs slender fingers through his long brown hair and releases an exaggerated sigh before collapsing on the seat closest to me.
Pregnant silence stretches between us, with neither of us making a move to acknowledge it.
Bored, I point the tip of the glass toward him. “You’ve been itching to say something. Just go ahead and fucking spit it out.”
“The girl,” he mutters.
My irritation spikes, but I throw my head back, swallowing a mouthful of vodka to push down the feeling. I hiss sharply, looking away from him, and stare out at the dark sea.
“What about the girl?”
There’s that silence again, before he fills it with a dry cough. “We’re keeping her.”
“You haven’t stated the problem, Art.”
“That is the problem,” he pushes, his voice tinged with incredulity. “She’s alive. And if she’s alive, it means we’re keeping her.”
Approaching footsteps grow louder, and then Mikhail enters the room.
In my peripheral vision, I watch him take a stand in the corner, with his hands clasped above his belt and his legs slightly spread apart. He looks between Artem and me, but the tight press of his lips indicates his reluctance to join the conversation.
Artem continues. “Leo.”
“What do you suggest we do?” I snap, more agitated with myself than him. “Waste your fucking bullets on her without reason?”
“I didn’t say—”
“And you shouldn’t say,” I state firmly, putting an end to it. “I need an update on the drop.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender and dusts off invisible particles from his black pants as he rises from the seat. “The cargo’s almost loaded. Within twenty minutes or less, we’ll be ready to hit the road.”
I glance toward the stairs to the lower deck, where the sounds of muffled movement still echo from below. “I want this operation finished in ten minutes,” I bite out. “The second it’s done, we leave for home.”
I wait for Artem’s curt response, but instead there’s that unsettling look in his eyes that had faded out only a moment ago.
His brows crease and he exchanges a look with Mikhail.
Mikhail approaches, his eyes guarded with caution. “And the girl? Is there a chance we’ll leave her here?”
I ignore the edge in his voice and stare out at the dark waves that crash against the shore while the girl sleeps like a problem dragged in by the tide.
“No,” I say. “We’re taking her with us, and we’ll decide what to do with her when we get there.”