Chapter 27
M ila was propelled in front of the lights, Wes’s grip tight on her bicep. Paul bent to scoop up the shackles and chains.
Her fingers grasped the screwdriver. The slight movement was enough to elicit a sharp pinch from Wes’s fingers.
He dipped his mouth to her ear. “Don’t try anything, bitch!” he yelled, over the music.
The closeness of his lips and his breath on her neck made her recoil with disgust. She wrapped the handle in her fist and slid the tool from the waistband of her pants.
“Bring her here!” Paul called.
Mila spun out of Wes’s grip and drove the screwdriver into his side. The metal end sunk into his abdomen. His face twisted with rage and then shock. Paul shouted behind her.
She ripped the weapon from Wes’s middle.
He sputtered and dropped to his knees, reaching for her with long, angry fingers. Blood blossomed on his shirt. Paul slammed into her from behind, tackling her to the floor.
Mila clung to the screwdriver. Paul held fast to her arm as he roughly turned her over then sat on top of her, pinning her with his weight. The scent of blood and anger hit her senses. Paul pried open her fingers and snatched the screwdriver from her hand.
She jammed her other fist into his stomach.
Paul’s knuckles cracked against her cheek. Her head bounced off the floor and pain ricocheted through her skull. Her vision went hazy, and the music and lights faded in and out around her. The barn’s rafters spiraled above. She blinked, struggling to hold on to consciousness.
Metal tinkled... the chains.
No.
She brought her focus to Paul. His jaw was hard, his stare determined. He reached for her wrist and a rush of adrenaline exploded through her muscles.
She let out a cry and jammed her hand into Paul’s nose.
“Fuck!” he screamed, cupping his hand over his face as blood gushed out.
Mila bucked, sending his unsteady form to the ground. He landed on his side near Wes’s unconscious body. Paul’s furious gaze locked on her. Red coated his nostrils and lips. He leapt.
She kicked, connecting with his mouth.
Curses flew from his lips. She scrambled to her feet but he caught her ankle, sending her pitching forward to the ground. Mila twisted and kicked him in the stomach, chest, and shoulders. Anywhere she could reach.
But it was no use. He laughed like a madman, blood dripping off his chin. The metal chain caught the corner of her eye. Diving for the long metallic strand, she whipped the end at Paul’s head.
The links licked his face. He hissed in pain and covered his head as she snapped them again, surging to her feet. Using all her strength, she struck him once more. A gash split open his scalp.
Mila threw down her weapon and ran, bolting for the barn door. Her hair whipped in front of her face as she darted into the cold. Her feet stung as she trampled over gravel and into dead grass. This time of year, there were no crops to shield her.
Paul wouldn’t be far behind. She’d wounded him, but not badly enough. Her breath wheezed in and out through her tight chest. Fighting the two men after the torture she’d endured had used too much energy.
Emotion stung her eyes. If she could just escape the farm, she could get to a phone and call Ghost. Then she’d be safe.
The sound of Paul’s advance pounded behind her. Mila huffed.
He wouldn’t catch her. She had too much of a head start. Triumph filled her veins. Her brain worked through a plan.
She pumped her arms, ignoring the burn of her muscles and the throbbing of her cheekbone.
The woods weren’t far. Probably her best bet to lose Paul and anyone he sent after her. The long driveway that twisted from the main road to the barn came into view. She couldn’t risk running down the road. Although she might be able to flag down help, doing so could get someone killed.
No, she could survive the forest. Had to. It wasn’t as cold here as in Russia.
As she crossed the driveway, headlights coated her body, nearly paralyzing her with shock.
A sleek sedan rolled down the gravel. Fear slowed her heart. Paul shouted, trying to alert the people in the car.
Boris.
Oh god.
She ran harder, racing her feet over the driveway and then back into the damp ground.
Her stomach churned. The car sped up. She threw her gaze over her shoulder just as Paul stopped to press his hands to his knees.
The driver and someone in the back of the sedan got out. With guns drawn, they gave chase.
Her cry got caught in the back of her throat. A sharp crack sounded as she tore into the woods. The bullet smacked into a tree.
Mila screamed and ducked as bark sprayed her face and body. Terror stole her breath. She leapt over a rock, and her feet landed sharply on the uneven earth.
She needed to stop, but the rapid footsteps behind her urged her on. She couldn’t get caught. Wouldn’t succumb to their torture.
Her foot landed in a deep pit, sending her flying to the ground. She landed with a hard slap. The wind barked from her lungs. Her palms stung. Pain shot from her ankle, making her shudder.
Oh god. Oh no.
Tears swam in front of her vision, but the excruciating fire tearing through her ligaments was what blinded her.
Get up, Malyshka.
A moan floated from her lips. Delirium mixed with reality. “I can’t, Alexei. I think it’s broken.”
Only you have power over Mila. Get up.
Resurrecting her strength, she pushed her palms into the cold soil and eased her leg from the hole.
She planted her injured foot on the ground and a black cloud rolled over her. The snapping of twigs and the whooshing of branches grew closer. She clutched a nearby tree, tears rushing down her face.
“There she is!” a man bellowed.
Fury infused her bones.
I will not die here.
She stood, welcoming the pain. Daring it to take her down. Then becoming one with it. She walked. Every footstep pulled at her resolve.
Like a poisonous fog, the men closed in. Hands seized her. One man grabbed the back of her neck, another caught her biceps.
Her knees gave out and she sank into a well of disappointment. After everything Alexei had trained her for. Taught her. She’d still lost.
Just like Alexei, she was no match for Irinia.
***
“You realize we’re coming in fucking hot?” Zain said from the back seat.
Ghost clenched his teeth. High cortisol made his knee bounce. The only thing he hated more than riding passenger at a time like this was Zain challenging a situation they had little control over.
“What other option is there?” Rami said.
“We already killed a couple people and threw a goddamn grenade today,” Ghost finally said, swiveling his head to meet Zain’s dark stare. “Don’t tell me you’re chickenshit now.”
“Not chickenshit,” Zain growled. “I don’t want Mila to get killed over a stupid move.”
“I don’t want her to get killed at all, asshole. That’s why we’re getting her out quickly.”
“Stop arguing,” Rami commanded.
“Just sayin’,” Zain grumbled.
Ghost shook his head with irritation and stared out the windshield. The sun was still low behind the mountains, but the sky was streaked with pink and purple. Colors he wished Mila could see right now—from the safety of his house.
Guilt struck him in the chest like an ax. None of this should’ve happened. She should have been safe at his home. With him.
Pressure pounded against his temples. He pinched the bridge of his nose. If something happened to Mila, he’d never forgive himself. All she’d needed was safety. Freedom. Bare fucking minimum for human existence. She’d almost had those things with him.
They’ll hurt her.
Suffocating constriction circled his lungs. She was strong. She could handle herself. But he was no stranger to torture tactics. How they’d break her...
Jesus Christ, he couldn’t go there.
“We’ll find her,” Rami said softly, as if reading his mind. “We’re almost there.”
“And if I’m wrong?” he blurted, the deep-seated fear he hadn’t wanted to feed spilling out. “If she’s not at this farm?”
Rami didn’t respond.
“There’re no other leads,” Ghost continued. Self-doubt doubled by the second, revealing a vulnerability he’d never shown anyone, even himself.
Mila had ripped away his armor. Whatever guard he’d had in place was no match for her sweet laugh and husky voice.
I need her back. That’s all. Just let me have her back.
Who the hell he was praying to, he couldn’t say. Evie. God. Fuck, he wasn’t picky. Anyone who’d grant the request.
Zain swatted his shoulder. “Another minute or so. We’ve got this.”
Ghost glanced at the GPS screen. They were barely a mile away. Adrenaline bunched his fingers into fists. He’d kill the fuckers who’d taken her with his bare hands.
Irinia deserved worse.
He had several ideas in mind for that old hag. But he wouldn’t steal that opportunity from Mila. If she wanted him to handle it, he would. Otherwise, he’d let her decide what to do with the bitch.
Rami slowed. There it was. Lights shone from a sprawling bungalow with a huge barn behind it. Two SUVs and a sedan sat in the driveway.
“We’ll park down a ways and head in on foot,” Rami murmured.
A hundred yards later, Rami pulled to the side of the road. Ghost flung open the door and stepped into the bitter cold. He opened the rear passenger door as Zain slid out the other side.
He seized his AR-15 and accepted the earbud Zain tossed him. Suited up and ready, all three of them moved expertly.
“Test,” Rami said.
“Copy,” Ghost and Zain said in unison.
They shut the doors and moved across the edge of the property. Ghost’s senses were on high alert as he searched the grass for any signs of Mila. He thought of how she’d escaped his workshop—not once, but twice.
She could’ve gotten away. The odds were in her favor.
“Look for evidence of her escape,” he told the guys.
Zain gave a brisk nod and Rami’s gaze dropped to the ground. They moved quietly across the land. Dawn lifted the edges of darkness around the sky.
The sight of the vehicles in the driveway sent Ghost’s pulse racing. The flashy sedan with tinted windows seemed out of place.
He held his finger on the trigger as they grew close to the barn. The door hung slightly open. Light shone from inside. On a gravel pad outside the barn sat a bulldozer. Ghost took cover behind it.
“We’ll split up,” Rami said, as he and Zain flanked him. “Ghost, I’ll take the front entrance after you confirm position. Chances are they’re keeping her in the back.”
He grunted in acknowledgment.
“I’ve got your six,” Zain said to Ghost.
Ghost scanned the property. The sound of a door slamming split the air. He flinched. “The fuck was that?”
Rami peered around the bulldozer. “Looks like that might be Irinia,” he whispered.
Ghost followed his friend’s line of vision. A woman wearing a long black peacoat and a green scarf left the side door of the house.
His finger twitched on the trigger. He lifted the end of his rifle, fixing Irinia in his scope. One pull and—
Rami’s hand landed on the barrel of his gun, lowering it. “Don’t, man. If you shoot her now, there’s no telling what they’ll do to Mila.”
Ghost rocked his jaw but heeded Rami’s warning.
“I agree with the boss.” Zain’s gruff voice held a pound of regret. “At least for now.”
“If Irinia’s heading to the barn, there’s a good chance Mila’s still alive. Keep that in the forefront of your mind,” Rami said, tapping his temple with his index finger.
Ghost didn’t respond. Instead, he watched Irinia as she crossed the driveway and continued toward the barn. He’d never wanted to shoot someone so badly in his life. “Let’s move.”
***
One of Boris’s henchman dropped Mila on the ground in front of the lights and speakers. The sharp landing jolted her ankle and sent lightning bolts of pain through her calf and foot. At least the music was off. That small reprieve gave her more stability.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Wes’s dead form. Paul stood several feet back, the blood wiped from his face but his shirt still covered in the evidence of his defeat.
Fresh self-disgust washed over her.
She’d escaped. Overpowered them. If she hadn’t fallen, they wouldn’t have caught her. Her sinuses welled with despair as a man stalked across the room. She didn’t need to see his face to know it was him. Just being in the same room as him made every warning receptor in her brain blare.
Boris was as evil as he was sick. She’d witnessed his cruelty but had never been on the receiving end.
That’s why he was here.
Because Boris could stomach what most people, Irinia included, couldn’t.
She lifted her gaze as he approached. He took a long drag on the cigar in his fingers and stopped a few feet away.
“Hello, Mila.”
She flinched involuntarily but didn’t respond.
“You turned your back on us,” he continued. “After all we did for you. We took you in, taught you everything you know. Helped you become the lethal machine you are—were.”
He shook his head with disdain. “A waste,” he spat.
Mila pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, not daring to say anything. He was goading her. Like a viper, he’d strike as soon as she reacted.
Paul stalked forward, his expression murderous. “She needs to pay for what she did to Wes.”
Boris sucked on the cigar again then released a cloud of toxins from his lips. He flicked his emotionless gaze to Wes then back to Mila and shrugged. “It’s good she still has some fight in her. We can work with that.”
Paul’s eyes bulged. “Do something, dammit! Cut off her goddamn fingers. Show her she can’t cross us again.”
Amusement creased the older man’s face. His two henchmen, who stood off to the side, chuckled.
“Listen to him, making demands.” Boris zeroed in on Paul. “Looks like she did a number on you.”
Paul’s hands fisted at his sides. Redness coated his cheeks.
Boris sighed and focused on Mila again. “Sorry, my dear.” He withdrew a pocketknife from his jacket, then handed it to Paul. “Take her pinkie. Left hand, though. She’s going to need her right.”
Panic soured Mila’s stomach. She coiled her hands into balls as Paul accepted the knife. Some of the color left his cheeks as he turned to face her.
“Go on,” Boris said. “Get your pound of flesh.”
Mila dipped her chin, ready to fight if he tried.
Paul didn’t move.
Boris snickered. “Give me that.” He tore the knife from Paul’s hand, flipped out the blade, and slashed it across his throat.
Blood sprayed. Paul’s eyes filled with horror as the life left his body. He sank to the ground.
“Clean that, Max.” Boris passed the knife to the bulky man who’d carried her.
Shock rippled through Mila. Her fingers throbbed, grateful to be intact. She kept them curled tight against her palms as she watched Boris. He was as predictable as a hurricane.
“What the hell’s going on?” Irinia strode through the barn door, her eyes fiery and her nose turned up. She took one look at the two dead men on the ground and stiffened. “Really, Boris. Look at this mess.”
Boris’s face hardened. “Time to get started, Mila.”