Chapter 17 Mikhail
MIKHAIL
The car stopped at the curb. A tall warehouse in the Popov district loomed in sight. Windows were shuttered, broken, or missing. Graffiti and bullet holes littered the walls. It fit the scene. Evidence of past crimes matched the mood.
Because I was ready to kill them all.
It was then, as I reached for my gun, ready to get out and join the Orlov forces to rescue my daughter, that I realized Claire was here.
She was with me, not removed from this grisly premonition of the bloodshed I’d cause.
She wasn’t at my home, waiting from a distance.
Preserving her innocence was becoming a trick of the mind.
She didn’t belong here, in this car before death would unfold. Blood would be on my hands, but never hers. Not like this.
She did belong with me, though. Feeling her sturdy grip on my fingers grounded me. Just knowing I wasn’t alone in worrying about Anya mattered.
I’d needed her hug. I wished I could go back to basking in the simple comfort of her holding me and caressing the back of my neck.
Like she could fix me if I compromised to bend to her softness.
But this was no place for her. I hadn’t consciously planned to bring her along on this mission, but it seemed natural to keep her at my side.
“Guard her,” I ordered the men up front.
The driver nodded. The other soldier did as well.
Facing Claire, I shook my head. “Don’t leave this car.”
“I won’t.” She shook her head, giving away how nervous she was with the pinch in her brow, right above her nose.
“Just…” I exhaled a hard breath, feeling torn in two.
I was impatient to run out there and save my daughter.
But I felt the need to make sure Claire would be all right too.
Both of them were leaning on me for protection.
Both of them were my responsibility, all because they dared to be associated with me, with my power and wrath.
“Go.” She let go of my hand. “Be safe and just…” She grimaced, as if realizing she was giving me a pep talk to kill people. “Go keep her safe.” That summary worked.
I nodded once and turned to burst out of the car.
Breaking into a quick stride, I hurried to jog toward the Orlov men at the ready.
Andre was there, at the door I’d been directed to go to.
Similar to the block I owned, where I had my building and my son and nephews had theirs, these rundown pieces-of-shit structures were compactly squeezed together.
They lacked the underground tunnel of connector corridors I'd built, though, so we were forced to enter through one entrance to sneak through to where my former lieutenant had tied up my daughter.
“He’s already dead,” my son announced dryly as I joined them. A guard strapped me in, securing me with a bullet-proof vest of armor.
“Of course he will be,” I replied.
“No. Lev is dead,” Roman said. “I shot him when he led us to the location. Sorry.” He shrugged. “Not sorry.”
“Others have been held for questioning,” Sergei said, the quickest to realize I’d expect answers to all of this, not only deaths.
“At least you waited for me to arrive, huh?” I asked. I wasn’t in this for the glory of being my daughter’s hero. I just wanted to extract every ounce of revenge and retaliation that I could.
“We couldn’t move in sooner,” Andre said. “We needed other teams set up to divert them from her.” He frowned, looking around as if too tense to dawdle out here. “It sounds like there are seven men guarding her.”
“Then let’s go.” They’d file in first, armed and ready to kill. I wasn’t far behind, eager to take out every asshole I could find.
With military precision, we rushed into the building and shot every person we came across. Sergei would’ve ensured that captives were taken to question later. Like this, we had free rein to rush in, kill all, and reach Anya.
Split up in the maze of abandoned buildings and blocked-off hallways full of debris from upper floors weakening and crashing down, I ended up in the lead.
Andre ran with me, having my back. Sergei and Roman hurried toward the rendezvous spot where they believed Anya was tied up.
Comms units in our ears kept us all moving as a team, but it wasn’t until I reached the innermost room, a dilapidated office with the ceiling caved in from a water leak, that I finally relaxed.
She was here.
Tied up, gagged, and staring out with wide-open, frantic eyes, Anya sat on the filthy floor. Red marks showed on her skin, and the sight of blood streaking down her arms worried me.
But she was alive.
“Close your eyes!” Andre shouted.
She did, but a second too late.
We unleashed hell, firing at the men who were expected to block and guard her.
They had no chance under the onslaught of gunfire we doled out.
They were outnumbered, gunned down mercilessly with direct shots to their heads and chests.
Blood and brain matter exploded and sprayed everywhere.
Bodies sagged and dropped, then guns clattered to the floor.
Not waiting until the last man was down, I ran out into the opening of the massacre. Skidding on blood and blinking my eyes through the smoke of gunfire and the rise of dust particles from the disturbance we’d delivered, I sprinted for her.
We were too trained to hit her by accident. I trusted all these men not to shoot her in the fray, but I couldn’t speak for the fuckers who’d taken her.
Shaking like a leaf in high winds, she trembled so fiercely that if she wasn’t gagged, her teeth would’ve chattered.
“I’ve got you,” I told her. She might not want that.
She might still hate me and scream that she didn’t want to be stuck with me.
As I cut the gag away, she only heaved in a deep lungful of air.
Gasping and wheezing, she kept her eyes screwed shut tightly as I hurried to cut away the ropes binding her wrists and ankles.
“I’ve got you, Anya,” I repeated. Matter-of-fact.
Direct. Clear. I kept all emotion out of my voice so she wouldn’t be triggered to lash out at me.
She didn’t reply. She didn’t open her eyes or shy away from me. Shaken to the core, she hunched over like she was too traumatized to even stay away or straighten.
Behind me, more shots were fired, but from a distance. The haze and cloud of dust had yet to settle in this room, but I could place the commotion as something from afar. Men shouted, and with the sound of rapid footsteps pounding further away, Anya trembled harder.
Hoisting her into my arms, I sought out my son. He shook his head, watching me and as alert as ever.
“A crew is running after a few of them,” Sergei clarified. He pressed on the comms unit in his ear. “They’re after them. Some were hiding on another floor, warning us that this isn’t over.”
I narrowed my eyes. This war between us never would be over. But this was. I’d promise my life to keep my family safe. They’d never touch my daughter again.
“Are we all clear?” I asked, carrying my daughter from where she was tied up.
“Go.” Andre patted my back to precede him. “We’re clear with the way we came in.”
“Which fucking way is that?” I asked, lifting Anya higher in my arms to free up my ease of running.
We exited, not taking as many wrong turns with my men stationed throughout. With the deaths we’d leave behind, there was less of a need to hide and rely on stealth.
All I could focus on as I hurried out of there was the validation that I hadn’t failed her. Anya was alive, if scared and shellshocked in my arms. I hadn’t lost her, despite how close she’d come to dying after that kidnapping.
We exited the last doorway, reaching the dark, inky nighttime broken only by the dim streetlights that flickered in the distance.
The back door was held open, and I didn’t waste a second to carry Anya into the car.
Claire scooted back, but she wasn’t recoiling in fear or alarm. She was snapping right into action.
“Anya. Anya, you’re safe. Can you hear me?” She reached out to help me lower her from my arms. Keeping her on my lap, I tried to give Claire access to check over her. Her hands were busy, touching her skin and determining the worst of her injuries.
Anya didn’t stir much, shaking and curling into a ball as the car sped away.
All I could do as my heart slowed, finally calmer now that I saw my daughter and knew she was alive, was sit here and let Claire take over. In this respect, she was the boss, asking Anya where she’d been hit and hurrying to compress the bleeding on her arms.
“Hold this here,” she instructed me, yanking her sweatshirt off to shove it at me, then showing me where to put pressure on Anya’s temple.
“Head lacerations bleed the worst, but it’s better to have the reaction outward than internal.
Anya, can you tell me what hit your head?
Did you fall or did someone strike you?”
Anya mumbled, her voice so choppy I could barely understand. If she wasn’t in my lap like a scared animal, I wouldn’t have felt her reply as a vibration between us to know that she had spoken at all.
“Against the wall? Okay. Easy. Just breathe, Anya. Nice and easy.” She coached her through breathing cycles, still sharp-eyed and on the case as she checked her over.
If she needed to go to the hospital, I couldn’t risk it.
Not now. I had to rely on Claire’s expertise, astonished at how instantly she got into action and wanted to help.
I was touched by her immediate assistance.
Even though she struggled to be near me all the time and to acclimate to how my world worked, there was no doubt that she was a good woman, a practiced and skilled doctor, a healer at heart, willing to care and love, no matter what.
“You will be all right,” Claire insisted as we sped toward home. She vowed it, like simply stating it could will it into reality.
Rocking with the momentum of the final turn to get home, I heaved out another deep breath.
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to take her word for it, that with all the danger in our intertwined lives, being near her goodness would help us have hope.
Her goodwill was only one half of the Yin-and-Yang situation we were thrust into, and it only encouraged me to want to keep her in my life, in my home, for good.