Chapter 12
Vanya
Colvin. The bastard.
I’m even more grateful I thought to downgrade to a Bentley before leaving Chicago. I wouldn’t want to tip our hand or let him know about the Kozlov Bratva’s presence here. But apparently, someone already has.
He’s been sniffing around everyone for weeks. First Kirill Khitrenko and Jordan Thorne, my fellow enforcer and his new girlfriend, then Sasha Pisarav, our second-in-command’s youngest son.
After receiving photographic proof of Sasha meeting with Detective Colvin, Roman labeled Sasha a traitor and banished him.
This detective creates a wasteland wherever he goes.
I can’t afford to let Paige become more fallout. Roman’s instructions left no wiggle room.
So, when I spotted Colvin walking into the library, I lingered up the street, out of sight, and waited for him to depart.
That’s when I saw Paige’s beige Camry roll out of the parking lot and head back to town.
I trailed her at a distance, not close enough to spook her, not so far I’d lose sight if things got ugly.
With my buzzing senses and knotting stomach, I knew ugly was imminent.
Keeping sight of Paige proved simple enough. She drives with all the excitement of a nun, two miles under the limit, her hands at nine and three, her body hunched over the wheel.
Only a minute or two after I pulled behind her, however, an unmarked sedan whipped in front of me from out of nowhere.
With no plates and windows too dark to be law enforcement, the car’s three tons of American muscle with a mean streak.
Less than a car-length back, they blasted up behind her.
Anyone with half a brain would’ve passed her, but not the sedan. They intended to intimidate, maybe even draw blood.
Paige is mine, motherfuckers.
The sedan hits the gas, lurches forward, and rams into her.
Twice, the crash of metal-on-metal screeches against my ears.
White-hot fury mingles with the foreign sensation of fear, choking off my breath.
But the woman’s good under pressure, and she maintains control.
I spot her turn signal. Good girl. Get the hell out of their way.
I hang back, giving myself a bit of distance to play with. If I interfere too early, I may put her in more danger. Still, every inch of me vibrates with the urge to throw myself between Paige and the threat.
I check my seat belt, then reach out to hit the manual override for the airbags…just in case the sedan follows her.
Shit.
The unmarked car nails her again. The third impact shoves her Camry off the road. Her little Toyota clips an embankment and flies off the ground. From behind the sedan with too-bright-lights, I watch her car roll.
The searing terror in my chest mellows to cool, calm comprehension as I switch off my headlights.
Because these fuckers, whoever they might be, scared Paige and maybe even hurt her…they’re about to die.
They just haven’t gotten the memo yet.
Paige’s Camry bangs into a couple of small trees before sliding to a stop, right-side up.
The soon-to-be-dead-men slam on their brakes, spinning around to pin her in the glow of their LEDs.
The sedan’s perpendicular on the road now.
Perfect.
Stay put, Beautiful. I’m coming.
The world sharpens to a point as the heavy but damn near silent engine of the Bentley charges forward.
The doors on the dark vehicle’s passenger side pop open in unison. Two men jump out with drawn weapons, their silhouettes black against the beams while they move as if they’d drilled this a hundred times.
These goons are so focused on what they’re doing, they neither hear nor see me coming up behind them.
At the last second, I flip on my headlights. The men freeze before whirling toward me, their faces hidden by ski masks.
My German beast of a car T-bones their American model at seventy miles per hour.
Metal shrieks and glass flies across the road as the vehicle careens out of the way. Burned rubber wafts through the air.
The men dive for their lives. One jackass tries to roll over the hood, and the other flings himself back toward the ditch on the other side of the road.
I expect retaliation, so I’m not surprised when the ditch explodes with muzzle flashes. Sloppy. Not aimed. Cover fire.
At least it gives me a target to aim for. My passenger-side window is already shattered, so I shoot through it, gunpowder flooding my senses.
The man in the ditch drops with a scream.
One down. At least two to go. After all, the driver never got out.
Releasing my seat belt, I tumble out of the seat and into the grass next to the dead man. With my gun up and my finger on the trigger, I duck, ready for the follow-up.
The man who rolled over the hood to avoid me scrambles back toward the smashed-up car, yanking open the back door on the driver’s side.
Looks like they’re not paid enough to risk their lives.
The driver flings a shot to aid his buddy as the other man leaps in.
I could shoot back. The urge to kill the bastards bleeds through my veins, but Paige is in the line of fire.
Not worth the risk when the garbage is already taking itself out.
The sedan rips free of my bumper, fishtails for a second, then rockets back onto the road. As they flee, the trigger-happy gunman in the back seat leans out the window, lighting the air with Chicago-style confetti.
Assholes.
Shoving my gun back in its holster, I cross the street and race over to Paige.
When I pry her door open and the bent metal crunches, she doesn’t flinch. Just stares up at me. “I’m here, Paige. It’s Vanya. Are you hurt?”
She doesn’t respond.
Luckily, I find no signs of blood. The deployed airbag withers in the cold night air. She’s wearing her seat belt, and nothing indicates a head injury.
I take my first full breath since seeing the car zoom in behind her. She’s in shock but okay. Safe, for now, though I’m not sure for how long. I don’t know who those fuckers were, but all that matters is she’s unscathed.
I can’t quite shake the relief away.
Reaching in, I click her seat belt off, then check for injuries before carefully wrapping a hand around her wrist and guiding her out.
As soon as her feet touch the ground, she nearly falls, her hips hitting the crushed edge of the seat.
I catch her, keeping one arm around her waist while pulling her upright and against my chest. My heart starts beating again in a fast and heavy rhythm.
The corners of my eyes prickle, and I wonder if gas is leaking from her tank.
That’s the only thing that could explain my burning nose and eyes. It’s got to be the fumes.
Paige blinks a few times before coming to life with a gasp. She flings her arms around me and buries her face in my neck.
I respond by embracing her. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. They’re gone. I’m here.”
Her bun sits loosened at the back of her head. A coiled loop flops out of the middle.
As I stroke my fingers through it, strands come free in my hand. “You’re safe now, Paige. I’ve got you.”
“They tried to…kill me.” With her hands clutching my lapels, she pulls back enough to peer up at me with unfocused eyes. “You saved me.”
Her forehead wrinkles, and her nose scrunches. She looks like she’s afraid I might drop her. Which explains why she’s clinging with such vigor.
The mission was clear. Get the book and keep Detective Colvin off our trail. But now, hugging Paige’s shaking body to mine, the mission blurs, and my priorities start to shift.
It’s not just about the job or Roman’s paranoia or even the hierarchy of family and blood and old debts.
It’s about her.
This woman’s mine.
“Of course I did. You’re too precious to let anything hurt you.” When I kiss her forehead, she smiles, proving she’s still in shock.
I embrace her for several seconds longer than necessary, just to enjoy the beat of her heart against my chest. To reassure the primitive part of my brain that she’s alive and here and not tied up in some trunk or bleeding out on the side of the road.
My arms tighten around her waist. “And you’re coming with me, so I can ensure you remain safe.”