Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
JULIAN
PRESENT DAY
I’m not dying amongst rubbles and the scum of this fucking Earth the day after I got my husband back. I’m not dying here covered in the blood of Russian Bratva soldiers while I watch the man responsible for my pain fucking win.
The pilot is still alive. But it doesn’t matter.
When Misha raises his hand to point at Igor, I rush to close the distance. And tackle the fucker to the ground, my arms banding around his waist from behind.
He lands on his side, breaking a wrist as he falls, and I don’t waste a second, wrapping my elbow under his throat, ready to twist his ugly neck. A metal door clanks against concrete and I almost sag when I see Lana and Lisandru rushing through with a few more men behind them.
But as soon as they make it to the roof with us, they get hit by a round of bullets, coming from the pilot, who’s taken cover behind the helicopter.
My brother swirls as his shoulders take the hit and Lana falls to her knees, one hand to her stomach, the other slack, barely holding onto the gun beneath her fingers.
Despite the kevlar underneath our clothes, from this distance, I know the bullets have found their marks.
Her face contorts with too much pain. Igor rushes to her side.
A gun cocks, then a barrel touches the back of my head. “Let him go,” a thick Russian accent asks. I hesitate. Lana’s voice is strained as she says, “Do as he asks.”
Our eyes clash, her rimmed with tears as Igor holds her to get to Lisandru, his arm bleeding, the kevlar he wore underneath his clothes ripped to shreds. His chest heaves.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
My face contorts with frustration and a grief so violent, I feel sick.
It can’t end like this. Not with my brother bleeding on a dirty floor. With my best friend fading in front of my eyes. Not with our lives forfeit.
I release Misha, who stands then turns back on me, rubbing his neck. Smirking. The helicopter pilot holds me at gunpoint still. Yet, I spit on Misha’s boots. The metal hits my temple and I fall to my side, hitting the hard ground.
The pilot moves to stand between Misha and I. As though on my knees, held at gunpoint, I could do anything to injure his precious Pakhan. Misha’s cheek bleeds where a bullet must have grazed his face. He needs to suffer more.
I release a growl.
“Down, boy. I’ll give you an easy death. Or maybe I’ll keep you as a pet for Dimitri here. He deserves a reward after all.”
A thin red laser point appears on the forehead of the pilot before blood splashes on my face. We had one sniper on our team. Irina Ventura. I can’t see her, but it doesn’t matter. She gave me an opening I can’t pass up.
I surge forward. But Misha’s fast and I’ve underestimated him. No death can surprise someone who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
He seizes my body, grunting as he puts pressure on his broken wrist to gather me to his chest. The mouth of the handgun meets my temple again as Misha uses me as a human shield.
“Stand down,” Lana cries to Irina.
“Listen to the bitch, pretty girl, wherever you are,” Misha laughs. “I will blow his brains out if any of you make a move.”
“Let him be, Misha,” Igor says as he takes a cautious step towards us. “We’ll go. We’ll leave. You’ll never have to see us again.”
“So, that’s the boy you’ll betray me for? I should have known you were broken. No amount of reforming could get you on the right path. Don’t you see?” Misha yells to his brother.
Igor’s hand holds a gun but he doesn’t raise it. I can see in his brown eyes the hurt and the hope. If my own brother had destroyed lives, how long would it take me to finally come to terms with his evil?
“They made you like this! They made you turn on your own family, believing lies. You’re weak. You’re a disgrace.”
Misha continues his rant, waving his gun to Lana, my brother. His empire crumbles around him, but he’s not ready to lay down the fight.
The smell of gunpowder hits me again as the mouth of the gun makes contact with my jaw.
“Leave him be, Misha. I’m here,” Igor says.
“You’re not. You fucking died there. I did all this for nothing!”
“You never had to do any of it.”
“I did it for you!”
Igor raises his arm then, unlocks the safety, and points at his brother. But his hand trembles. And his eyes shine with unshed tears. He said it himself. He can’t do it. “I can’t let you hurt him. I can’t let you hurt them.”
“It’d have been better if they killed you,” Misha says. “Look at what they did to you. Turning against your own brother. You disgust me.”
“Do it,” I plead Igor. But still, the tremble doesn’t seize.
We’re suspended in stasis. Him unable to choose. Me, ready to die for him. And his brother, a lost cause.
“I can’t,” Igor murmurs. For me or for his brother, I’m not sure. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
Two things happen at once.
Lana jumps from where she lies on the floor and shoots at Misha’s head, while he extends his arm over my shoulder and pulls the trigger. I jump and push his arm up as he falls back.
On unsteady legs, Lana careens to where I stand. I crouch and take hold of Misha’s gun. Together, we empty both our magazines into his head until his body continues to jolt but his face becomes unrecognisable.
When we’re done, Lana coughs, then links her fingers with mine.
“Julian,” my brother cries out my name. The smile that wants to take over my face is cut short.
Both Petrov men have fallen.
And my cry of pain shatters the air around us.