35. BRAXTON
Chapter thirty-five
I eased up to the door, listening. There were muted voices and music in the distance, but nothing sounded close. I twisted the handle, preparing myself for what might stand in my way.
Daria shifted beside me, her dress rustling as she adjusted her stance. She was absolutely focused, her beautiful long neck pulsing with tension.
I cracked the door open an inch. The hallway was empty…for now. I glanced at her. She nodded once.
“Time to move,” she said, not an ounce of fear in her voice.
Nik’s voice cut through the earpiece. “Malinov’s pissed. He just ordered a couple of his guys to find you.” There was a beat of silence. “You have maybe sixty seconds before they reach the ballroom entrance.”
“Got it. We’ll find a way around them one way or the other.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “It’d be smarter to jump out of that window.”
“Smart is not dropping dead from poison before you can take ten steps.” I angled my body to face her, forcing her to look at me. “Let’s get to the kitchen and remove that thing from your arm. Then we leave.”
She exhaled hard through her nose but didn’t argue.
Nik barked. “Hallway’s clear, but keep it tight. No hesitation. Move!”
I tugged on Daria’s hand, and we slipped out of the bathroom.
The distant hum of laughter and music drifted toward us from the ballroom.
We bolted down a hallway and then took a right, Daria shadowing me. When we approached the massive double doors leading to Malinov’s gathering, we pulled back to a more casual pace. My skin prickled as we crossed; I was waiting for someone to turn, for a head to snap in our direction.
Nothing.
We cleared it and resumed our quick pace.
Nik’s voice cut in. “Goons at the ballroom door and heading in your direction. I’ve got control of all the camera feeds and am looping them so they’re blind.”
We turned down a corridor, leaving the party behind. Within seconds, we were dashing down the grand staircase with my arm wrapped around Daria’s waist.
She moved swiftly despite the heels she was wearing.
Nik hissed. “Fuck. Malinov’s thug is at the top of the stairs.”
Daria and I didn’t break stride.
Just as we turned in the direction of the kitchen, Nik warned, “He’s working to track you. No ID on your back yet, but he’s moving fast. I can’t loop the feed again this soon.”
Up ahead, I spotted a narrow hallway that led from the main corridor into the staff section.
I grabbed Daria’s arm and veered hard left. We kept moving. A set of steel double doors loomed ahead, swinging open as a server rushed out with a platter of pastries. We slipped in before the doors could close.
The lighting here was harsh—industrial fluorescents. The air was thick with the scent of warm bread, seared meat, and something sweet. The kitchen buzzed with activity. Dishes clattered, pans sizzled, and the chef barked out orders to the staff.
Daria shifted closer to me as a man in a pressed black-and-white uniform brushed past us, carrying a tray of champagne flutes. He barely glanced at us.
Nik exhaled. “You lost the tail. He walked past the turn.”
We made our way further into the controlled storm of the kitchen.
Then a woman in a black shirt and apron strode past, thrusting a large metal mixing bowl into my hands without stopping.
Nik informed me, “It’s okay; she’s one of mine.”
I lifted up the pristine white cloth napkins on top. Beneath them, two large bottles of Beluga vodka were nestled among an array of other supplies.
The operative vanished through another door.
Daria arched a brow.
“Fancy,” I muttered, gripping the bowl. “Let’s move.”
We cut through the kitchen, holding our heads high like we owned the place. A few workers noticed but didn’t stop us. A freezer door loomed at the far end, a massive steel thing.
I pulled it open, guiding Daria inside.
She shuddered as the air hit like a frosty wave. I quickly tugged the door shut, then set the bowl down on a metal shelf. “Well,” I said, eyeing space, “at least the cold will slow the bleeding.”
Daria gave me a look that could kill.
Nik’s voice crackled in my ear. “You’ve got maybe five minutes before someone starts asking the kitchen staff questions. Get it done.”
I flexed my hands and met Daria’s annoyed stare.
“Let’s cut that thing out of you.”
I yanked the napkins off the bowl. The second I saw what was inside, my brain flipped a switch. This was my battlefield now. My compelling instinct to provide the best medical care kicked up a notch.
I exhaled a steaming breath through my nose, looking like a dragon, already going through the steps in my head. I’d worked with less and in worse conditions. This? This I could do.
“All right, Nik. I’ve got a boning knife—sharp as hell,” I muttered, testing it against my arm. A few hairs were sliced clean off. “Box of razor blades. Tweezers. Superglue. Kitchen twine.” I grabbed an ice block from a shelf. “And plenty of ice to help numb the area.”
Daria snorted. “Not worried about the pain, Boy Scout. Just get the damn thing out so we can go.”
Her bravado didn’t fool me, but we were out of options, so there was no need to discuss it.
“When I make the incision, you can’t move,” I warned, setting a heavy box of frozen beef next to her on the shelf. “Brace yourself against this. Grip the edges and don’t flinch. If I nick the capsule, you’re dead.”
I wrapped a block of ice in one of the cloth napkins and pressed it over her arm, right above the triceps where the bastard had implanted the device. She tensed, a small tremor rippling down her spine, but she didn’t make a sound. “Hold this here.”
While the ice numbed her, I poured half a bottle of vodka into the metal bowl and dropped the blades, knife, and tweezers in to sterilize them. Then I splashed more vodka onto my hands.
Nik’s voice hissed in my ear. “Shit’s moving fast. More of Malinov’s men are starting to search.”
My hands moved quicker. “Buy us time.”
“Working on it. Magnus is about to start a drunken brawl, using a very willing Katya as bait to get the men up in arms.”
I barely registered what he was saying, so focused was I on the task ahead of me.
“Let’s do this, Daria.”
She placed the napkin-wrapped ice on a shelf and stepped up without hesitation, hugging the box of beef and wrapping her fingers around the edges while she flexed her forearms. God, she was the toughest woman—no—the toughest person I’d ever met.
I poured vodka over her exposed skin as my focus narrowed in on the incision site. The skin was taut, the muscles coiled beneath the surface. Next, I placed a few napkins under her arm to absorb the blood.
“Daria, brace yourself.”
She blew out a quick breath. “Do it.”
I picked up a razor blade and set the edge of it against her skin. A slow, precise pull split the surface open. Blood welled instantly, rolling down in thick rivulets.
Her knuckles whitened against the box, but she didn’t move.
“Good,” I murmured, grabbing the boning knife and angling the narrow tip under the tissue. “Gonna carve around it. Hold your breath and don’t move.”
Daria’s body was rigid, every muscle locked in place.
I worked fast, slicing into the layers of tissue and muscle surrounding where the capsule was anchored in place. Blood ran freely now, pooling at the base of her arm, soaking into the napkins.
A sharp, high-pitched groan escaped her, quiet but brutal, as if it had been torn straight from her soul. It was the kind of sound that made my gut twist like a blade had been buried deep.
My hands stayed steady though, my fingers moving with the precision honed by years of working as a paramedic.
“You’re doing good,” I murmured, carving deeper. “Just a little more.”
A barely there whimper slipped past her clenched teeth, hitting me harder than any scream ever could.
The tissue continued to give way until…
“Shit,” I muttered, reaching for the tweezers. The capsule lay exposed—a small, silver mass slick with blood, still tethered to the strands of tissue I’d cut away.
Daria fought to stay still.
“Stay with me,” I said, grasping the capsule firmly. “Gotta carefully remove it so the barbs don’t trigger a release of the toxin.”
Despite the bitter cold of the freezer, sweat covered her now-ashen skin.
With one steady tug, I lifted the capsule from the blood-filled incision.
I barely had time to throw it into the bowl before it burst.
The liquid inside turned the vodka a sickly, iridescent green.
Daria twisted to look.
“That was some nightmarish neurotoxin,” I said flatly, grabbing the second bottle of vodka. “And now it’s fucking useless.”
She sucked in a breath, her face pale.
With no hesitation, I poured the vodka straight into the open wound. The vodka flowed over the raw muscle and exposed nerves, mixing with the blood.
Daria jerked like I’d set her on fire. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat, her back arching as her fingers clawed at the frozen box beneath her. I hated seeing her in pain, but it had to be done to sterilize the incision.
Her entire body shook, but she didn’t pull away or try to punch me in the face. She took it without breaking—like pain was just another ordeal to outlast. She was tough as hell, but she made it look easy. This was the kind of woman who could outfight any man, out-think any enemy, and still make it home in time to tuck a kid into bed or rock a baby to sleep.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus, to not think about the pain I’d caused her. “Almost done,” I reassured her, reaching for the glue. Since there was nothing to suture the wound closed with, I had to improvise.
The incision spanned five centimeters and was about the width of my pinky. I’d cut more than I’d wanted, but what choice did I have? I’d needed to ensure I didn’t set the damn thing off.
“Stay still. There’s just a little more to go. You’ve done amazing.”
I pressed the edges of the wound together, then twisted the cap off the superglue. Carefully, I manipulated the edges of the wound with one hand, keeping the tissue aligned while at the same time applying a thin, steady line of glue along the length of the incision. I worked fast, sealing the deeper layers first before moving to the surface, making sure each section adhered together before moving on. The glue set almost instantly, bonding the skin like makeshift sutures.
When I squeezed out the last bit of glue and stepped back, Daria’s breath hitched, her fingers clawing at the frozen box. But she didn’t make another damn sound.
After cleaning my hands and the skin around the incision site with more of the vodka, I wrapped a clean napkin around her arm and bound it with the kitchen twine, pulling it snug.
It was done.
Daria lifted her head. Sweat dotted her forehead, strands of hair sticking to her skin. She was paler than I would have liked, but her eyes burned with the same fire as always.
I let out a breath, dragging a forearm over my face.
Then, without thinking, I pulled her against me.
Her body tensed, but she didn’t resist.
I pressed my lips to her forehead, my grip on the back of her head firm but careful. Her body trembled beneath my hands. I wrapped my arms around her in a gentle embrace.
“You’re a fucking machine. I couldn’t have ever done it,” I whispered.
Her breath shuddered against my chest, but she let me hold her.
I let the hug last two seconds longer than I should have before pulling back.
Nik’s voice snapped through the earpiece, “Time’s up. Get the fuck out.”
“We’re good to go. Talk to me.”
“I’ve gotten a distraction underway right at the base of the grand staircase, forcing guests to crowd above. Magnus knew just how to stir the pot. Half the Bratva here is too busy throwing punches at each other and smashing up Malinov’s overpriced décor to notice anything else.” Nik chuckled darkly through the earpiece. “But you need to move now. Exit through the back. Kitchen delivery door leads to a service lot. I got eyes on the car.”
I glanced at Daria. She wasn’t steady. The adrenaline crash hit her fast, and she wobbled slightly when she tried to take a step. I reached for her waist, anchoring her against me before she had the chance to stumble.
“I’m good,” she muttered, bracing herself against my side.
“Yeah, well, I’d rather you make it to the car upright than end up on the kitchen floor on your ass.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
I guided her out of the freezer, nodding to the woman who had brought us the tools earlier. She nodded back, slipping into the freezer behind us to clear away the evidence.
We moved swiftly through the kitchen. Workers bustled past, going about their duties and ignoring us. In no time, we were out the door.
Nik’s voice cut back in. “Valet’s lot is at the north end, behind the hedge walls. Cars lined up in neat little rows. You’ll see yours. It’s hard to miss.”
We stepped into the night air, a cool wind biting my sweat-soaked skin. Spotting the car, I led Daria toward it. Her steps faltered.
I tightened my grip around her waist, steadying her. “Almost there.”
One of her brows quirked up in question.
“You gonna tuck me in bed tonight too?” she groused when I lowered her into the passenger seat. She leaned back against the plush leather as I reached across her to buckle the belt.
I smirked. “Say the word, and I’ll read you a bedtime story.”
She shoved me out of the car, but her hands weren’t rough—they were playful. I was getting a glimpse of the woman I’d met in the chaos of our escape from the prison. Something in her had eased.
Maybe there was a chance she would forgive me.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, pressing the ignition sequence on the center touchscreen. A biometric scan of my fingerprint flashed across the console before the SF90 rumbled to life. The engine purred under the hood, the soft blue glow of the dash illuminating the cockpit. Damn, this was the most incredible car I’d ever driven. Too bad it was under such shit circumstances.
Nik’s voice barked through my earpiece. “Get your ass to the front gate. Malinov’s noticed she’s missing, and he’s throwing a fucking fit.”
I shifted into gear and punched the accelerator. The Ferrari launched forward, tires gripping the pavement as I maneuvered along the estate’s winding drive.
Nik chuckled. “Magnus got out just before Malinov put a bullet in someone’s head. Perfect timing.”
When I reached the main drive, Nik said sharply, “Gate’s locked down tight. Give me ten seconds.”
Ten seconds was too fucking long.
The headlights of SUVs flared up behind us, and then—gunfire.
Bullets chewed into the stones of the driveway, one ricocheting off the back fender. Daria braced herself against the door and console, gritting her teeth.
“Any day now, Nik,” I growled.
Nik laughed. “Relax. Gate’s opening—”
The steel gate slid open, barely wide enough, but I squeezed through, clipping the edge of the barrier.
“Now for the fun part,” Nik said gleefully. “Shutting it down permanently.”
A second later, an explosion went off behind us. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I watched fire flare and shrapnel fly. The gate crumpled inward. Twisted metal now blocked the entrance to the estate.
“Malinov’s gonna have to blow it apart,” Nik mused. “Sucks to be him.”
I barely heard him. My focus was locked on the streets leading to the marina.
“Nik, are you in position?”
“Already waiting, princess,” he taunted.
A few minutes later, I whipped the car into the lot, tires screeching against concrete. “You’d better have that boat ready to move.”
The superyacht towered in front of us like a floating fortress.
As soon as the car stopped, Daria pushed her door open and stumbled out. I exited swiftly and I caught her elbow before she could argue.
“Come on,” I muttered, swinging her up in my arms and carrying her toward the gangway.
“Put me down. I’m fine,” she demanded, but I ignored and kept on walking.
Nik stood at the top of the ramp, holding his arms out wide like he was welcoming us to a five-star Mediterranean cruise.
“Welcome to the Valkyrie , my friends,” he drawled. “A state-of-the-art, sixty-five-meter masterpiece of naval engineering. She’s got twin MTU 20V 4000 M93L engines—because why settle for one when you can have two? A top speed of twenty-eight knots. Teak decks, infinity pool, a beach club, and more firepower than a goddamn missile cruiser.” He smirked. “In other words, she’s a beast.”
I ignored the sales pitch, holding Daria close as we stepped aboard. “She needs some medical care,” I said bluntly. “You got pain meds, antibiotics?”
Nik snorted. “I have an entire infirmary below deck. But first, the captain and I need to focus on hitting international waters. You two get below deck and be ready to hold on to whatever you can. She’s pretty agile for a big girl.”
One of the two crew members standing behind Nik gestured toward the interior. “We’ll take you to your rooms,” she offered politely.
Daria gave Nik an absolute death glare but remained silent.
“Where the fuck did you get this thing?” I asked him.
Nik smirked. “Right friends in the right places. And best of all, the crew has lots of experience navigating under, let’s just say, less than ideal circumstances.”
I exhaled sharply, tightening my grip on Daria. “No wonder you holed up here instead of helping at the estate.”
“Yeah, well, I had eyes all over the place and several good people on the inside,” he said, leaning in. “Listen, if we survive dodging every Russian patrol from here to the Atlantic, we can all kick back and enjoy every luxury on this boat.”
I shook my head and followed the crew members inside.
The main deck stretched out before us, sleek and immaculate. The overhead lighting cast a soft glow over the polished wood and modern steelwork. Glass panels lined the walls, offering uninterrupted views of the dark water beyond.
Nik clapped me on the shoulder. “Get some rest, hero. We’ve got a long run ahead. I’ll be up here in the conference room if you need anything.”
Before we went below deck, Daria insisted I put her down. I didn’t argue. The two crew members led us down a hallway lined with doors—guest quarters, I assumed.
Daria was escorted into the first room as I was ushered into the next.