Chapter 33 - Mikhail
“Dostoevsky? What the hell?” Mikhail spat as he jerked to a seating position.
He had forgotten that he had slept naked on the covers until Sarah’s eyes dropped down to his huge penis and rounded in her small face into twin saucers.
Hastily, he jerked the bedclothes over himself, even as the girl jerked her gaze towards the far wall.
Oleg Dostoevsky had wild eyes. He swung the gun widely, pointing it first at Mikhail and then at Mira.
“You stupid, silly bitch. Just like your mother. What is it with both of you and the Nikolai men?” Dostoevsky spat, ignoring Mikhail and glaring murderously across the space separating them at Mira.
Mira clutched the bedcovers to her neck, looking ill and terrified all at once. Everything in Mikhail boiled with rage. Where were his men when this man strode out of the dungeons and grabbed a hostage to show him the way to his bedroom?
As though she had read his thoughts, Mira flicked a side glance towards him as she said in a low tone, “Vlad called you just before he burst in to tell you about his escape.”
Mikhail wasn’t mollified. Why had he been allowed to escape in the first place? His dungeons were famous for the fact that no one who entered them got out alive unless he wanted them to.
“What do you want?” Mikhail demanded, directing his question to Dostoevsky. His best bet was to keep the man talking so that his men could hopefully come this way and surprise him from the back. He was stark naked in bed underneath the covers; hardly the safest attire for armed combat, he thought with dark humor.
“I would have said I wanted my daughter, but seeing as she watched you toss me in your dungeon like dirty laundry and shouted her encouragement every step of the way, I think it’s safe to say she’s not worth my efforts anymore.”
“You killed her mother,” Mikhail reminded the man in a hard voice. “What did you expect?”
“She cheated on me!” Dostoevsky yelled.
“You should have just tossed her out on her ear then. You didn’t have to kill her!” Mira cried.
Dostoevsky still had wild eyes and the look in his eyes worried Mikhail. He seemed like a man whose mind had come somewhat unhinged. Was it possible that he had started to lose his mind?
Mikhail threw a worried glance at Mira, wishing she would shush. He didn’t want to remind Dostoevsky overly much of her, even though it would be hard to get the man to forget her when she was sitting right in front of him. But still...
Spying a robe on the foot of the bed, Mikhail snagged it and tugged it on. As he rose to his feet, he slowly came around the bed, his palms held upright and out until he was planted in front of Mira, effectively blocking her and their baby from the direct path of the gun.
“Calm down, Dostoevsky,” Mikhail began.
“Shut the fuck up,” Dostoevsky barked. “And move aside. You’re blocking me from seeing Mira,” he ordered.
Mikhail remained rooted to the spot he stood, inwardly praying that Mira wouldn’t try to make a run for it just yet so he could continue to be a form of human shield for her.
“What are you trying to achieve?” Mikhail demanded.
“My own daughter celebrated my being captured by my worst enemy and here she is, fucking like a rutting pig in his arms,” Dostoevsky snapped.
Mikhail’s hands clenched into fists at the insults directed at Mira. She was so beautiful, ethereal, elegant and ladylike. She didn’t deserve to be spoken about in that manner. He wanted to slam his fist badly into Dostoevsky’s nose to break what was left of it; but he was afraid the vile man would use that opportunity to hurt Mira or Sarah.
Vlad materialized just then in the open doorway behind Dostoevsky, his gaze narrowed and focused on Dostoevsky. He had moved so soundlessly that even Mikhail had been pleasantly surprised to see him.
He had to keep Dostoevsky talking if they were to have any chance to escape this, Mikhail thought.
“Do you—” he began, stepping forward slightly.
Dostoevsky pulled the trigger sending the bullet towards Mikhail’s foot. He missed by a hair’s breadth, but the loud report of the pistol was jarring enough that it made Sarah and Mira scream.
Vlad took advantage of the commotion and pounced. He hit Dostoevsky’s gun hand from behind and the gun clattered to the floor. Sarah darted away, farther into the room and away from Dostoevsky’s clutches.
Vlad rushed towards Dostoevsky in a flying tackle that sent both men crashing to the ground. Mira leapt from the bed, struggling with the covers even as Vlad and Dostoevsky began to wrestle. Mikhail got out of their way as the two grappling men swung at each other and rolled on the floor.
By some happen chance, Dostoevsky landed near his pistol again as they fought on the floor. He reached for it and started to point his pistol at Vlad. At the same time, more of Mikhail’s men poured into the room. Before he could take aim, someone fired point blank, shooting him right in the middle of his chest.
Dostoevsky’s eyes rolled back in his head and then he collapsed onto the floor as dead weight even as his blood began to seep out in crimson rivulets.
Mikhail flicked a concerned glance at Mira, hastily dashing towards her to catch her up in his arms as she swayed a little. Sure, Dostoevsky was vermin but he was still her father and she had just watched him get killed right in front of her, which was the last thing he’d wanted.
He gently cupped her cheek in his hand, “Mira?”
She raised dull eyes to his face. “Is it over then?”
He nodded. “Yes, sweetie. It’s over. He’s dead.”
She gave him a wan smile, then promptly vomited all over his robe.