Chapter 20
TWENTY
RIOT
We hit Helsinki at dawn, air cold enough to burn my lungs when I step off the plane.
Dmitri's already on his phone, Russian fast and low, pulling intel from someone who owes the Dragunovs big. Viktor’s face is carved stone the whole flight over, Mikhail pacing the aisle like he wants to punch holes in the fuselage, but Dmitri’s the one who gets the ping first. His screen lights up with a private stream link, no sender, just a timestamp and three words in English: Watch closely.
He taps it open.
The feed fills with a small stone church, candles everywhere, Anya standing at the altar in white silk that looks wrong on her, too perfect, too still.
Her hands shake around the bouquet. Konstantin’s next to her, tux sharp, bandage on his neck peeking out, smiling like he already owns the rest of her life.
The priest’s voice crackles through the speaker, thin and formal.
“She’s saying the vows,” Dmitri says, voice flat but eyes like knives. “We have maybe fifteen minutes.”
We’re already rolling. Three blacked-out SUVs tear down back roads toward St. Petersburg outskirts, gravel spitting under tires.
Viktor drives the lead one, knuckles bone-white, muttering prayers and death threats in the same breath.
I’m in the back with Dmitri and Lucky, Blade and Tank in the middle rig, every gun we smuggled loaded and chambered. My pulse is a hammer in my throat.
The church appears through the trees, old gray stone, guards at every entrance. Dmitri doesn’t brake. “Front doors. Hard entry. No hesitation.”
We bail before the vehicles stop. Gunfire cracks immediately, guards on the steps opening up.
Lucky drops the first with a suppressed round to the knee, the man screams and folds.
Blade puts two clean in another’s chest. I’m running, boots pounding stone, Dmitri matching me stride for stride, Viktor and Mikhail right behind.
We hit the doors like a wrecking ball, kicking them wide, splintered wood flying.
Inside it’s chaos. More guards rush us from the sides.
I slam the butt of my pistol into one’s jaw, feel the bone give, spin and drop another with a double tap to center mass.
Dmitri moves like smoke, every shot precise, no wasted rounds.
Lucky’s laughing low and feral, covering our left flank.
Blade yells “Clear!” as he drops the last one blocking the center aisle.
The organ dies mid-note.
I see her.
Anya halfway down the aisle, white dress glowing under candlelight, facing Konstantin at the altar. The priest is frozen mid-sentence, book trembling in his hands. Witnesses gasp, a woman screams.
Anya’s voice cracks on the words. “…to love and to cherish, until death do us part…”
Tears streak her face, ruining the makeup.
I roar her name. “Anya!”
Her head snaps toward me. Eyes wide, shock and relief crashing together so hard she sways.
Konstantin spins, face twisting from victory to fury. He yanks a pistol from inside his jacket, levels it at my chest. “You’re too late, Kovacs. She said yes. She’s mine now.”
I keep walking, slow, gun up but finger off the trigger. “She’s never been yours.”
Anya moves faster than I expect. She steps right in front of me, arms out wide, putting her silk-covered body between me and Konstantin’s barrel. “No! Stop! Don’t shoot him!”
My heart stops dead. “Anya, move!”
Konstantin’s finger tightens, eyes wild. “You think this saves him? It just makes watching him bleed sweeter.”
The shot cracks sharp from behind her.
Konstantin jerks, blood blooming dark across his white shirt, pistol clattering to the stone. He drops to his knees, then face-first with a wet thud.
Dmitri steps out from the side aisle, pistol still smoking, face blank as ice. “He’s done.”
Anya spins, sees her brother, then me. She’s shaking so hard the bouquet falls, roses scattering across the floor like blood.
I’m on her in two strides, hands cupping her face, thumbs wiping at the tears. “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t put yourself in front of a gun for me.”
She grabs my jacket, fingers digging in like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. “I couldn’t let him take you. I couldn’t watch you die. I thought I had to say it, I thought I had to marry him to keep you alive.”
I kiss her hard, tasting salt and fear and relief, hands fisting in her hair. “I love you. So fucking much. I thought I lost you.”
She kisses me back desperate, sobbing against my mouth. “I love you too. I love you so much. I thought I’d never see you again.”
The priest is stammering behind us, witnesses frozen in the pews. Viktor’s at the back door, gun still up, scanning for more threats. Lucky and Blade are securing the entrances.
I pull back just enough to look at her. “We’re not waiting. Not for anyone to try this again.”
She blinks through tears. “What?”
I turn to the priest, voice rough. “Finish it. Right now. Marry us.”
The old man stutters. “This is highly irregular—”
Dmitri steps up beside me, pistol still in hand, voice cold. “You heard him. Do it.”
The priest swallows hard, looks at Anya. “Do you… take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Anya doesn’t hesitate. Voice shaking but clear. “I do.”
He looks at me. “And you, do you take this woman?”
“I do,” I say, eyes locked on hers.
Mikhail pulls two plain bands from his pocket, ones they must’ve grabbed in the rush. I slide one on her finger, she slides one on mine, hands trembling.
The priest rushes the last words. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I don’t wait. I kiss her deep, hands in her hair, tasting her tears and her fire and every promise we never got to make before this nightmare. She kisses me back like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping her afloat.
When we break apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing ragged, I whisper, “You’re mine now. No one can take you again. Ever.”
She smiles through the tears, small and real. “I was always yours.”
Lucky claps me on the back, grinning like a lunatic. “Congrats, brother. Hell of a wedding.”
Blade nods toward Konstantin’s body. “We leaving that here?”
Dmitri holsters his pistol. “Let him rot. He doesn’t deserve a grave.”
Viktor lowers his gun last, face unreadable but eyes wet. He steps forward, puts a hand on Anya’s shoulder. “You’re safe now, little one.”
Anya reaches for him, hugs him quick and fierce. “Thank you.”
We step over Konstantin’s body like he’s trash.
Anya’s hand is in mine, ring glinting under candlelight.
We walk out together. Husband and wife. Iron Reapers and Dragunov blood. No more cages. No more threats. Just us. And the whole damn world can try to touch her again. We’ll burn it down together.
The second we’re out of that blood-soaked church I scoop Anya up, dress and all, because her heels keep catching on the stone and I’m not risking her falling.
She buries her face in my neck, arms locked around me, shaking like she’s still waiting for a bullet that never came.
Lucky’s already got the SUV idling at the curb, back door open.
I slide her in first, climb in after, slam it shut.
“Hotel’s five minutes,” Lucky says from the driver’s seat, eyes flicking to the rearview. “Clean spot. Off the grid. We cleared it.”
I don’t answer. My arm’s around her waist, holding her against my side so tight I can feel every tremor.
Her hand finds mine, fingers threading through, thumb rubbing over the new ring like she’s making sure it’s real.
I press my lips to her temple, breathe her in, jasmine from whatever they sprayed on her hair, gunpowder from the church, and underneath it all, her.
“You came,” she whispers, voice cracked.
“Always.” My throat’s tight. “Told you I’d burn everything down to get to you.”
The SUV stops outside a low gray building, no sign, just a side door. Lucky kills the engine. “Room 12. Key’s in the lock. We’ve got the perimeter.”
I nod once, then I’m out, pulling Anya with me. She stumbles a little in those heels so I scoop her up again at the threshold, carry her inside, kick the door shut. The room’s basic, bed with white sheets, lamp on low, bathroom light already glowing. Doesn’t matter. It’s ours.
I set her down slow, but I don’t let go. Hands slide to her face, thumbs brushing the tear tracks through the makeup. “You okay?”
She nods, even though she’s still trembling. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
“You didn’t.” I kiss her forehead, her eyelids, her mouth, soft at first because I’m scared she’ll shatter. “You’re here. You’re mine. That’s all I need.”
She grabs my jacket, yanks me closer. “I said I do. To you. Not him.”
My blood heats. “Yeah. You did.”
I turn her around, fingers finding the laces at her back.
They come undone one by one, silk parting under my hands.
The dress slides down her arms, pools at her feet.
She’s bare underneath, no bra, no panties, just skin and fading bruises and the faint red lines from zip ties. My breath catches hard.
“Fuck, baby.” My hands skim her sides, careful over the cuts, tracing every mark like I can erase them with my fingers. “Look at you.”
She steps out of the dress, kicks it away like it’s poison. “I hate it.”
“Then it’s gone.” I shrug out of my jacket, yank my shirt over my head, kick off boots and jeans until I’m bare too. I’m already hard, aching, but I don’t rush. I back her toward the bed, gentle but sure. She sits on the edge, I drop to my knees between her thighs.
“You don’t have to—” she starts, but I cut her off with a kiss to the inside of her knee.
“I want to.” My mouth moves higher, slow, open. “Been dying to taste you since the second you left.”
I spread her with my thumbs, breath hot against her, then lick one long stripe up her center. She gasps, fingers fisting the sheets. I groan against her, tongue circling her clit, dipping inside, fucking her with it until her hips buck.
“Riot—”
“Say it again,” I mutter, voice wrecked. “Like that.”
“Riot.” She grabs my hair, holds me there. “Please.”
I suck hard, slide two fingers in, curl them just right. Her back bows, thighs shaking around my head. I don’t stop until she comes apart, crying my name, pulsing around my fingers, thighs clamping tight.
I rise, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, eyes locked on hers. “Love the way you taste when you’re mine.”
She pulls me down on top of her, legs wrapping my waist. “I need you inside me. Now.”
I notch at her entrance, slow, careful. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Her nails dig into my back. “Please.”
I push in inch by inch, stretching her, filling her until we both groan when I’m buried deep. I stay still for a second, forehead pressed to hers.
“Feel that?” I whisper. “That’s us. Husband and wife. No one can touch this.”
She nods, tears slipping again. “I love you.”
“Love you more.” I start moving, slow rolls at first, then deeper, harder. The bed creaks under us. Her nails rake my back, urging me faster.
I hook one of her legs over my shoulder, change the angle, hit that spot that makes her eyes roll back. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”
She shatters again, clenching around me, crying out. I follow right after, slamming deep, groaning her name as I spill inside her, hips jerking with every pulse until I’m empty and shaking.
We stay locked together, panting, sweaty, hearts hammering. I kiss her slow, lazy, like we’ve got forever now.
“You’re safe,” I murmur against her lips. “You’re home.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, holds me tight. “With you. Always.”
I roll us so she’s on top, still inside her, hands stroking her back. “No more running. No more cages.”
She kisses my jaw, my throat. “Just us.”
“Just us,” I echo.
And for the first time since she disappeared, the world outside the door doesn’t exist. It’s quiet. It’s ours. And I’m never letting her go.