Chapter Fourteen
Kirill
“Take no prisoners,” I say through gritted teeth. “We’re not going soft this time.”
“Soft?” Dima scoffs. “We wasted every one of those fuckers back there.”
“This time we’re going to make them hurt.” I run an eye over the dilapidated three-story office block in front of me. The red brick is worn, the path to the door sprouting weeds. Just like Petrov’s business. He runs a shoddy operation. It’s why his plan to trap me has been destined to fail.
Inside my head, all I can think about is Tiana. I must get her back, and make these bastards pay for everything they’ve done. This bullshit’s gone on long enough.
“It won’t be as easy this time, boss,” Dima adds. “If those guys back there were a diversion, then this is where they’ll put up a real fight.”
Dima has a point. Those guys back there were used as collateral so that they can win time. Typical fucking Petrov. Sacrificing several lives just to get a small advantage over me. Too fucking bad it won’t get him anywhere.
“They will if they know what’s good for them.” I flex my shoulders, fingertips trailing over the cold steel of my Tokarev. “Let’s move out.”
Yet again, we’re encircling a building filled with Vlad Petrov’s men.
And yet again, I’m hoping he won’t be expecting our numbers.
The previous skirmish had hardly diminished our forces – stupid of him not to leave more of his best men behind; the soldiers we’d faced were no match for us.
Which means he’ll have his elites inside here, though.
We’ll have to be more careful this time around.
Let them come.
I step forward. We can’t go barreling through the front door this time.
We already played that card, and it won’t work again.
Not here. While we’ve been waiting, a dozen men have silently made their way to the roof, preparing to rappel down and strike in through the top-floor windows.
That will have Petrov’s men distracted as they run up there while the rest of us go in from below.
Yuri has a team armed with smoke bombs and grenades to slow them down before we get in there.
It’s a good plan.
I nod at Dima, who radios the leader of the group on the roof. I don’t need confirmation to know that they’ll be doing exactly as instructed. I glance down at the Breitling strapped to my wrist, marking time.
Seconds later, my confidence in them bears fruit as the sound of breaking glass is followed by rapid gunfire.
There’s a shout from below, and then several more as boots thunder through the lower floors of the building.
Just as expected, the soldiers inside are rushing to investigate the commotion upstairs.
I know they won’t be so foolish as to leave the bottom levels unattended, which is why we have Yuri waiting on standby.
I cast a look over at the stone-faced man who’s watching the events play out with eyes like a hawk. I’m leaving the timing of the next attack to him. He’ll know exactly the right moment to hit them hard.
It doesn’t take long. There’s a slight lull in the gunfire, and Yuri surges forward.
A rain of bullets shatters the lower-floor windows, and then he and half a dozen men are ducking low, rushing forward and hurtling their payload through the shattered glass.
An explosion has the remaining windows bursting out from their frames.
Another follows, and then three more. Screams ring out as smoke billows from the ruined windows.
Someone flings himself through an open window and is cut down before he can get to his feet. Others have taken up positions beside the open windows, peppering shots out at us. But there’s still screaming, and their movements are uncoordinated. It’s bedlam.
Just the way it should be.
Swirling a hand overhead in a silent instruction to my men, I duck and rush forward, using random bushes for cover as I close the distance to the building.
Someone tosses another grenade into a window, and the earth shakes beneath my feet, my ears ringing from the concussion of it.
It barely slows me, though. I shake my head as the high-pitched whine in my skull eases, gritting my teeth as I plow on before diving through a window.
The room within is a picture of devastation. Furniture is splintered, cushion stuffing blown about, and within all the chaos lie the dead and dying. I pick my way through the debris, aware of the sounds of Dima and the others moving in behind me.
I step over bodies and torn limbs, my boots crunching on broken glass and into slick blood.
The acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder fills the air, but that’s not what has my attention right now.
I’m looking for clues. Signs of where they might be holding her – because everything inside me says that she’s here.
Where is she dammit?
Where?
And then, she screams.
I’d recognize her voice anywhere, the sound puncturing my chest like an armor-piercing round. She screams again, and all I can focus on is that sound echoing through the building. My heart pounds, and a red haze descends over my vision.
“Spread out!” I bark to the others, who disperse into the bowels of the building, trying to pinpoint the source her her screams.
I charge down the hallway, my gun at the ready.
I hear the sound of footsteps ahead, and I round the corner, firing without hesitation.
An armed man crumples to the ground, a bullet hole between his eyes.
I don’t even have a recollection of aiming, my body moves on instinct born from years of fighting.
I keep sprinting forward, my senses on high alert.
Another scream pierces the air. It’s intelligible this time.
“Kirill!”
Hearing her call my name is like lighting a fuse attached to a powder keg. I zone in on the sound like a homing beacon, weaving through the corridors of the office block.
Seeing that I’ve picked a path, Dima falls in behind me.
“Boss!” he warns me a moment before a volley of bullets pours from one of the offices leading into the hall.
My body moves on instinct, a predatory growl ripping from my throat as I leap to the side, my Tokarev barking out a stream of lead.
The man who’d opened fire on me falls back, his chest a bloody ruin.
I don’t stop to check if he’s dead. I’m already moving, ducking into a nearby doorway.
I poke my head around the doorframe only to be greeted by a shower of gunfire.
Checking the empty clip in my pistol, I quickly replace it, then glance behind me to see that Dima has taken cover in an office further down.
I meet his eye with a nod, silently pointing in the direction of the shooter before circling a finger over my head.
He frowns in response, understanding that I’m asking him to throw cover while I attack; it’s madness, but he knows better than to resist. I’m going in regardless.
We’re already losing precious seconds that could be costing Tiana her life.
Her captors know we’re on our way, and they’re going to resort to desperate measures.
Without wasting another moment, I crouch low and exhale, waiting for Dima’s volley of gunshots.
When they come, I fling myself forward, keeping low as I cover ground in fast steps.
I dive to the floor and slide the last few feet on my belly, skidding to a halt and twisting as I reach the doorway.
The fucker lurking there has less than a millisecond to stare down at me in alarm before I swing my arm up and put a bullet beneath his chin, taking the top of his head off.
I leap to my feet, seeing that I’ve left a broad smear of blood on the beige linoleum floor as I slide across it.
I glance down at my bicep, which is pissing blood through a tear in my shirt.
That gives me a moment to frown – I hadn’t even felt the slug that clipped me.
It hasn’t affected my ability to move, so I ignore it, running forward again.
“Boss, wait!” Dima shouts after me, but I don’t listen. I’m too far gone, too consumed by rage and apprehension over what I’m going to find when I get to her.
My haste is foolish because it leads me straight into the path of an oncoming gunman. Still running full tilt, I raise my weapon, squeeze the trigger, and hit him center of mass, but not before I feel a flare of white-hot pain as a round sears past my ribs, ripping flesh on its way.
Blyad!
I clasp a hand over the wound, scowling at myself for being so impulsive.
The next round might hit something vital, and then I won’t be of any use to anyone.
I pause, leaning back against the wall as I take stock of my injuries; nothing life-threatening, but I am going to feel the blood loss at some point.
I check my weapon, keeping my fingers clear of the barrel that’s hot as fuck after several minutes of consistent firing.
I aim quick glances up and down the hallway, seeing only Dima in my wake before I set off again in the direction the screams had come from.
“Kirill!” The next scream comes from a door barely five yards away. I hit it at a run, crashing through it and into the room beyond. The sight that greets me is like a blow to the chest.
Tiana is there, tied to a chair, her dress stripped open and her face twisted in terror. And standing behind her, a sneer on his face, is a wiry fucker with a blade to her throat.
“Well, well,” he says, his tone dripping with malice. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
I take a step forward, my gun still raised, but he draws a line across her throat with the blade. Beads of blood trickle immediately, and I stop at once, frozen in place.
“I wouldn’t do that, Vyronov,” he sneers.
“Let her go.” My jaw clenches as I hold myself back.
“Why? So you can kill me? She’s my ticket out of here.” He eyes the door.
“There’s no way out of here. I’m going to kill you, whichever way you look at it.”