Chapter 20 - Angelika
I stare at the cleaning uniform hanging on my closet door that I’m going to be wearing later tonight. It’s understated, dreary, and grey. Which is exactly what we need it to be.
My stomach flips anxiously, and I squirm in my seat by my bedroom window. The book on my lap is closed; I haven’t even been able to open it to start reading.
No matter what I try to do to distract myself, I’m so nervous that I can’t think about anything other than tonight’s auction.
My anxiety has been bad the last few days since Diomid told me about it, but today, the day of the auction, it’s through the roof.
I could easily call him and tell him to take his brothers instead of me. But I won’t.
I need this. I need to do this; otherwise, I’ll never get myself back on track. My strength. To fight back like this is the best way I can think of to help myself realize that those monsters are just men. They bleed. They feel fear and pain, and I can beat them.
Besides, Diomid trusted me with this, and I’m determined not to fail him—or myself.
He believed in me.
I wonder what he meant when he said he was willingly going to marry me?
I have so many questions, but our time was cut short, and even though I’ve been tempted, I don’t want to bring it up over a message. It doesn’t feel right.
So, I guess I’m just going to have to wait until I see him again in person. And not tonight. Tonight is about something else entirely.
I swallow hard and glance again at the uniform.
The idea is that I’ll be invisible, too boring to look at, with my face hidden beneath a grey hat, the grey dress and apron blending into the background. Just the girl who clears the empty glasses away and cleans up the spillage. The nobody.
Bratva men are always underestimating Bratva women. They don’t seem to realize what we’re capable of.
Not all of them, but certainly the type of men who buy girls at auctions to use as toys. Those men don’t fear women. They wouldn’t even consider that I might be dangerous to them.
I lean forward in the chair, and the book drops off my lap onto the floor.
Tonight they’re going to get a big surprise. Because I’m the one planting the bombs. My disguise will help me slip easily past everyone, while I plant four bombs around the venue.
Ok, they’re smoke bombs, not bomb-bombs.
But still. I don’t want to be responsible for hurting any of the girls or innocent people who are caught up with those assholes.
However, I do want to create a large distraction, disrupting the auction, so that Diomid and his men can rush in and save the girls from the storage containers behind the stage.
That’s the plan.
And he’s picking me up in exactly three hours and twenty-four minutes.
And for those three hours and twenty-four minutes, I’m tense as hell and can’t sit still for even one moment.
***
I’m already waiting outside the security gates of my brother’s estate when Diomid arrives. I have the uniform on, and my hair pulled back into a plain braid down my back. I look boring, which is exactly what I want.
“Hi Angel,” a voice comes from the backseat when I quickly hop into Diomid’s van as it pulls to a stop alongside the sidewalk.
“Oh my goodness,” I squeal in fright and spin around, with my hand pressed over my heart.
Oleg chuckles. “Sorry,” he mutters.
Diomid grins and places his hand on my thigh. “I couldn’t exactly warn you about it, but Oleg is coming with us as backup. Extra safety.”
“That’s great,” I giggle quietly, my heart racing. “Wow, I was not expecting anyone else to be in the car, though.”
“A little jumpy?” Diomid smiles tenderly.
“Um, yes, a lot actually, but I’ve got this. Once I get inside, I’ll be so focused I won’t have time to be nervous,” I say confidently.
“That’s how it usually goes,” Oleg agrees. “Even for me.”
On the way to the auction, Diomid makes me recount the plan to him all over again. Twice.
He reviews the backup plan in case things go south; he walks me through each step I should follow once I set foot inside the auction.
He keeps trying to get me to repeat it over and over again until Oleg groans in the backseat and says, “Man, no wonder she’s so nervous.
Let her breathe. You’re going to drive her insane before we get there. ”
Diomid clenches his jaw and steals a glance at me. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just want you to be safe.”
“I will be. I’m not going to do anything reckless,” I reassure him, understanding that he’s only doing it because he cares that I get in and out without being hurt.
We park around the side, away from the other guests and anyone who might recognize Diomid and Oleg. Diomid’s team of men arrives in two cars and parks near us.
I take a deep breath.
“Earpiece?” Diomid asks. I tap my ear and nod.
My stomach churns even worse than before.
I swallow away the fear and stand up straighter next to the dark van we drove here in.
“Remember, I’m not going to talk to you unless it’s urgent.
And you shouldn’t talk to me either. We need to be extra careful tonight.
Only confirm for me once the bombs are planted, so we know we can move in to get the girls. Unless, of course, you need my help.”
I nod. “I know. I remember.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” Oleg says, grinning, “unless you guys want to hang out here all night instead.”
“Shut up, moron,” Diomid grins.
He winks at me. “Whenever you’re ready, princess,” he says.
I nod and grin back at him. “Later, losers,” I say, trying to sound cool even though I’m terrified. I pick up the small drinks tray, ready to collect empty glasses as I sneak around the party area. Beneath the tray and inside my apron are four smoke bombs.
Again, it surprises me how easily one can access the venue. The same red lights and thick, smoky air assault my senses as I step out of the passageway and through the swinging door.
Keeping to the side, I start gathering empty glasses and discarded beer bottles, stacking them on the tray, and keeping my head down as I move from one location to the next.
One bomb planted. My heart races, my skin hot and clammy.
Even though my earpiece is silent, it’s nice to know he’s there, listening.
I move toward the bar, my eyes averted, but taking in everything.
I unload the empty glasses in the crates behind the bar, then move along the bar, wiping its surface with a cloth from my apron.
While I’m doing this, I stick a bomb beneath the lip of the bar, then, as with the first one, I press a small button on the side of the device, and a green light flashes once to indicate it is now synced with the other bombs and has joined the timed countdown.
Ten minutes before they go off. And I need to be out of here in eight minutes.
Keep moving, Angelika. You’re almost done. Two down. Two to go.
When I turn around to hurry to the next location, I walk right into none other than Bardil Popov.
My stomach drops into my feet, and my head spins with fear so thick my vision goes entirely black for a second. His face distorts into a disgusted sneer as he pulls himself back, horrified that he came into such close contact with a cleaner.
“Watch where you’re going, girl,” he snaps, looking right at me, but not seeing me.
“Sorry, sir,” I mutter quickly, dropping my gaze.
“Someone knocked a drink over near the stage. Go and clean it up,” he snarls, pushing me. I’m so grateful that he didn’t recognize me that I have to press my lips together to force myself not to smile. The disguise is perfect. And this asshole is letting his enemy move around right under his nose.
“Yes, sir, right away,” I say quickly, then turn away from him and hurry toward the stage. I was going to plant the stage bomb last, on my way out, because it’s the closest to the exit, but I’ll improvise and plant it now while I clean up whatever mess has been made. It’s a good cover.
After this, I only have one more, located in the far corner near the guest entrance. The entrance is most heavily guarded, and that’s not where I want to be at all.
Kneeling in front of the stage with a rag in my hand, I mop up the sticky mess on the floor while I reach across and press the putty-coated bomb onto the front wall of the stage, up high near the lip where, hopefully, no one will notice it.
Glancing up at the crowd standing over me, I don’t think any of these guys notice anything except for their own overgrown egos.
I press the small red button on the side of the bomb. The green light blinks once. Armed. Counting down. One more bomb to go, and then my task will be a complete success.
Excitement stirs through me as I hurry to the last location near the door.
This is probably the most dangerous place for me to be. It’s brighter here, the guards are on high alert, and the people arriving aren’t already engrossed in distractions and conversations, and drink.
Sticking close to the wall again, I move as close as I can to the entrance and pick a spot that looks good. Then, I press the bomb into a corner by dropping it carefully onto the floor and nudging it forward with my foot. Using the toe of my sneaker, I press the button on the side. Done.
My stomach fills with butterflies.
“Four birds,” I say into the small microphone pinned to my collar.
“Get out,” Diomid says. “You cut it close. You’ve only got a minute and a half before they go off.”
“Shit, ok, I’m on my way,” I blurt out, probably too loud, but lucky no one seems to notice.
And I’m not even near the stage that I planned to be. I’m too far from my exit point. This is not good.
In front of me, a man yells and shoves another man.
“What the fuck did you call me?” he snarls.
“Trash. Because that’s what you are. You and your family. You don’t belong in a place like this, you don’t deserve to be ranked with us,” the first man spits.
The second man swings his fist, and it connects, with a snap, against the first man’s jaw.
The moment that the punch is thrown, the room goes into chaos.
A fight breaks out. Someone throws a glass.
I get pushed right onto the floor, on my hands and knees.
Every time I try to stand up, someone ends up tripping over me or kicking me without even knowing they’re doing it.
I squeal, pushing my way through the sea of legs and boots and men and pressing myself against a wall.
My heart is racing, my head screaming.
In my earpiece, Diomid shouts, “Where the hell are you?”
Just as the bombs go off.
The explosion is deafening. My ears pop, then ring in silent discomfort. Thick, choking grey smoke fills the already chaotic venue. The guests go into a full-blown panic. The perfect distraction. The perfect deference. Except I was not supposed to be stuck in the middle of it.
Every man starts shoving his way toward the entrance, pushing, punching, aggressive with fear for his own life. I can’t move away from the wall. Not because I’m scared, but because I literally can’t move with the pushing and shoving going on around me.
“Diomid, get the girls out, I’ll get out when I can,” I shout, but smoke fills my lungs and the words come out choked and incoherent. I can’t make out his reply in the noise around me.
I sink lower, trying to hover beneath the layer of smoke pulsing through the air. My eyes are watering so badly that I can’t see properly. But you have to get out of here, Angelika. You need to move.
Forcing my feet to carry me forward, one step at a time, with my eyes narrowed and my hands stroking along the wall as guidance, I try to map the place in my mind.
I’m to the left of the stage. Even if I can’t see, I can feel my way to the edge of the stage and then along it.
Once I reach the right-hand side of the stage, I’ll be a few steps from the swinging door.
Suddenly, I’m lifted off my feet, a sea of bodies and hands and panicked people. I’m stuck in the flow. I scream and kick, but it’s no good. When my feet find the ground again, I’m nowhere near the wall, and my vision is too blurry to figure out what direction to go in.
Tears of fear mix with the tears streaming down as my eyes try to fight the burning smoke. I press my earpiece harder against my ear, trying to hear him, but I can’t.
“Diomid?” I shout into the microphone. “I need help!”
Someone grabs me from behind, and I spin to push them away, tired of being bullied.
But it’s his voice against my ear.
“Angel, I’ve got you. You’re ok, you’re ok.”
My heart somersaults and I let out a happy yelp.
He pulls me right against him, then pushes me behind his back, yelling at me not to let go as he uses his bulky size to push through the crowd with me slipstreaming behind him.
We get to the swing door quickly. I still can’t see properly, but when we get through them, the air is clearer and the place is less chaotic. He grabs my hand and I run, trusting him to lead me.
As we step into the open air, I gasp in multiple lungfuls of fresh, untainted air.
He picks me up in his arms, unable to wait for me to get my bearings, and carries me toward one of the cars his men arrived in.
Diomid shoves me into the passenger seat and closes the door.
“Oleg, I have her,” he says into his microphone. He pauses, standing next to the open driver’s door, listening to his brother’s reply.
“That’s fucking brilliant. We’re in the second car. Move your asses.”
Diomid climbs into the car. I turn toward him, finally able to breathe again, and immediately start lecturing him. “You came in there without a disguise. The whole point was for you to stay out of sight. Someone could easily have seen you, you risked your life…”
He grabs me and pulls me onto his lap, holding me against his chest and burying his face in my hair.
“Are you ok? Are you hurt? Fuck I thought you’d get trampled in that stampede.
We saw the men pouring out of the front entrance in a state of total panic and chaos.
I ran around to the side to wait for you, but you never came out.
I thought… I thought something bad had happened.
I couldn’t hear you; you weren’t responding.
” His voice is so strained with emotion that it stuns me into silence as I snuggle closer to him and grab at the fabric of his shirt. “I’m ok,” I mutter. “I’m really fine.”
My body is still coursing with adrenaline when he pulls me away to look at my face.
“Your eyes are so red,” he says quietly, gently brushing a strand of hair from my face and pulling the grey hat off my head.
“Those smoke bombs are really effective,” I smile, giggling anxiously, my heart still racing.
“That they are. That’s why you were supposed to be outside when they went off,” he scolds.