Chapter Seven
Natalya
The darkness in the closet feels like it’s folding in on me.
Vanda won’t stop shaking. Her breath rattles against my thigh in short, panicked bursts, and I keep one hand on her scruff, trying to keep her steady, trying to stop my own heart from flying out of my chest.
It’s useless.
My palms are sweating so badly I can barely grip the doorknob. My mind won’t stop replaying everything that happened in the last thirty minutes—should be up to that now even though it feels like an eternity.
And then I went and left my phone on the counter like an idiot.
No one knows I’m here.
No one knows I need help.
“Okay,” I whisper to Vanda, my lips pressed to her trembling ear. “We have to think. Just think.”
I force myself to inhale slowly, even though each breath feels like it’s scraping down my throat. I reach for the wall behind us, and my fingers brush something thin and cold. Wire. Probably from the ribbon bins. The memory of Andrei teaching me to jimmy locks suddenly flashes in my head.
As kids, when our mother would lock us in closets as punishment and I would be inconsolable, Andrei had taught me to save myself. Seems like the time has finally come to put the skill to practice.
Hopefully, I don’t mess this up.
“Okay,” I whisper, trying to swallow the ache. “Here goes nothing.”
I bend the wire with shaking fingers, shaping it the way he taught me—two bends, slight pressure, tilt upward. I feel along the lock, find the tiny lip, and—
Click.
My heart leaps into my throat.
“I did it,” I breathe, barely audible. “Vanda. Baby. We did it.”
She whimpers softly in response.
I ease the door open an inch. Then an inch more.
The shop is dim and quiet. The only noise is the distant metallic clink from my office and two male voices. I recognize the voices almost instantly—it’s the same men from yesterday. The door to my office is wide open so I catch a glimpse of them battling with my safe.
They’re distracted. Good.
With one hand gripping Vanda’s collar, I inch forward slowly. Each footstep feels like a lifetime but the thought of escape keeps me going. The back door is just a few feet away.
“HEY!”
“Grab her!”
“Run,” I whisper, pulling Vanda behind me as I start to sprint.
But she doesn’t stay with me. She jerks out of my grip with a feral growl and launches herself forward.
“Vanda! No!” I cry as she slams into one of the men with full force.
He screams, stumbling back as she latches onto his forearm, her teeth sinking deep. The other lunges for me. I dart to the side, then run.
That’s the only way I can get us help.
I push harder, my heart pounding against my ribs. I hear Vanda snarling behind me, then a man’s strangled shout followed by her whimper. The sound nearly knocks my legs out from under me.
But I don’t stop. I can’t.
I keep aiming for the door—that’s the only way I can help her.
I reach for the door’s handle and it suddenly bursts open. I screech to a halt with a frightened scream but it’s Alexei’s men bursting in with their guns drawn and ready to attack, with Viktor standing behind them like a freaking avenger.
“Natalya!”
He storms inside like a force of nature, his cold, lethal, eyes glazed with murderous intent. There’s no hesitation. No warning. He raises his gun, aims over my shoulder, and—-
BANG.
I gasp as the man chasing me drops behind me, a bullet through his chest, dead before he hits the ground.
My heart slams painfully as I turn, expecting to see the second attacker running. Or fighting. But instead, he’s on the floor, bleeding and whimpering, clutching his leg.
And Vanda…
“Vanda?” I choke, stumbling toward her.
She’s lying still. Too still.
Blood streaks her fur. Her body is curled in on itself, as if the fight wrung every ounce of strength from her.
“Vanda!” My voice breaks, raw and terrified. “Oh God—no, no, no—”
My knees hit the floor so hard pain shoots up my legs, but I don’t care. I’m already pulling her into my lap, already checking her breathing with shaking fingers.
She’s alive.
But she’s not moving.
Her eyes are half-closed and unfocused, her breaths short and shallow, like every inhale hurts.
Behind me, the shop explodes into movement; Alexei’s men swarming the attacker, shouting orders, clearing the scene—but all I see is the dog who saved my life, fighting for hers.
“Please,” I whisper, stroking her head through shaking fingers. “Please stay with me, baby. Please.”
Viktor finally moves, as if broken out from a trance. He comes down beside me in a heavy, controlled way…like he’s holding his whole body back from shaking apart. His hand hovers over Vanda first, not touching her yet, just feeling her breath, his chest rising and falling too fast.
“She’s alive,” he murmurs, the words thick, scraped raw. He presses a hand gently to her side. “Pulse is strong. She’s breathing.”
His exhale hits the air like relief and rage tangled together.
There’s a lot of activities going on around us but all of it fades under the ringing in my ears, under the fear clawing inside me.
“This is my fault,” I choke out. “She was trying to protect me—I should have protected her.”
His jaw flexes hard enough I see the muscle jump. Then he carefully slips an arm beneath her fragile body and lifts her against his chest.
“It’s not your fault, lepestok,” he says softly, like he’s afraid I’ll argue. “You did what you had to. Now, let’s get her to a vet.”
I nod and he turns, barking orders over his shoulder without raising his voice:
“Secure the building. Keep the scene tight for Alexei and Dmitri. No one enters.”
Then, to the men nearest to him. “Pavel. Mark. You’re with me. Car now.”
They snap into motion instantly. He adjusts Vanda in his arms and looks at me.
“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice gentle again. “She’s strong. She’ll be fine.”