16. Domenic
Chapter 16
Domenic
Boom .
I jump even though I was waiting for it.
Fuck me, she did it. Our Duchess just shot the head off the Stepanov Bratva, one of the most feared men in the world.
He hits the wall behind him, a large chunk of his skull, brains, and blood splattering the brickwork, and slowly slides to the floor. He lands in a slump, his chin to chest, leaving a smear of more blood behind him.
The gun clatters from Mack’s fingers, and she spins away from him and vomits onto the floor. I don’t know if it’s a result of what she’s just done, the sight of all the gore, or because of the seizure she’s only just had, but I go to her. I hold her hair out of the way and rub her back as she heaves. She’s shaking all over.
“Oh, my God. I just killed Kirill’s father. Oh, fuck. Oh, Christ.”
“It’s okay. Here. Sit down.”
But she shakes her head. “No. I want to get out of here. I don’t want to spend a single second longer than I have to in this place.”
I glance over at Tino, who nods.
“Okay, let’s get out of here.”
My arm is around Mackenzie’s waist, and I try to guide her, but she pulls back on me.
“No, wait,” she says. “I know what I said, but there’s one thing I need to do.”
To my surprise, she slips out of my grip and goes back to Grigoriy’s body. She crouches and does something that’s hidden from my view, and then stands again.
“Okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “Let’s get the fuck out of this hellhole.”
I scoop up my t-shirt, and pull it down over her head, so it covers the top part of that hideous, and now blood-spattered, wedding dress. Tino picks up his sweatshirt and puts it back on too.
The gunshot has drawn Tino’s men back down into the basement, clearly wanting to check we still have the upper hand.
Tino addresses Leon. “Take the two surviving assholes with you, and then torch the place—any vehicles you find, too.”
Leon gives a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”
He yanks Igor up by his shirt, and the man screams. I can’t tell where the knife went when he was stabbed, but it hit some part of his junk if the slowly spreading patch of blood is anything to go by. He hobbles, and each step conjures a moaning, retching sound from his throat.
Leon shoves him again, pitiless and cold.
I can hardly believe it’s over. Mackenzie and Kirill are safe, and Grigoriy is never going to hurt anyone again. I imagine the news reaching Russia, and the huge fucking impact it’s going to have on their society, but that’s not our problem. I expect there will be some people over there who will want to shake our hands. I just hope there are no other repercussions, but then there won’t be as long as no one finds out what we did.
It means we’ll have to be very careful that, if we do circulate those pictures of Grigoriy dead, naked, and flaccid, we don’t let them be traced back to us in any way. No one can know we did this. Our Duchess can’t be the further target of any of the Stepanov Bratva who might remain active in Russia.
It’s the reason we can’t let these two men live. It’s clear from their eyes that they think they’re getting away with it, though. They played their part. Mackenzie said the one with the weird pale eyes—Vadim—came on her, and that information alone makes me want to kill him.
As for Igor, well, Kirill gets to have the final say in that. The man has been a thorn in Kirill’s side for as long as I’ve known him.
We leave the cabin, and head toward the vehicles.
Sunlight hits like disinfectant, washing off the grime of that cabin. Fuck, I’m glad to be out of there. Mackenzie is walking, but she leans on me the entire time. I glance over to Tino. He’s noticeably limping, his face tight with pain. He must have hurt himself when he went for the gun.
As we near the vehicles, Vadim stumbles. The man guarding him holds him up, but Vadim’s eyes roll back in his head. His face pales suddenly and alarmingly. His body slumps again, and this time the man lets go as Vadim hits the ground hard.
His guard bends over him and rolls him onto his front. He’s pale, sweaty, and mumbling incoherent bullshit.
The medic who was treating Kirill jogs over and squats by Vadim. He looks him over. “He’s lost a lot of blood and is in a lot of pain. He’s probably also gone into shock.”
“Is he going to die?” Mackenzie straightens, her arms wrapped around her waist as if hugging herself.
Her voice is hopeful. I glance at Tino, and his jaw tightens.
“Without treatment,” the medic says, “yes, probably, but it will take a long time. He might survive.”
“You thinking of leaving him out here, Duchess?” Tino asks.
She purses her lips. “I was, but if he might survive, then no.”
The medic confirms her fears. “If someone found him, got him medical help, then yes, he might still live.”
“I don’t want him to live,” she whispers. “He did things to me… and to Kirill.”
The thought of this man touching her makes me want to tear him limb from limb, to rip off his head and spit down his neck.
But Tino gets there before me.
“Duchess, your word is my command.” Tino takes the gun he is holding and aims it at Vadim.
“Come on, baby. You don’t need to watch,” I say with my arm around her. “Let’s get you checked out and see how Kirill is doing.”
She nods, and I take her hand and lead her away. The shot rings out, and she flinches and draws a sharp breath but says nothing.
Igor is staring around him while Diego pushes him along, and I can tell he’s thinking about making a run for it. He won’t get very far, the fucking idiot. He’s still got a knife sticking out of his balls. The sight brings on a wave of faintness, and I look away, but I keep my peripheral vision on him. Waiting for when he tries to make that move.
The door to one of the vehicles opens, and Kirill steps out. His nose is bloodied, and he’s still ashen, but he isn’t as checked out as he was. His eyes have something of his soul back in them.
“Hey, man,” I greet him. Then, not sure of what the fuck I can say, I lower my gaze.
Mack said they did things to him. How bad? I’m not sure I want to know.
“Is he dead?” he asks.
I know he means his father.
“I’m sorry.” Duchess sobs and throws her arms around him.
Kirill might be in shock, but his arms come around her automatically, and he nuzzles his face in her hair. “It’s okay, Kukla . It’s okay. He deserved it. It has to be this way.”
She pulls away from him and reaches down the front of her dress. “I got something for you.”
To my surprise, she produces a watch. It was the same one that had been on Grigoriy’s wrist. Holy shit, that’s what she was doing when she bent down to him. She took his watch to give to Kirill.
My jaw drops. She never fails to amaze me. Even when I think she’s at her weakest moment, she pushes herself to do more, thinking of someone else rather than herself.
He squeezes the watch in his fist and then pockets it. “Thank you.”
She gives a tiny nod, and they move together again. This time, Kirill lowers his forehead to hers, and they just stand that way, breathing each other in.
There’s a connection between them now, a bond, and I can feel it. It makes me an utter asshole to be jealous of it, but I am. How can I begrudge them this? They only had each other to get through the absolute hell they were in, but I still find it hard to watch.
Will she always be bonded to him now in a way I can never match?
Igor suddenly makes his break for it. I let him go, enjoying letting him think he has a chance.
Leon raises his weapon, but I put my arm out and steady his. “Let him run for a while. False hope dying is a beautiful thing to witness.”
Kirill releases Mack and storms away from us. He opens the rear doors of the truck he drove here and reaches inside. A moment later, he straightens with something in his hands.
I realize it’s a gun.
Face hard and set, he follows Igor into the woods. The other man is stumbling, babbling, and crying. He’s totally pathetic, and I can’t believe this is the guy that terrorized so many people, including Kirill.
“Hey, Igor,” Kirill shouts. “Get on your fucking knees and crawl to me, and I might let you live.”
Igor stops. He turns slowly to Kirill, and I can see it. That flash of defiance, the strength that stopped him from sucking Grigoriy’s cock, but then he flinches.
“This really hurts,” he moans as he gestures to the mess that is his package. “I think I’m going to need surgery.”
“Crawl,” Kirill says again.
“You won’t let me live.” Igor laughs, and it breaks into a sob at the end.
“Then why did you try to run?”
“I don’t fucking know. That stubborn will to survive?”
“Crawl to me,” Kirill says, and it’s almost soothing. Almost seductive.
“No.”
“Fine.” He raises the gun, and Igor shouts.
“Okay. Okay. Just, give me a second, this fucking hurts.”
He clambers down onto his hands and knees and starts to crawl.
“Wiggle your butt like a good doggie,” Kirill snarls.
Jesus Christ. I remind myself never to truly get on the wrong side of my friend.
Igor does as Kirill says and he wiggles his butt, sobbing in pain each time he does.
“That’s perfect. Pant for me.”
Igor looks up at Kirill, and a flash of pure hatred beams from his narrow-eyed gaze, but he does it. He pants like a fucking dog.
“Lift your front paws up like a good boy. Kneel up.” Kirill laughs.
Igor does it. He raises up, hands in the air like paws, and Kirill smiles slowly.
“Good little doggy.”
Then he pulls the trigger, the crack echoing through the trees. Birds burst from branches and take off into the sky. The bullet hits Igor right between the eyes. His mouth falls open as if in shock, but no sound comes out, and he falls to the ground.
Behind us, the crackle of flames grows increasingly louder. The cabin is burning. Good fucking riddance.
“Drag him to the cabin and burn him,” I order the men. I turn to my friend. “Kirill, you did it,” I say. “He’s dead.”
“I know. Don’t fucking patronize me.”
I swallow down my anger at his hostility because this is not the time or the place. I simply nod.
“Come on,” I say quietly. “Let’s go home.”