CHAPTER 17
LIAM P.O.V.
The cold air in the cabin still bit at my skin, but it was nothing compared to the phantom chill that had settled deep in my bones.
My side throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, a constant reminder of Volkov’s knife and my own goddamn carelessness.
Rose lay curled against me, her breath soft and even against my chest, her body a warm anchor in the encroaching predawn gloom.
She was everything—my strategist, my anchor, my fucking obsession.
And right now, she was the only thing keeping the raging inferno of my fury from consuming me whole.
I shifted slightly, a low grunt escaping my lips as the bandage chafed against the angry gash.
My eyes, still gritty with a lack of sleep, scanned the small, dilapidated room.
Vasily was outside, presumably standing guard, the soft crunch of his boots on the frozen earth the only sound apart from Rose’s quiet breathing.
My men were regrouping at the perimeter of Volkov’s fortress, licking their wounds, waiting for my orders.
And Volkov, the old rat bastard, was holed up in his goddamn mountain bunker, thinking he’d won.
He hadn’t won. Not yet.
The shame of being wounded, of needing Rose to drag my sorry ass from the battlefield, still burned.
I was the Pakhan. I was supposed to be invincible.
Yet, here I was, vulnerable, broken, reliant on a woman I’d once seen as nothing more than a pawn.
A beautiful, fiery pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.
Now, she was my queen, my goddamn medic, my co-conspirator in this bloody game.
And the thought, as infuriating as it was, stoked a fierce, possessive heat in my gut.
She was mine. And because she was mine, Volkov would pay. Dearly.
Rose stirred, her eyes fluttering open, those striking blue-green depths instantly locking onto mine.
There was still a residual haze of sleep, but it quickly cleared, replaced by an alert intelligence that never seemed to truly rest. She saw the pain in my eyes, the fury simmering beneath the surface, and didn’t flinch. She never did.
“How’s the wound?” she whispered, her voice rough with sleep, her hand instinctively rising to brush against my forehead. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal reality of our situation.
“It aches,” I rasped, the words thick, my gaze dropping to her full lips, still swollen from our desperate coupling. “Like a bitch. But I’m alive. Thanks to you.”
A faint blush crept up her neck, but her eyes held steady. “Don’t thank me, Morozov. You’re too stubborn to die. Besides, who else would I torment?” A flicker of a smile, sharp and defiant, touched her lips.
I grunted, a low, humorless sound. “You’d find a way.
You always do.” My hand, rough and calloused, cupped her bare ass, pulling her closer, feeling the soft curve of her flesh against my palm.
The urge to bury myself in her again, to lose myself in the primal act that momentarily dulled the pain and the fear, was overwhelming. But there was no time. Not now.
“Vasily needs to make contact with Anton’s team,” I said, pushing past the burning desire, my mind already shifting to the next steps. “Get a full casualty report. And confirm their defensive positions. We can’t afford any more surprises.”
Rose nodded, already sliding off me, her movements graceful and fluid despite the cramped space.
She pulled on her torn robe, the delicate silk doing little to hide the enticing curves of her body.
My eyes devoured her, her pale skin, the faint bruises on her neck and shoulders where my mouth had claimed her. Mine. Every inch.
“He’s trying,” she said, her voice more alert now as she moved towards the satchel where Vasily had left the comms unit. “His signal was spotty, but he’s determined. He knows the stakes.”
The comms unit crackled to life in her hands, a torrent of frantic Russian flooding the small cabin. She listened intently, her brow furrowed, then turned to me, her eyes grim.
“Anton’s team is holding, but barely. Volkov’s men are relentless.
They’ve managed to disable two of our armored vehicles at the perimeter.
They’re using heavy artillery, targeting supply lines.
” Her gaze sharpened. “And Volkov’s attempting to jam all incoming and outgoing transmissions. He’s cutting us off.”
“Clever bastard,” I snarled, pushing myself up with a jolt that sent a fresh wave of pain through my side. I ignored it, refusing to show weakness. “He’s isolating us. Trying to break our resolve. He wants us to think he’s impenetrable.”
“But he’s not,” Rose interjected, her voice firm, her gaze sweeping over the crude map she’d been sketching on a piece of parchment.
“The ventilation shaft. Sergei’s drone confirmed it.
It’s an old one, likely unused for decades, camouflaged by heavy overgrowth.
It leads deep underground, matching the blueprints for his Cold War bunker. ”
My eyes narrowed. “An old Soviet-era bunker. He always was a sentimental fool. Thought he could hide his secrets where no one would look. He underestimated you, moya roza.” I stalked towards her, my pain a dull roar in my ears, my focus solely on the task at hand.
“How deep does it go? How secure is it?”
“From the schematics, it’s a labyrinth,” she explained, tapping a point on the map.
“Designed to withstand a nuclear blast. Multiple levels, reinforced steel doors, a complex ventilation system. But the main access shaft, the one the drone found, appears to be an original air intake. Likely decommissioned, perhaps forgotten. If we can get a team in there, we could bypass the main defenses.”
“A small team,” I mused, my mind already calculating the risks. “Infiltrate through a forgotten shaft. It’s dangerous. Tight spaces, unknown traps, gas buildup.” I looked at her, my gaze intense. “It’s a suicide mission.”
“But it’s our best shot,” she countered, meeting my gaze without flinching. “The main gates are a death trap. He’s expecting us to storm them. He’s not expecting us to slither in through his garbage chute.”
A grim smile touched my lips. “You really are a goddamn witch, Rose. A brilliant, terrifying witch.” My hand reached out, cupping the back of her neck, pulling her towards me.
Our bodies met, hard and urgent, despite the pain in my side.
The scent of her, of our spent passion, mingled with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder. It was an intoxicating mix.
“Who goes in?” Vasily’s voice cut through the cabin, his tone grim. He’d entered silently, always the shadow, his eyes fixed on us with unshakeable loyalty. “The tunnel rats. The specialists. They’ll need to be fast, quiet, and absolutely lethal.”
“I go in,” I declared, the words leaving my mouth before I even fully processed them. It was my war. My vendetta. My goddamn empire. I wasn’t going to sit here, bleeding, while my men did my dirty work.
Vasily’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of concern. “Pakhan, with your wound... it’s too risky. You’re our leader. We need you here.”
“I’m the Pakhan,” I snarled, my voice low and dangerous, commanding obedience.
“And Volkov is mine. He started this war, he’ll face me.
Besides,” I added, my gaze sweeping over Rose, a possessive glint in my steel-gray eyes, “Rose found the damn entrance. She mapped it. Who better to lead the way than the one who holds the key?”
Rose’s eyes, wide and startled, met mine. “Liam, I can’t go into the shaft. I’m not a fighter. I’m a historian. And you’re injured. You need to stay here. Coordinate.”
“You’re coming with me,” I stated, my voice leaving no room for argument.
It wasn’t a request. It was an order. “Your mind, your knowledge of those schematics, it’s invaluable.
And I’m not leaving you behind to coordinate with a bunch of trigger-happy thugs while I crawl through a rat hole.
You’re my partner. My strategist. And if I’m going into that hellhole, you’re coming with me. ”
Her mouth opened to protest again, but I cut her off, my lips crashing down on hers in a brutal, possessive kiss.
It was a claim, a warning, a desperate affirmation of our twisted bond.
My tongue plunged into her mouth, mimicking the invasion I’d just promised, devouring, possessing, tasting the fear and the defiance on her tongue.
Her lips parted, her tongue meeting mine with a ferocity that matched his, biting, tasting, claiming.
She tasted like betrayal and salvation, a potent, intoxicating mix that fueled my fire.
My hand, rough and demanding, swept down her back, pulling her impossibly closer, until no air could exist between us.
I ripped at the torn silk of her robe, the delicate fabric giving way with a soft hiss, exposing the bare skin of her back, her ass.
My fingers dug into her flesh, possessive and urgent, pressing her harder against my still-hard cock, straining against my trousers.
Even wounded, even in the throes of battle, my body demanded hers. Always.
“Mine,” I growled against her mouth, my breath hot and ragged. “You’re mine, Rose. Every inch. Every thought. Every goddamn breath. And you’re coming with me. We finish this. Together.”
She gasped, a choked sound, her body arching against mine.
I could feel the heat radiating from her, the desperate need that mirrored my own.
Her hands clutched at my shoulders, her nails digging into my flesh, needing an anchor in the maelstrom.
This was our ritual, our twisted, carnal pact in the face of oblivion.
I pulled back, my eyes burning into hers. “Vasily, gather a small team. The best. Quietest. We’re going in through the ventilation shaft. Rose will be with me.”
Vasily, grim-faced, nodded, already turning to leave. He knew not to argue with me when that look was in my eyes. He also knew that where Rose went, I would go. And where I went, the empire followed.
“Gear up,” I barked, my gaze sweeping over Rose, a terrifying mixture of appreciation and possessiveness in my eyes.
“We’re moving at first light. Volkov thinks he’s safe in his bunker?
We’ll show him. We’ll show him that there’s no place on this earth he can hide from us. Not even his goddamn rat hole.”
The fear in her eyes was still there, a thin layer beneath the fierce resolve, but she met my gaze without flinching.
My wound throbbed, a constant, agonizing reminder of the price of this war.
But with Rose by my side, I knew we would burn his world to the ground.
Piece by bloody piece. And I would make sure he watched it happen.
I turned from her, already reaching for my gear, the heavy weight of my silenced Glock a familiar comfort in my hand.
The time for talking was over. The time for subtle plays and strategic diversions was ending.
It was time to go to war. And I would drag Rose Collins, my beautiful, brilliant, bloodthirsty queen, with me into the depths of Volkov’s hell.
Because she belonged there. Right by my side.
I felt her presence behind me, felt her eyes on my back, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.
The fire still burned, a molten core between us, a raw, undeniable connection that transcended words, transcended anger, transcended even the deepest, most insidious lies.
We were in it now, fully immersed, no turning back.
The first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to paint the sky, a pale wash of gray and purple through the grimy window of the cabin.
A new day. A new battle. And a new kind of hell for Konstantin Volkov.
He had no idea what was coming for him. No idea at all.
And I, Liam Morozov, wounded and enraged, was more than ready to deliver it.
I clutched the hilt of my combat knife, the cold steel a promise against my palm.
Volkov would learn, soon enough, that sometimes, the most dangerous enemy was the one you dragged out of the darkness and thought you could control.
And then lost your fucking grip on. We were coming for him.
And we wouldn't stop until his empire was reduced to ashes.
My eyes flickered to the map again, to the barely visible line of the ventilation shaft, a dark maw leading into the mountain. It was time to descend.