Chapter 26 #2
“Five seconds.” Mikhail’s finger moves from the trigger guard to the trigger while Timur’s team holds position with weapons trained on targets they can’t engage without risking the hostage.
Willa suddenly lurches forward, throwing her weight sideways to pull away from the gun’s trajectory. The chair tips as she rolls toward the floor, creating the opening we’ve been waiting for while Mikhail struggles to maintain control of his weapon.
There’s no time to see how she landed, but she was rolling toward the side, so I pray she was able to shield her stomach as I surge from cover.
His shot goes wide, and I cross the distance between us in desperate strides while he attempts to regain his aim.
My shoulder connects with his midsection in a crushing tackle that sends us both crashing through debris and broken furniture.
We grapple for control of his pistol in brutal hand-to-hand combat that will determine whether this nightmare ends in rescue or tragedy.
His strength matches mine, fueled by years of grief and hatred that have consumed his life since his brother’s death.
I hear my men engaging again now that Willa is clear, but I’m too focused on my fight to see how theirs progresses.
With Timur in charge, I have little doubt he’ll overtake Mikhail’s men.
As we’re tussling, his gun goes off during our struggle, but the bullet strikes concrete instead of flesh as we roll across the basement floor. I drive my elbow into his ribs with force that cracks bone, but he responds by slamming his knee into my wounded shoulder from the earlier graze.
Agony explodes through my left side while black spots dance across my vision, but adrenaline keeps me fighting for control of the pistol that will decide our fate. Willa’s safety depends on ending this confrontation before Mikhail can regain any tactical advantage.
Since I can’t get the correct angle to shoot him with his own weapon, I manage to pin his gun hand against the floor while wrapping my other arm around his throat in a chokehold designed to cut off blood flow to his brain.
His face turns red, then purple, as consciousness fades with each passing second.
“This is for threatening my family.” The words emerge through gritted teeth. “This is for every sleepless night you cost us.”
His struggles weaken as oxygen decreases, but I maintain pressure until his body goes completely limp beneath mine. Only when I’m certain he’ll never threaten anyone again do I release my grip and roll away from his corpse.
Silence fills the basement except for my ragged breathing and the sound of Willa crying with relief. I crawl toward her position and cut through the zip ties with my ceramic blade, freeing her wrists from restraints that have left angry red marks on her skin.
“Are you hurt?” She rolls out of the chair, tipped on its side, and I gather her into my arms while scanning for injuries or signs of trauma. “Did he hurt you or the babies?”
“I’m okay.” She melts against my chest with desperate relief. “Dehydrated and terrified, but okay. The babies are okay.”
I hold her carefully, mindful of her pregnancy while processing that we’re both alive when everything could have ended so differently.
Her warmth and steady breathing anchor me to reality after hours of imagining worst-case scenarios.
“I’m sorry you had to see that violence.
” I stroke her hair while speaking softly.
“I’m sorry you witnessed what I become when people threaten what’s mine. ”
“Don’t apologize.” She pulls back to meet my gaze. “I understand now. I understand what drives you to extremes and why peaceful solutions aren’t always possible.”
Her acceptance soothes the fear inside. For months, I’ve worried she’d eventually see the darkness in my nature and reject the life we’re building together.
Instead, she’s offering understanding. “You felt it too.” I study her face and see truth reflected in her expression.
“When he threatened our children, you wanted to hurt him.”
“I wanted to kill him.” The admission emerges with surprising intensity. “I’ve never experienced rage like that before, but sitting in this basement while he planned to torture you, kill Timur, and murder our babies...” She shakes her head. “I understand you completely now.”
Timur appears beside us, tactical gear bloodied but expression relieved as he surveys the aftermath of our confrontation. “The compound is secure, and a medical team is standing by for immediate transport.”
I kiss Willa gently, tasting salty tears while trying to convey everything words can’t express. She’s witnessed the worst aspects of my world and chosen to embrace rather than flee from the reality of who I am.
“We need medical attention for you.” I help her stand while Timur coordinates our extraction. “There’s a doctor standing by to examine you and the babies after everything you’ve endured. I don’t want you to wait until we can get to Dr. Layton.”
“Oh…the gender results.” She retrieves a crumpled envelope from the floor where it fell during our struggle. “I wanted to share this with you as a peace offering after our fight this morning.”
The paper feels precious despite being stained with basement dust and marked by hours of captivity. My hands shake as I open it, and she pulls out the paper, identifying our babies’ letter designations and their genders. We read it together:
A—F
B—M
C—F
D—F
E—M
F—M
G—F
I stare at the black ink on white paper that gives a huge glimpse of my future. Four girls and three boys will grow up as safely and protected as I can keep them. They won’t know about my past, or this pivotal moment, where we killed Mikhail until much later, if ever.
“Let’s go home.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders while leading her toward the stairwell.
The compound smolders behind us as we emerge into cool night air.
We’re simply grateful to be alive and together with the knowledge that no enemy will ever again come this close to destroying what we’ve built.
The war is finally over, and we’ve earned the right to choose love over fear, family over vendetta, and hope over the darkness that once threatened to consume everyone I love.
It feels liberating to know everything from this point forward is practically a blank slate, and I can write a different future that’s not influenced by my past.