Chapter 15 Alina
ALINA
The words echo in my head, bouncing around my skull like bullets ricocheting off stone. Kill her and dump the body where he'll find it.
I press my back against the door, my bound wrists throbbing where the zip ties have cut into my skin. Blood trickles down my fingers, warm and sticky, but I barely feel it. All I can feel is the cold certainty settling into my bones.
They're going to kill me.
Not might. Not maybe. They're going to kill me, and the only question is when.
I slide down until I'm sitting on the filthy floor, my knees pulled to my chest. The darkness of the windowless room presses in on all sides, suffocating and absolute. I can't see my hands in front of my face. Can't see anything except the images playing behind my closed eyelids.
Dimitri's face when he kissed me. The heat in his green eyes. The way his hands felt on my body, possessive and gentle at the same time.
My father's face in his study. The cold calculation when he realized I'd found the documents. The way his mask dropped completely, revealing the monster underneath.
Katya's face when she hugged me. My little sister, so relieved I was alive. Does she know what our father did? Does she know he drugged me and handed me over to his enemies?
I touch the pendant at my throat with my bound hands, feeling the smooth metal. Did the signal go through? Is Dimitri coming? Or am I alone in this nightmare, waiting to die in a cabin in the woods where no one will ever find me?
The rational part of my brain, the part that's trying desperately to stay calm, tells me that if Dimitri received the signal, he would have mobilized immediately.
He would be searching for me right now. But how would he know where to look?
The woods north of the city are vast, full of abandoned cabins and hunting lodges. I could be anywhere.
And even if he does find this place, even if he somehow tracks me here, he'll be walking into a trap. The Kozlov soldiers are waiting for him. They want him to come. They want to use me as bait to draw him out and kill him.
The thought of Dimitri dying because of me, because he tried to save me, makes my chest tight with something that feels like grief.
I barely know him. Just days. That's all we've had. Days of fear and anger and confusion and heat. Days of him being the monster everyone warned me about and also being the man who saved my life. Who gave me choices when no one else would. Who kissed me like I was precious.
A few short days shouldn't be enough to make me care this much. Shouldn't be enough to make the thought of his death feel like my own.
But it is.
I think about my father, about the documents I found in his study. The proof of his betrayal. He sold me to Sergei knowing that Sergei would die at the wedding. Knowing that I might die too. All for power. All for a larger piece of the Bratva empire.
My own father was willing to sacrifice me.
The betrayal cuts deeper than any physical wound. I've spent my whole life trying to be the daughter he wanted. Obedient. Quiet. Beautiful. Useful. And in the end, I was just another asset to be traded or discarded as needed.
Dimitri was right. My father is not the man I thought he was.
Time passes in the darkness. I don't know how much. It could be minutes or hours. My body aches from sitting on the hard floor, my head still throbs from whatever drug my father used, and my wrists burn where the zip ties cut into flesh.
But I force myself to stay alert. To listen. To think.
If they're going to kill me, I won't make it easy for them. I'll fight. I'll scream. I'll do whatever it takes to survive, even if survival seems impossible.
The voices outside the door have gone quiet. I press my ear against the wood, straining to hear anything. Footsteps. Conversation. Some sign of what's happening.
Nothing.
The silence is almost worse than the threats. At least when they were talking, I knew where they were. What they were planning. Now I'm blind and deaf, trapped in this tiny room with only my fear for company.
Then I hear it. A sound so faint I almost miss it. A crack, like a branch breaking. Then another. And another.
Someone is outside. Moving through the woods toward the cabin.
My heart starts racing. Is it Dimitri? Or is it more Kozlov soldiers, coming to decide my fate?
The sounds grow closer. I hear voices now, low and urgent, speaking Russian. But I can't make out the words through the walls.
Then gunfire erupts.
The sound is deafening even through the walls. Automatic weapons, the rapid staccato of bullets tearing through the night. Men shouting. Glass shattering.
I scramble to my feet, my bound hands making it difficult to balance. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. What's happening? Is it Dimitri? Is he here?
The door to my prison flies open, and light floods in, blinding me after so long in darkness. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust, and see the man with the scar standing in the doorway. His face is twisted with rage and fear.
"Get over here!" he snarls, grabbing my arm and yanking me forward.
I stumble, my legs weak and uncoordinated. He drags me out of the tiny room into the main area of the cabin. The other Kozlov soldiers are positioned at the windows, weapons drawn, firing into the darkness outside.
"What's happening?" I ask, though I think I already know.
The man with the scar pulls me toward one of the windows, his grip bruising on my arm. "Your boyfriend's here. Morozov and his men. They found you."
Relief floods through me so intense it makes my knees weak. Dimitri came. He got my signal. He found me.
"Now, you can watch him die," the scarred man says, his voice cruel. He forces me to look out the window.
And there, emerging from the tree line like something out of a nightmare, is Dimitri.
He's dressed all in black, body armor strapped over his chest, a rifle in his hands. His face is hard, cold, absolutely merciless. Behind him, I can see more men, at least a dozen, all armed, all moving with military precision.
He looks like death itself. Like an avenging angel come to rain destruction on anyone who stands in his way.
And he's here for me.
The gunfire intensifies. The Kozlov soldiers are firing from the windows, trying to hold their position. But Dimitri's men are better trained, better equipped. I watch as precise, controlled shots take out the perimeter guards one by one. Bodies fall in the darkness.
Then the front door explodes inward.
The sound is deafening. Wood splinters, hinges tear free, and smoke billows into the cabin. Through the smoke, like something out of a fever dream, Dimitri comes.
His green eyes scan the room, taking in everything in a split second. The Kozlov soldiers. The weapons. And me, standing by the window with the scarred man's hand still gripping my arm.
Our eyes meet across the chaos, and something passes between us. Recognition. Relief. And something else. Something fierce and possessive that makes my breath catch.
"Let her go," Dimitri says, his voice cutting through the noise. He's speaking Russian, his tone absolutely calm despite the violence erupting around us.
The scarred man laughs, a harsh sound. "Or what? You'll kill us all? We're already dead men, Morozov. You made sure of that when you came here."
"Then die with some dignity. Let the girl go."
More of Dimitri's men pour through the doorway, flanking him. They move like a well-oiled machine, taking positions, covering angles. The Kozlov soldiers are outnumbered and outgunned, and they know it.
But cornered animals are the most dangerous.
The firefight that erupts is brutal and brief. Gunfire fills the small cabin, deafening in the enclosed space. I see one of the Kozlov soldiers go down, then another. Blood sprays across the walls. The smells of gunpowder and copper fill the air.
The scarred man releases my arm and raises his weapon, aiming at Dimitri. I don't think. I just react. I throw myself at him, my bound hands swinging up to knock his arm aside.
The gun goes off, the bullet going wide, and the scarred man rounds on me with fury in his eyes. His fist connects with my face, and pain explodes through my cheek. I fall, hitting the floor hard.
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear Dimitri roar. It's a sound of pure rage, primal and terrifying. Then the scarred man is falling, a red bloom spreading across his chest.
I try to get up, but my vision is swimming. Strong hands grab me, and for a moment I panic, thinking it's another Kozlov soldier. But then I smell that familiar cologne, feel that familiar heat.
"Alina." Dimitri's voice, rough with emotion. "I've got you. You're safe."
He's cutting the zip ties from my wrists, his movements quick and efficient despite the chaos still raging around us. The plastic falls away, and blood rushes back into my hands, making them tingle painfully.
"Can you stand?" he asks.
I nod, though I'm not sure it's true. He helps me to my feet, one arm around my waist, supporting my weight. His men are still fighting, still clearing the cabin of threats.
We're almost to the door. Almost free. Almost safe.
Then I feel it. The cold press of metal against my temple. A gun.
Dimitri freezes, his body going rigid. His eyes lock on something behind me, and I see murder in his gaze.
One of the Kozlov soldiers, one I haven't seen before, has his arm wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air. "Drop your weapons, or I paint the walls with her brains."
He's backing up, dragging me with him. Away from Dimitri. Away from safety. Toward a rear exit I hadn't noticed before.
Dimitri's men have their weapons trained on us, but they can't shoot. Not without hitting me. The soldier is using me as a human shield, and he knows it.
"You're not leaving here alive," Dimitri says, his voice deadly calm.
"Maybe not," the soldier agrees. "But neither is she. Not unless you let me walk out of here."
We're at the back door now. I can feel the night air on my face as he kicks it open. One more step and we'll be outside, in the darkness, and Dimitri will lose me again.
I meet Dimitri's eyes across the cabin. I see the calculation there, the cold assessment of angles and odds. I see him weighing my life against the risk of letting this man escape.
And I see something else. Something that looks like fear.
The gun presses harder against my temple, and the soldier takes another step backward, pulling me with him into the night.