Chapter 27 - Alina
ALINA
The SUV tears through the dark streets, and I grip the door handle so tightly my knuckles turn white. Dimitri drives with controlled aggression, weaving through traffic like we're being chased by demons. Maybe we are. The demons of my father's making, the ones that took my sister.
I glance at Dimitri's profile, illuminated by the dashboard lights and passing streetlamps.
His jaw is set, his green eyes focused on the road with laser intensity.
The dragon tattoo is visible at the open collar of his tactical vest, a reminder of the power he wields. Power he's using to save my sister.
For me.
I stare out the window at the city lights blurring past. Somewhere out there, my mother is probably sleeping peacefully. Does she even know her youngest daughter is missing? Does she care?
The bitterness that floods through me is almost welcome. It's better than the fear. This is my fault. If I hadn't defied my father, if I hadn't married Dimitri, if I'd just been the obedient daughter Viktor wanted, Katya would be safe at home right now.
The airfield comes into view, a sprawl of hangars and runway surrounded by chain-link fence. Security lights create pools of illumination, but there are shadows between them. Dark spaces where anything could be hiding.
Dimitri kills the headlights and pulls off the main road, the convoy following in tight formation. We park behind an abandoned warehouse about two hundred yards from the airfield entrance. The moment the engine cuts off, the silence feels oppressive.
Dimitri turns to me, his green eyes intense in the darkness. "You stay in the vehicle. No arguments."
I open my mouth to argue, but he leans in and kisses me. It's not the desperate, claiming kiss from before. This is softer, almost tender. A promise and a plea all at once.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
"Okay," I whisper. "I'll stay."
Relief flashes across his face, quickly masked by the cold expression of the Pakhan. He checks his weapon one final time, then opens his door. His men move like shadows, dispersing into the night with practiced efficiency. I watch Dimitri's broad shoulders disappear into the darkness.
He's going to get her back. He has to.
I sit in the SUV, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Dimitri disappears into the darkness, and suddenly, I'm alone with nothing but my fear and the distant hum of jet engines.
Minutes crawl by like hours. I strain my ears for any sound, any indication of what's happening, but there's nothing. Just the whisper of wind through the fence and the steady thrum of the plane preparing for departure.
Katya is in there. Terrified. Alone. Probably thinking no one is coming for her.
My hand moves to the door handle before I can stop myself. Dimitri told me to stay. Ordered me to stay. But Katya doesn't know Dimitri. She's never met him, never seen him, that I know of. If armed men storm wherever she's being held, she'll be terrified. She won't know they're there to rescue her.
She needs to see a familiar face. My face.
I glance around the parking area. Dimitri and his men are gone, swallowed by the shadows. No one is watching the vehicles. No one will see me slip out.
My fingers close around the handle, and I take a deep breath. Dimitri is going to be furious. But I can't sit here doing nothing while my sister is in danger.
I ease the door open, wincing at the soft click. The night air is cool against my skin as I slide out, keeping low. I leave the door slightly ajar so it won't make noise when I close it, then move toward the fence line, using the darkness for cover.
My heart hammers against my ribs with each step. I'm not trained for this, don't know what I'm doing. But I keep moving, following the path I saw Dimitri's men take.
The fence looms ahead, and I find the section they cut through. The chain-link has been peeled back, creating an opening just large enough to slip through. I duck through it, the metal scraping against my jacket.
Now I'm on the airfield proper, exposed and vulnerable. I stay low, moving from shadow to shadow, my eyes scanning for threats. The main hangar is lit up like a beacon, and I can see figures moving inside. Kozlov soldiers, armed and alert.
And there, on the tarmac beyond the hangar, the small jet sits with its engines running. Stairs are deployed, the cabin door open. They're preparing to leave. To take Katya somewhere I might never find her.
I move closer, my breath coming in short gasps. Where is Dimitri? Where are his men? I should see some sign of them, some indication that the assault is about to begin.
Then I hear it. A sharp whistle, barely audible over the jet engines. A signal.
And everything happens at once.
Dimitri's men emerge from the shadows like avenging angels, weapons raised. Gunfire erupts, the sound deafening in the night. The Kozlov soldiers scatter, some returning fire, others diving for cover.
I press myself against the side of a small maintenance building, my hands over my ears.
The firefight is brief but intense. Dimitri's men move with deadly precision, taking down the Kozlov soldiers with controlled bursts.
I catch glimpses of Dimitri himself, his movements fluid and efficient as he advances toward the hangar.
Through the chaos, I see movement near the jet. Two men are dragging someone up the stairs. Someone small, with dark hair whipping in the wind from the engines.
Katya.
My sister is fighting them, her movements desperate and uncoordinated. One of the men hits her, and even from this distance, I see her head snap to the side.
Something inside me breaks.
I don't remember making the decision to move. Don't remember my feet carrying me across the tarmac. One moment, I'm pressed against the building, and the next I'm running toward the jet, my legs pumping, my lungs burning.
"Katya!" Her name tears from my throat, barely audible over the gunfire and engines.
But she hears me. Her head whips around, her eyes finding mine across the distance. Even in the harsh security lights, I can see the hope that flares in her face.
"Alina!" She screams my name, renewing her struggles against the men holding her.
I'm halfway to the jet when I hear Dimitri's voice, roaring my name. I don't stop. Can't stop. Katya is right there, so close I can almost touch her.
The Kozlov soldiers see me coming. One of them shouts something in Russian, and suddenly, they're dragging Katya back down the stairs, using her as a shield. The other pulls a knife, the blade glinting in the light.
I skid to a stop about ten feet away, my chest heaving. Up close, I can see the terror in Katya's eyes, the bruises on her face, the way her hands are bound in front of her. She's wearing the same clothes from the security footage, now torn and dirty.
"Katya," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's okay. I'm here. Everything's going to be okay."
"Alina, I'm so scared." Her voice breaks on a sob. "Papa said you were dead. He said you abandoned us."
The lie makes rage burn hot in my chest, but I force it down. "I'm not dead. I'm right here. And I'm going to get you out of this."
The man holding the knife laughs, a harsh sound. He's young, maybe twenty-five, with the kind of desperation in his eyes that makes people dangerous. "You're not getting anyone out of anything. Back away, or I cut her throat right here."
He presses the blade against Katya's neck, and I see a thin line of blood appear. Katya whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut.
"Please." I hold up my hands, showing I'm unarmed. "Please don't hurt her. She's just a kid. She has nothing to do with any of this."
"She's leverage." The second man speaks now, older, with cold eyes that remind me of my father. "And you just made yourself leverage too. Morozov's wife, walking right into our hands."
Behind me, I hear running footsteps. Dimitri and his men, closing in. But they're too far away. If the Kozlov soldier decides to kill Katya, if his hand slips or his nerve breaks, she'll be dead before anyone can stop him.
The knife presses harder against her throat, and more blood wells up, trickling down her pale skin. Katya's eyes find mine, wide and terrified and so young.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry, Alina."
"Don't apologize." My voice cracks. "This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."
The man with the knife looks past me, seeing Dimitri's approach. His hand tightens on the blade, and I see the decision forming in his eyes. The calculation. If he's going to die anyway, he might as well take something valuable with him.