Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Henry
I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and surveyed the area. A handful of prop planes sat parked under a weak floodlight. Beyond them, the small Pilatus gleamed, the plane out of place among the tiny two-seaters surrounding it.
Cato nudged my thigh from the passenger seat, a low whine escaping him, as if telling me to hurry. Apparently, he was just as anxious to save Ariana as I was.
“Stay,” I ordered, my voice a whisper. His amber eyes locked on mine, steady, and obedient.
I ruffled his head, then stepped into the night, my pistol heavy at my side.
On light feet, I jogged toward the fence, muscle memory kicking in as I silently scaled it and dropped onto the other side with barely a sound.
A jolt of pain hit my ankle from my still-unhealed injury, but I pushed it down. I had to. For Ariana.
Mere seconds after my boots touched the ground, the hangar’s back door flung open.
I dropped flat, the snow damp and sharp against my cheek as I hid in the shadows, my pulse pounding in my ears. But I remained still. Remembered my training. The worst thing anyone could do in this type of situation was panic. And I refused to panic. Especially with Ariana’s life on the line.
I kept my eyes glued to the back of the building as a man stepped out.
Tall. Broad. Dark hair. Tattoos snaked up his hands and arms, as well as one on his neck.
I squinted, focusing on the markings, my stomach twisting when I made out a tattoo of a knife being thrust into his neck. A well-known tattoo for Bratva hitmen.
He leaned against the corrugated wall and lit a cigarette, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
As if he weren’t holding a woman prisoner mere feet away.
The door cracked open again, and another figure appeared. He was taller, his head shaved, his arms also covered in ink. He said something in Russian, his voice authoritative. They went back and forth for a few seconds before the bald man vanished inside, leaving the smoker behind.
He took another long drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes as he pushed out a long exhale, smoke floating away in the darkness.
I remained still, mentally reviewing the little information I had.
I knew these men were Bratva. Knew they’d been paid to acquire Ariana as a high-ticket item. Knew there were at least two men. How many more could there be? Based on their choice of aircraft, probably not many.
They flew in on a Pilatus from Miami. It wasn’t a plane with a long range. If they wanted to get in and out under the radar, they’d travel as light as possible.
I could have been wrong, but I doubted there would be more than three or four men, especially when I factored in that they were counting on returning with Ariana.
Four against one wasn’t great odds.
Three against one was better.
The smoker turned toward the building and widened his stance.
When I heard the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting the pavement, I made my move, every muscle tight, every step calculated as I approached, carefully pulling my knife from my pocket.
He didn’t have a chance to tuck himself back into his pants before I struck.
I hooked my arm around his throat, dragging him away from the building and into the darkness.
He thrashed against me, a muffled grunt tearing from him as my blade punctured his side.
Blood poured from the wound, coating my knuckles.
He clawed at my forearm, his nails breaking skin, but it didn’t matter.
I tightened my chokehold until his frantic movements stuttered, faltered, then stilled.
I let him drop to the ground with a satisfying thud, his blank eyes wide.
I crept toward the back door, exchanging my knife for my pistol. I had no way of knowing what might be waiting on the other side of the door. Had no idea of the layout. I needed to be ready for whatever I might face.
Taking one deep breath, I reached for the handle and slowly opened the door.
The sound of low voices speaking Russian filtered outside, and I paused, listening for several protracted moments to determine how many.
I could make out two distinct voices, one that sounded like the shaved-headed man from before, as well as one I didn’t recognize.
And they didn’t sound like they were right by the door, either. They sounded distant.
Distant was good.
Distant gave me room to work with.
I pushed the door wider and slipped behind a stack of crates, peeking between them. One man paced in front of the open bay door, a cell phone pressed to his ear. The other stood in front of what was probably an office, his back toward me. As if watching something.
Or someone.
It took everything I had to remain still as I waited to see if there were any more people. But after a few minutes, no one else appeared.
Even if I was wrong, I couldn’t wait. I had to act. Before they loaded Ariana onto that plane and took off into the night.
Needing to be as stealthy as possible, I exchanged my gun for my knife once more, then moved toward the man guarding the office.
He turned just as I reached him, his eyes widening, mouth parting to shout.
But he was too late. In one swift move, I sliced his throat.
Blood gushed from the wound, staining the hangar floor, his gurgle echoing off steel walls.
He dropped, twitching, clawing at the crimson river spilling down his chest.
A string of Russian echoed around me, and I spun as the other man advanced toward me, his gun raised.
He fired but missed, his shot tearing through a crate behind me. I quickly pulled my own gun, hitting him in the hip. He cursed as he fell to the floor, still shooting at me until he was out of rounds.
With a satisfied smirk, I moved toward him. But as I did, he managed to pull himself upright and charge at me, driving us both to the floor. My gun slipped out of my grip, sliding halfway across the hangar.
We fought dirty. Teeth. Nails. Fists. He slammed his forehead into mine, rattling my skull. I answered with a brutal hook to his jaw, the crack of bone sharp and satisfying. He snarled, wrapping his hands around my throat, cutting off the oxygen.
I was fighting for my life, but at this moment, I couldn’t help but think about Ariana.
About the bruises she’d had on her throat when I first stole her away to my cabin.
How the marks I thought were evidence of rough play in the bedroom were actually proof of her husband’s brutality. How he’d done this same thing to her.
My rage returned, and I used every ounce of strength to push him off me and pin him to the cement floor. Then I wrapped my hands around his neck, watching with sick satisfaction as he fought for air before his body went completely still.
I climbed off him, taking a moment to catch my breath, feeling lightheaded. But I pushed myself to my feet and frantically searched for Ariana, finding a limp figure tied up and thrown into the corner of the office.
She was crumpled against the wall, her face smeared with blood, skin too pale, too fragile.
I rushed to her and dropped to my knees, my hands trembling as I brushed her hair from her face.
My chest cracked open at the sight of her swollen cheek and split lip.
And it was all my fault. If I’d told her the truth, if I hadn’t kept her in the dark, none of this would have happened.
She wouldn’t have tried to free herself from me.
Wouldn’t have left. And these assholes would never have found her.
I pressed my fingers to her throat, exhaling a sigh of relief when I felt a pulse. I cradled her in my arms, touching a soft kiss to her forehead and breathing her in, relishing in the feel of her.
But there were more pressing matters.
Like the three dead bodies.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and hit Blake’s contact.
“What’s the status?” he answered on the first ring.
“I took care of our infestation problem,” I replied, looking around at the bodies. “But I may need a cleanup crew.”
“Already on it.”
“There are two inside and one out back.”
“I’ll let them know.” He dropped his voice. “How is she?”
I looked down at Ariana. “She’s unconscious but seems stable.”
“Do you know who was behind the hit on her? I looked into the company that owned the plane. It’s essentially a holding company. I’m still digging, but knowing how the Bratva operates, I won’t find much.”
“I figured as much,” I exhaled. “I just—”
A shrill ringing cut through, and I tore my attention to the man I’d just killed.
“I’ll call you back,” I told Blake, then carefully set Ariana onto the floor before moving toward the body. I rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his phone, staring at the screen.
There was no name. Only a letter.
V.
I hit answer and lifted the cell up to my ear. I didn’t even have a chance to say anything before a voice came over the line.
“You were supposed to call me an hour ago.” His tone was sharp. Arrogant.
Familiar.
Victor fucking Kane.
The smug bastard’s voice was burned into my memory.
Ever since realizing the same man who tried to abduct Ariana was the same man walking on the beach in the background of Sarah’s last posted video, I knew there had to be a connection between the two events. And Victor was that connection.
Hearing his voice on the other end of the phone solidified the feeling in my gut that Victor was involved in both Sarah’s murder and Ariana’s attempted abduction.
But why?
Why would he hire someone to abduct his own wife?
“What the fuck is going on, Dmitri?” he continued.
“Do you have my wife? Was she there? I paid you good money to take care of this so it didn’t come back on me, and you’re fucking everything up.
We had an agreement, and you’re not sticking to your end of the bargain here.
I essentially served her on a silver platter for your team.
And it’s been one fuck-up after another.
I need some good news, and I need it now. ”
I didn’t respond right away. Just waited.
“Well?” he barked out, obviously impatient. “Are you going to say anything? I’m not paying you to fuck around. I’m paying you to get the job done.”
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “Dmitri’s unavailable to come to the phone. But don’t worry. Your wife is safe with me.” I smiled, cold and lethal. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about your own safety.”
“Who is this? Where’s Dmitri?” he demanded, but he sounded different. Scared. Agitated. Anxious.
“Like I said… He’s unavailable. Permanently.”
“W-who are you?”
“I’m the man who’s going to destroy you.
” My tone was casual, as if discussing the weather, not threatening him.
“When I’m done, it’ll make what I did to your associates look like child’s play.
For every time you laid your hands on your wife without her permission, every time you made her bleed, every time you made her feel worthless, I’ll make you suffer.
You’ll beg for death. And I won’t give it to you.
Not until I’ve had the pleasure of slowly draining every last ounce of life from your pathetic body. ”
I ended the call and tossed the phone aside.
Then I gathered Ariana in my arms, her head falling against my chest, and carried her out of the hangar.