Chapter 28 The Final Knife
Lila
Kolya’s office is dimly lit, the heavy scent of leather and whiskey thick in the air. When he had first dragged me back here, days ago, terror had been a living thing inside me, its claws digging deep as Kolya spat vile threats, promises of renewed violation, of sharing me like a party favor. That fear still coils in my stomach, a familiar venom. But something had shifted in the suffocating days since, locked away with the undeniable truth of the tiny life I carried. Passive terror had never saved me. It wouldn’t save my baby.
So now, I sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk, my body positioned just relaxed enough to unnerve him. My hands rest lightly on my thighs. I want him to see me as calm, unaffected, but inside, every muscle is coiled, every nerve screaming. The desk, his throne, sits against the far wall, but he’s not behind it.
Kolya is pacing. His movements are terse and controlled. That’s how I know he’s pissed. Not just at me, though my defiance is clearly grating on him, but at the whole damn situation – my escape, the men who helped me, the challenge to his perfect world. If he were truly calm, he’d be lounging in his leather chair, drink in hand, smirking at me like I’m a petulant child. But no. His jaw is clenched so tightly I half-expect his teeth to crack, and his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to grab something—me, probably.
Good. Let him boil. Every time he looks at me, I make sure my expression is a little too smug, my posture a little too relaxed. A desperate gamble, perhaps, but cowering had only ever invited more pain. I know it infuriates him; he wants me cowed, afraid, begging. Instead, I meet his gaze like I’m the one in control. Like he’s the one trapped in here with me.
But even as I push him, my heart is slamming against my ribs. That lingering fear is a cold, twisting point in my stomach. Not just for me, but for the little life inside me. I press a protective hand to my stomach, the instinct overwhelming. Could the stress, the adrenaline, hurt the baby? I swallow hard, pushing the thought down. Hesitation isn't an option right now. I have to get out of here. I have to survive. For both of us.
“You think you can defy me, Pet?” he says, voice deceptively smooth, like polished steel. “That I’ll allow this... attitude?”
I don’t flinch. Not anymore. I tilt my chin up, daring him to make the next move, daring him to prove he has any real power over me. It’s a dangerous game, but I need him angry. I need him reckless. If he’s consumed by his rage, he’ll make mistakes; leave a door unlocked, turn his back at the wrong moment, send his men scrambling instead of watching me. I need him to make a mistake, any mistake.
He steps closer. “You were always so much more pleasant when you knew your place.”
“My place?” I scoff, stretching my legs out slightly, feigning boredom. I know the act will make his blood boil. “What, beneath your boot? You thought I was broken. You thought I was weak.” My voice hardens. “You were wrong.”
His hand moves so fast I barely track it before he grips my chin hard, forcing my gaze up to his. Pain radiates through my jaw, achingly familiar, but I swallow it down. I brace myself, forcing my body not to react, not to show weakness. I’ve been here before. I know how this game plays out. But this time, I’m not just enduring it, I’m planning. His fingers bite into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of wincing.
“You always belonged to me, Lila.” His breath is warm, sickly sweet with whiskey. “And you always will.”
I stare at him, at the monster who stole years from me, who made me doubt my own strength. I let my lips twitch into a slow, taunting smile. Let him think I find this amusing. Let him think I’m still slipping through his fingers. And then I smile—small, defiant. “We’ll see about that.”
Before he can respond, his phone rings. He stiffens, eyes narrowing before he pulls it from his pocket. His grip on me tightens for a second, then he shoves me back against the chair like I’m nothing. My body jolts, the force rattling through me, but I steady myself, gripping the armrests to keep from toppling over. I swallow down the urge to react, watching as he answers.
“What?” His voice is curt, clipped.
A pause. Then his expression darkens. “Igor?” His free hand curls into a fist. “Are you telling me Igor has been stealing from me?”
Another pause. Kolya exhales through his nose, a slow, controlled breath that does nothing to hide the fury in his eyes. “Find him,” he growls. “Bring him to me.”
I stay silent, watching, waiting. My mind flickers back to my previous escape attempt, how I’d miscalculated, Kolya had caught me before I even made it past the gates. The punishment had been swift, brutal. A reminder that failure wasn’t an option. That lesson had burned deeper than the bruises ever could. No mistakes this time. No hesitation. If I see my chance, I will take it.
“Dimitri!” Kolya barks, and his right-hand man is there within seconds. “Get word out that I want Igor in this room before the sun sets.”
Dimitri nods once and vanishes, leaving Kolya seething. He slams his phone onto the desk, fingers drumming against the surface. His mind is spinning.
All of a sudden, the door bursts open. Three of his men rush in, their expressions tight with urgency. “Boss,” one pants, “the shipment, it was a setup. Cops intercepted it before it even hit the docks.”
For a moment, there’s silence. That eerie, suffocating kind. And then—
Kolya explodes. His entire body tenses like a coiled viper before he lunges forward, sending his glass of whiskey flying across the room. It shatters against the stone fireplace, amber liquid dripping down like blood. His face is a mask of crimson, veins pulsing at his temples, a muscle leaping in his clenched jaw.
“What do you mean, a setup?!” he roars, voice raw with fury, knocking over the decanter on his desk with a violent swipe. The scent of whiskey fills the air, bitter and sickly-sweet, as it pools across the floor. Shards of crystal scatter across the rug. He strides toward the men, eyes wild, fury radiating off him in waves. I don’t miss the way they flinch, shifting back as if distance might spare them from his wrath. “How did this happen? WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?”
The tallest of the three hesitates, swallowing hard. “We…we don’t know, boss. Someone tipped them off.”
Kolya doesn’t stop. He grabs the heavy oak chair nearest his liquor cabinet and hurls it across the room, the wood splintering as it crashes into the bookshelves. A framed photo of him and his father, the one where he’s pretending to be a doting son, topples, the glass shattering as it hits the floor. His chest rises and falls in ragged heaves, eyes wild, teeth bared. His hands slam against the desk, rattling everything on it. Papers scatter, a glass pen holder topples, and for a moment, the only sound is his ragged breathing.
One of his men stammers an excuse, voice shaking, but Kolya moves before he can finish. He lunges, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him forward. “You useless piece of shit,” he snarls. The man gasps, his hands trembling at his sides.
Kolya’s fingers twitch, then—CRACK. He backhands the man so hard he stumbles into the desk, blood dripping from his split lip. The others remain frozen, eyes averted, knowing better than to intervene.
One of them sneaks a glance in my direction. Kolya notices the glance. His eyes snap to the man, and in a blink, he snatches a bottle from the bar and hurls it. It smashes just inches from the man’s head, glass raining down. “You looking at her?” Kolya snarls. “You want what’s mine?” The man shakes his head furiously, hands up in surrender.
“Find out who it was.” His voice is low, lethal. “And when you do, gut them or I will gut you!”
The men scramble, murmuring quick affirmations before they flee the room, leaving Kolya shaking with barely contained rage. He’s unraveling. Losing control. Exactly what I need.
I shift my gaze to the desk—to the steel letter opener resting near his scattered paperwork. One of his favorites. Its edge gleams wickedly.
I don’t think. My pulse hammers in my ears, a deafening reminder of everything at stake. My body screams at me to freeze, to reconsider, but the image of my baby, of freedom, propels me. I move.
While he’s still cursing, still lost in his fury, I step closer to the desk. My fingers close around the handle, cool and solid in my grip. My heart pounds, but I force my face to stay neutral.
Kolya is still ranting, still blinded by his anger. He doesn’t notice.
I slide the letter opener behind me, tucking it against my lower back. Hiding it.
I swallow hard, my free hand pressing lightly over my stomach again. It’s not just about me anymore. I will survive. For myself. For my baby.
My breath is slow, measured, though every instinct screams at me to run. The weight of it pressing against my back is cold reassurance. Kolya's fury still crackles in the air like a storm about to break, his curses venomous as he rages. Glass crunches under his boots as he paces wildly, his hands shaking with barely contained violence.
I stay still, invisible in the chaos, every fiber of my being focused on the next move. My fingers twitch near my newly acquired weapon, my heartbeat hammering like a war drum. The scent of whiskey, sweat, and pure rage clogs the air. He won’t see me coming.
Not this time.
This time, I will win or I'll die fighting.
Ryker
The plan is brutal in its precision. We hit Kolya’s estate fast and hard. Two strike teams—one breaching from the south entrance, the other cutting power to the estate before flanking from the east. No room for hesitation, no room for mercy.
We neutralize guards with ruthless efficiency—silenced takedowns where possible, brutal force where necessary. Bastian leads the charge, moving with precision, a blade to the throat before a body even hits the ground.
Theo and Grim clear rooms with calculated sweeps, quick, methodical. I don’t waste time. I carve through the enemy like a storm, my blade slicing through soft tissue, my gun silencing anyone who so much as flinches in my path.
We move through the house with lethal synchronicity, and by the time the alarms are blaring, it's already too late for Kolya’s men. We extract Lila before Kolya even knows what hit him, or at least, that’s the plan.
Bastian, Theo, Grim, and I move in with the core strike team, navigating through the narrow, man-made tunnel Kolya had built for his own escape. Just as Theo said, it’s not on any blueprints, a secret artery burrowing directly beneath his private quarters. Now, it’s our way in.
Ethan is outside in one of our SUVs, monitoring security feeds, disabling cameras, and relaying enemy positions to us through comms. The ground above us trembles as the first explosion detonates outside, shaking loose dirt from the passage walls. The diversion is starting.
We hit the hidden entrance to his bedroom, weapons raised, anticipation coiled like a spring in my chest. Lila will be here. She has to be.
The moment I step into the room, a snarl rips through my throat. The bed is unmade, the scent of whiskey and cigars lingers—but no Lila.
“She’s not here, Kolya moved her,” Theo mutters, sweeping his gun across the room. His voice is tight, clipped, but there’s certainty beneath it.
I spin, slamming my fist into the nearest wall. Drywall cracks beneath my knuckles.
“FUCK!”
“She’s still in the house,” Grim grits out. “She has to be. We know Kolya wouldn’t leave her alone or unprotected. Find him or that idiot, Dimitri.”
“Then we find her.” My voice is raw, venomous. “Spread out, clear every fucking room.”
The plan shifts on the fly—Theo and Grim take the west wing, the rest of the team sweeps the lower floors. I go alone.
The estate shakes again—another explosion, this one closer. The walls tremble violently, dust and debris raining from the ceiling, choking the air. For a sickening, disorienting moment, the scents overlay—acrid gunpowder mixing with the phantom stench of rot and stale sweat from my cell.
My heart slams erratically against my ribs, too fast, skipping beats, the phantom pressure of the rope tightening around my neck making my breath catch. Blood slick on skin, the rough scrape of restraints...
A violent shudder rips through me. No. My fists clench so hard my knuckles crack, nails digging into my own palms, the searing pain a welcome anchor to now . Grit scrapes between my teeth. Not now. Not here. I force a ragged breath into my lungs, focusing on the dust motes dancing in the dim light ahead, the immediate reality. I'm not in that cell. I'm not restrained. I have my weapon in hand. The mission priority is Lila .
Her name cuts through the fog like a beacon. The past recedes, shoved violently back into its box, though the adrenaline edge remains. I am not trapped. I am the storm breaking down the door. I am not leaving without Lila. My heartbeat steadies, finding its rhythm in the violence still echoing around me. Ready.
I push forward, cutting through every obstacle in my path. The first man barely has time to register my presence before my knife buries deep into his throat. Another lunges at me, his gun raised, but I’m faster; I slam the butt of my pistol into his temple, feeling the sickening crunch of bone beneath the force.
Blood spatters across my arm as he collapses. A third man tries to run, but I’m on him in seconds, grabbing him by the back of the neck and driving him face-first into the wall. His skull cracks, his body going limp before he even has the chance to scream.
Then I see him, Luke. The traitor. The bastard who led Lila out of the house, straight into Kolya’s trap. A fresh wave of fury crashes through me, so potent it almost blacks out my vision. We promised Grim a piece of this bastard, for what he did to Lila, for the danger he put her in. Oops. Guess I got here first. He’ll forgive me... eventually. Luke barely has time to react before I’m on him. He tries to stammer out a pathetic excuse, hands raised as if that will save him. It won’t.
I slam my fist into his face, the sickening crunch of his nose breaking beneath my knuckles sending a dark thrill through me. He stumbles back, blood pouring down his chin, but I don’t let him fall. My hands close around his throat, squeezing, feeling the frantic thump of his pulse beneath my grip. His eyes bulge, fingers clawing at my wrists.
“You sold her out,” I snarl, tightening my grip. “You fucking delivered her to that monster.”
His mouth opens, gasping for air, but I don’t care. I throw him to the ground, kicking him hard in the ribs. He wheezes, rolling to his side, and I press my boot to his throat.
“Give me one good reason not to rip you apart,” I growl.
Luke chokes, hands weakly scrabbling at my boot, trying to relieve the pressure. I apply more, his body jerking beneath me. Then, just before the light leaves his eyes, I shift, pulling my gun and putting a bullet between them. His body goes still.
I don’t even look at his body twice. Just another stepping stone to Lila. I exhale harshly, forcing myself forward, my blood still roaring in my ears. There's a shift in the air, a presence just ahead. My instincts hone, my focus zeroing in. Bone gives under impact, blood mists the air, but I don’t register it, don’t hesitate. I’m a storm, a force of nature ripping through Kolya’s empire.
That’s when I spot him.
Dimitri.
He stands like a sentinel before a door, gun raised at me, body rigid. His stance tells me everything: he knows why I’m here, who I’m looking for. He damn well knows Kolya and Lila are behind that door. And the bastard looks like he's made his peace with dying to keep me from her.
The moment our eyes lock, a slow smirk spreads across his face. “You’re too late.”
Too late for what? My stomach twists. Did Kolya already take her? Did he move her somewhere I can't reach? Or did he already hurt her? The thought sends a spike of white-hot rage through me, my vision narrowing to a pinpoint focused solely on Dimitri.
Rage detonates inside me.
I don’t speak. I lunge.
He gets a single shot off, a deafening roar in the confined space, the bullet whining past my ear, close enough to feel it go past. But I’m already a fucking blur, an explosion of movement fueled by raw adrenaline. There’s no time for him to aim again, no chance for a second shot before I crash into him.
We collide like animals, teeth bared, fists flying. His gun clatters away, forgotten in the sudden, brutal shift to close-quarters savagery. Dimitri is strong, a trained killer, but I’m out of my fucking mind with rage.
I drive him backward, fists slamming into his ribs, his jaw. He grunts, but he fights like a man who has nothing to lose. He gets an elbow into my gut, knocking the wind from my lungs. As I stumble, he slams me back against the corridor wall, his forearm pressing hard across my throat. For a second, the pressure is too familiar, the rope, the cell, no air , and a blind, desperate fury surges through me. I roar, a primal sound, and throw him off with a strength born of sheer panic before my training reasserts itself. The world tilts from the blow to my temple, but I don’t go down.
I grab his wrist before he can land another strike and twist—a sickening pop echoes through the hallway as his shoulder dislocates. Dimitri screams in agony, but I’m already moving, already driving my knee into his gut. He staggers, spitting blood, but refuses to fall.
He pulls his knife from its sheath, his expression shifting, not to fear, but to acceptance. His lips curl into a smile, his eyes burning with a desperate determination. He knows he won’t walk away from this, but he’s willing to try to take me with him.
I see a flash of steel as he slashes at my ribs, catching fabric, but not skin. I twist, grab his wrist, and shove his own blade back toward him. We struggle, muscles straining, blood dripping from both of us. His breath is ragged, my grip unyielding.
Then I overpower him.
I plunge the knife into his throat, deep—his breath catches, a choked, broken sound. I don’t stop. I twist the blade and relish in the way his body jerks, his strength failing.
His knees buckle. He tries to speak, but only blood spills past his lips.
I shove him off the blade, letting him crumple to the floor at my feet.
Lila
The walls tremble around me, the deep boom of explosions rattling the foundation of the house. Gunfire erupts outside. The air is thick with tension, the acrid scent of smoke already seeping through the cracks in the wall. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs. Someone is attacking the mansion, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a small glimmer of hope flickers in my chest.
Could it be the guys? Or has Kolya pissed off someone even more powerful than himself? The idea sends a ripple of unease through me. If it’s not them, then who? And what will they do to me if they take me?
Kolya’s panicked movements snap my attention back to him. Sweat beads along his hairline, his breathing shallow and erratic. He whirled towards his desk, his hand slamming a concealed button on an intercom panel. 'Собирай всех! Код Омега! Никто не уйдёт!' (Gather everyone! Code Omega! No one leaves!) he snarled into it, his voice tight with fury and a dawning panic. The words were harsh, guttural Russian, unintelligible to me, but the venom in his tone was unmistakable. He didn't wait for an answer, already spinning back, his eyes darting wildly around the room, no longer calculating, just frantic, manic. His hands tremble, fingers twitching as if he can’t decide whether to grab his gun or his knife. His control, is gone. He’s coming apart at the seams, and he knows it. This isn’t the calculated monster I knew; this is a desperate man, and he knows he’s losing everything.
His hand flies to a drawer, yanking it open so hard that the wood cracks. He pulls out a gun, his grip tight, white-knuckled, like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity. His wild eyes draw to me; I am all he has left.
“They won’t take you from me again,” he growls, his voice ragged, unhinged. His chest rises and falls erratically. “You’re mine. You’re carrying my heir!”
The words slam into me, ice-cold dread creeping through my veins. His heir. I swallow against the bile rising in my throat. I want to scream, to tell him he’s delusional, but I don’t. I won’t waste my breath on a dead man.
Instead, I stay quiet, my mind whirling. He’s desperate. And desperate men make mistakes.
He steps closer, grabbing my arm so hard pain lances up to my shoulder. He’s squeezing too tight, his fingers digging into my flesh like he thinks he can physically hold me in place, make me stay.
Beyond the thick wooden door, I hear it—
A voice. A deep, vicious snarl, one I know in my bones.
Ryker.
A loud thud against the door. Then another. The wood groans under the force.
Kolya stiffens, his grip tightening, his breath ragged. He knows they’re coming for me.
He yanks me against his chest, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re mine,” he hisses. I can feel the tremor in his body, the way fear is seeping into him now, wrapping around him like a noose.
He’s going to use me. A shield. A final bargaining chip.
But he’s distracted. His focus is on the door, his gun raised toward it, not on me. The chaos outside, the thunder of Ryker’s approach, has shattered his composure. He’s unraveling, his attention fractured, his arrogance replaced by a primal fear. This is it. My chance. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline so potent it blanks out thought, and the fierce, undeniable instinct to protect the life inside me, to protect the men fighting their way to me, I move. He thinks I’m too afraid, too weak.
This is my chance.
The letter opener is in my hand before I even think. The one I slid from his desk earlier. Ryker's voice echoes in my head: Carotid artery. Quick. Fatal. No hesitation. Fueled by adrenaline, I move faster than Kolya expects. I twist fiercely in his grip, angling my body as his hold tightens reflexively.
With a choked sound ripped from my own throat, part battle cry, part desperate gasp, I don't hesitate. I drive the steel blade upward and inward, precisely where Ryker had shown me, into the vulnerable flesh of his neck. There’s a sickening give as metal meets flesh, and I twist my wrist hard, just as he taught me.
Kolya jerks violently, a strangled, inhuman sound tearing from his throat as his grip on my arm convulses. Ignoring the pain, I yank the blade free with a wet, tearing sound.
His eyes, wide with utter shock and disbelief, snap to mine. No anger, no fury, just stunned incomprehension as the blood erupts. Hot blood spurts and sprays viscous red across my face, my clothes, my hand, splattering his pristine white blotter and the ledgers scattered across his mahogany desk. The sudden, overwhelming coppery tang thickens the air, choking my senses.
He stumbles back, clawing at his neck, trying to speak, but only a wet, horrifying gurgle escapes his lips as blood bubbles and pours freely from the wound. He grips the edge of the desk, trying to stay upright, his legs shaking uncontrollably beneath him.
His eyes lock onto mine one last time, the shock curdling into a chillingly empty look of betrayal, as if utterly dumbfounded that I , his possession, could do this.
A strangled sob of relief tears from me, a wave of exhaustion threatening to pull me under. But beneath it, a fierce triumph ignites. It's over. Finally over. My hands tremble, not from fear, but from the release of years of captivity ending in one decisive moment. My breath is ragged, my heart hammering as I look down at the monster who thought he owned me. I am free. I did this. I took my power back.
I glance down at the gun he dropped in his struggle, my breath hitching. Without thinking, I kick it away, sending it skidding across the floor under the heavy drapes of the window. Just in case, I won’t take any chances—not with him. Not now.
Then, I step forward. My voice, when it comes, is steady, unwavering despite the storm inside me.
“You will never ever have me or hurt my baby.”
Kolya collapses further. His body slums onto the floor, twitching once. Then he goes incredibly still.
Ryker
Heart hammering, ignoring knuckles stinging beneath Dimitri's blood, I turn to the locked door. “Found her,” I growl into the radio, my voice low, dangerous. “Kolya’s office."
I don’t wait for a reply. I step back, adrenaline surging, and kick. The door shudders. Again. The wood groans, splinters flying with the second impact. On the third kick, the lock gives way with a crack, the heavy door exploding inward.
I burst into the room, weapon raised, every sense screaming. My gaze snaps across the space, taking in the scene in a fraction of a second: Kolya sprawled motionless on the floor, a dark pool spreading rapidly beneath him.
And Lila.
Standing near his body, chest heaving, air tearing in and out of her lungs in harsh pants that slice through the ringing in my ears. She’s covered head-to-toe in blood. So much blood. Stark red soaking her clothes, coating her pale skin, dripping from the letter opener still clutched tight in her trembling hand. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, reflecting the carnage around her, yet beneath the shock, there’s a spark, a terrifying, beautiful fire of survival.
For a fraction of a second, I freeze, my mind struggling to reconcile the violence of the room with the impossible miracle of her being alive. My battle-honed instincts scream threat assessment , but a deeper, more primal urge overrides everything. She's Safe. She's alive. But God, what did she have to do? What did HE do to her? The sight of her drenched in that monster's blood sends a fresh spike of adrenaline through me, colder this time, laced with a terrifying fear for her , for what this moment, this act, will cost her.
Then I move. Three long, desperate strides close the distance between us. My hands are on her, grabbing her arms, pulling her hard against me, crushing her to my chest. Her smaller frame feels impossibly fragile yet undeniably real against mine. My mouth crashes down on hers, not a kiss, but a desperate affirmation. Raw, frantic, tasting the metallic tang of Kolya's blood mixed with the salt of tears on her skin, needing to feel her lips against mine, needing the proof of her life.
Fingers dig into her waist, tangle possessively in her hair, grounding myself in her living presence. Violent tremors shake us both, her heart hammering against mine. Real. Safe. Here. My cock gives a hard, involuntary twitch against her stomach, a reaction to the flood of adrenaline and the overwhelming need to own this moment, to shield her, to keep her.
I finally pull back, just enough to press my forehead hard against hers, dragging in ragged breaths that smell like blood, gunpowder, and her . My eyes scan her face, taking in the blood, the dilated pupils, the shock. “You’re fucking insane,” I growl, the words ripped from my lungs, thick with a potent cocktail of fury, pride, and bone-deep terror for her .
My grip tightens, not hard enough to hurt, but refusing to yield an inch. “You should have waited. We were right there , Lila. We had a plan. We were coming.” My voice cracks slightly on the last word, the raw fear of what could have happened hitting me fully. “You didn’t have to do it alone. Risk yourself or our child.” My forehead presses harder against hers, needing the contact. “Fuck, I almost lost you.”
"I wasn’t going to risk it, I saw my opportunity and I took it, just like you showed me," Lila whispers, her voice shaky but resolute, clinging to me just as tightly. Her simple certainty gut-punches me. I exhale harshly, before crushing my mouth to hers again. Harder this time. Fierce. A brand. A vow.
Sounds penetrate the bubble around us, footsteps, yelled commands. The team moves in, securing the room. Bastian’s concise assessment cutting through the chaos, Grim’s brutal efficiency ending residual threats, and Theo, steady presence covering angles. My peripheral vision registers them, acknowledging their presence, but my entire focus remains locked on the woman trembling in my arms.
I don't let go. My hands still grip her waist like I'm physically tethering her to this world, to me . Without a word, needing to get her out, away from the blood and the body, needing to keep her enveloped in my protection, I scoop her up effortlessly into my arms. Her gasp is soft against my neck as I cradle her close, her weight grounding, my grip unyielding, refusing to let her touch the blood-streaked floor again.
Lila
The team gets me out, moving fast. Gunfire echoes behind us, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Ryker’s arms are an unyielding fortress around me, shielding me, carrying me away from the horror.
As we rush through the crumbling estate, the heat of flames licking at the walls, one final explosion rocks the ground beneath us. We barely make it out before the blast tears through the compound, sending shockwaves through the ground.
The inferno roars behind us, fire painting the night sky orange as Kolya’s empire collapses in on itself... The heat sears my skin even from a distance as Ryker shields me completely, his arms tightening around me.
We escape into the relative cool of the night air. Two black SUVs wait, engines rumbling impatiently, doors already open. Ethan gives a quick nod from the passenger seat of the lead vehicle before pulling his door shut. Ryker doesn’t put me down, maneuvering me into the backseat of the second SUV, settling me onto his lap as he slides into the seat, never breaking contact. My head rests against his chest, the heavy thud of his heart a grounding rhythm beneath my ear.
Bastian slides in beside Ryker, his presence solid, commanding. Theo jumps into the front passenger seat beside Grim, who already has his hands gripping the wheel. Grim glances forward at the lead SUV, waits a beat for it to move, then slams his own door shut and punches the accelerator without a word. Tires squeal on asphalt as we fishtail slightly, falling into formation behind the lead vehicle.
For a moment, I'm enveloped, surrounded by solid warmth, shielded on all sides. Wrapped in safety. The SUV eats up the road, speeding into the darkness, leaving roaring flames and distant sirens behind. Relief, heavy and dizzying, starts to wash over me.
A few minutes later, Bastian's voice cuts through the chaos, low and tense. "Something's wrong, we're being followed."
I twist in Ryker's grip, peering over his shoulder. Headlights—three, no, four sets—pierce the darkness behind us, gaining ground. My stomach drops. They don’t look like the police.
"Kolya's people?" I whisper, the words barely audible over the roar of the flames. Then it hits me, a cold dread. "Oh God," I say, my voice trembling as I clutch Ryker’s arm tighter. "In his office… just before… Kolya, he was on an intercom. Shouting in Russian. I didn't understand it, just pure rage. I thought—I assumed he was trying to rally his men inside the mansion." My gaze darts between the pursuing headlights and Bastian's grim face. "Could he have been… setting this up? An ambush?"
Bastian exchanges a loaded glance with Ryker, his expression hardening. "It's a strong possibility, Lila," he says, his voice low and tense. "And if he did, these aren't just random thugs. He'd send his best to make sure no one walked away." He looks back at the pursuing vehicles. "Someone definitely knew we'd be here and when we'd be leaving."
"We've got company," he says into his comm, voice clipped. "Four vehicles, heavily armed. Ethan, what's our exit strategy?"
"Working on it," Ethan's tense voice crackles through the speakers. "City routes are compromised. They've got roadblocks set up on the main arteries. This isn't random—they were waiting for us."
Theo's knuckles are white around his gun, his body rigid with tension. "Who the fuck knew we'd be here tonight?" he asks, voice raw with barely contained fury.
"Doesn't matter right now," Grim growls, checking his mirrors. "Surviving does."
"Taking the coastal route," Ethan's voice reports over the comms. "It's our only clean exit. Stay tight."
The pursuing vehicles surge forward, gaining ground. A flash of muzzle fire erupts from the lead car, bullets pinging off the armored rear of our vehicle. I flinch, instinctively curling tighter against Ryker's chest.
"Return fire!" Bastian commands, rolling down his window. The night air whips into the cabin as he leans out, his gun steady despite the vehicle's lurching motion. The sharp crack of his shots joins the cacophony of engines and squealing tires.
"We've got a problem," Ethan's voice is suddenly urgent through the speakers. "They're trying to box us in. Two more vehicles approaching from the north—"
The radio cuts to static. Theo curses, frantically adjusting the comm unit.
"Ethan!" Bastian barks.
No response.
Ahead, Ethan's SUV swerves sharply, narrowly avoiding a black sedan that veers into its path from a side road. The ambush is coordinated is precise and professional.
"They're herding us," Grim mutters, his knuckles white on the wheel as he follows Ethan's desperate maneuvers.
Then, ahead of us— A blinding flash. A deafening WHOOMP that shakes our own vehicle, rattling my teeth.
The lead SUV, Ethan's SUV , erupts in a monstrous fireball. Flames engulf it instantly, sending shrapnel and twisted metal cartwheeling through the air. It veers violently off the road, flipping once, twice, before crashing into the trees in a burning, unrecognizable wreck.
"ETHAN!" Theo's roar fills the cabin, raw agony tearing through the sudden, horrifying silence that follows the blast. Grim slams on the brakes, tires screaming as our SUV skids sideways, narrowly avoiding the debris field.
"GO!" Bastian orders, but Grim is already throwing the car into reverse, trying to create distance from whatever triggered the explosion.
"IED," Grim snarls. "Remote detonated. They knew exactly where—"
The night erupts with gunfire. Bullets ping against the SUV's armor, the windshield spiderwebbing but holding. Headlights converge from all directions—the four vehicles from behind, the two that had appeared ahead. We're surrounded.
Theo's already reaching for the door handle, his face a mask of desperate fury. "My brother's in there!"
"Theo, NO!" Bastian commands, but Theo's already half out of the vehicle.
A bullet whizzes past, close enough that I feel the air displacement. Ryker's arms tighten around me protectively, his body tensing to move.
My lungs seize, air trapped. Heart hammering against my ribs, I stare, frozen, at the inferno consuming the vehicle ahead…
The men who saved me are now trapped, pinned down. And it was Kolya, with his last hateful words, who had set this monstrous trap. And Ethan—oh God, Ethan—is burning in that twisted wreckage while bullets rain down around us.