Chapter 32
Louhi
I toss my fluffy pillow into the boot of the SUV and slam it closed with enough force to scare off the snowflakes that have piled up. I can only pray that the relentless weather lets up soon. This drive is going to be long enough without having to contend with a snowstorm.
Sasha opens the door to the driver’s seat and starts the car, leaving one impossibly long leg dangling. When he climbs out, he tosses me the keys. I catch them with a smile.
“Why do you get to drive?” Sean huffs, then mutters somewhat under his breath, “The excuse of hot-wiring it doesn’t even track this time.”
I roll my eyes, though I don’t answer him as Viktor approaches.
He descends the front steps with his hands in his pockets.
His demeanor is casual and calm, but the firm set of his shoulders and jaw tells a different story.
Gently padding over the snow, his dogs trail after him, their gait protective and predatory.
“Are you sure about this, Louhi?” he asks, his breath visible in the brisk night and only audible to my ears. I collected a small arsenal of weapons from him and already packed them into the hidden compartments of the car he loaned us.
“Yes,” I murmur without hesitation. “I need to bring him home.” One way or another.
The words burn my throat as though I swallowed too much fresh ginger and raw lemon juice. The sensation is probably more accurately akin to gargling sulfuric acid, but I can’t be entirely sure since I’ve never tried that before.
The idea of infiltrating a black site is dangerous and a touch reckless, but there’s no lengths I wouldn’t go to for my brother. I’ve already conquered one prison—twice—what’s one more?
When Honey Eyes explained that he thought my brother was just within reach, I latched onto that hope like it was an iron bar atop a cliff and I was dangling over the edge.
I’m not allowing myself to consider another possibility right now. But even if he turns out not to be at Kazakhstan, it’ll rule out one option, and some bloodshed could settle me enough to come up with our next plan.
While we threw some things into our bags, he kept stealing glances, and when I’d meet his eye, he’d exhale then go back to tossing clothing into the duffle bag. Sean is clearly nervous about this mission, and I understand that concern, but I have to do this. I need to be reunited with Mercer.
He subtly dips his chin. “Let me know when you get to Saratov, alright? Without you, who will kill all my enemies?”
I giggle, my head tilted back toward the navy sky crying white, fluffy tears. “Ukko forbid, you have to manage your own affairs.”
His chuckle is low and follows me as I stride for the car.
I don’t know what’s got me buzzing harder: the six cups of coffee I’ve consumed or the potential of being reunited with my brother. The sun is bright, illuminating the fresh layer of powdery white snow across the countryside as we get closer to Saratov.
Immortal’s “Return To Cold” plays softly through the speakers as I drive, my fingers tapping the steering wheel to the beat.
The sunshine is a nice change from the relentless snowfall that the windshield wipers struggled to keep up with all night.
I drove for the first five hours before Sean took over for a bit, but now that we’re edging closer to the city, I slid back behind the wheel.
Thirteen hours is quite a while to be trapped in a car.
At least Viktor had arranged snacks for us.
If only Jace hadn’t been like a rabid dog with the junk food and left the rest of us with fucking carrot sticks and almonds.
A remarkable silence has filled the drive like a heavy mist, with everyone seemingly lost in their own minds.
Jace and Sean are obviously concerned about sneaking onto this military base.
I’ll admit that carries a significant risk, but it’s nothing compared to the weight of living without my brother.
Nothing could keep me from him now. With my parents gone, he’s the only family I have left. I won’t abandon him.
Besides, stealth might as well be my middle name.
After another several minutes of quiet, Sean’s voice fills the car. “We’ve got to be close, right?”
“Yes, the safe house is just west of the city.”
“How’d you pick this place?” Jace asks from the back seat.
“It’s the perfect location to hunker down.
It’s in the woods with enough proximity to neighbors, which makes it a lot less suspicious.
It’s also near Saratov, so getting supplies wouldn’t be an issue.
It’s only six hours from the Kazakhstan border and close to the Volga River, so numerous escape options are at my fingertips. ”
“Is this your only safe house?” Sean wonders aloud.
“In Russia? Yes. Although, I have a home in Rostov Veliky, about three hours outside of Moscow.”
“Exactly how many houses do you have, Lou?” Jace cuts in, and it’s a legitimate question.
“Five.”
I glance between the rear-view mirror and my left, finding identical expressions on the two men: jaws unhinged, hanging open wide enough to catch flies, their eyes bugging out of their heads.
“Your faces tell me you both forgot I had heaps of money.”
“Where are they?” Sean inquires, glancing out the window to take in the scenic farmland.
“Two in Russia, one in Joensuu, Finland, my flat in Boston, and a holiday home overlooking the Bay of Kotor in Montenegro.”
“Now that’s a real vacation, Lou.” Jace sticks his head over the center console with an award-winning smile splitting his face in half. “We’re definitely going there when this is over.”
As quickly as his excitement appears, a crestfallen expression shadows it as though he’s just been nailed with a harpoon.
“Chin up, Honey Eyes,” I state brightly.
“Simply because Sean Diggory and Jace Marshall can’t leave Russia doesn’t mean your alter-egos can’t.
I’ll get you both sorted with new passports.
Viktor and Conall smuggle illegal things every day.
With their help and minor adjustments to our appearances here or there, we can go anywhere we want. Hope is not lost.”
“What about you?”
“I already have fake documents.” With my connections, it wouldn’t be as hard as they think to travel out of the country, especially once some time has passed. They underestimate the blind eye immigration agents will pay you if they’ve been slipped enough money.
The song switches to Paleface Swiss’s “My Blood On Your Hands” as I exit the highway and turn onto a smaller, less trafficked road lined with trees that are heavy with snowfall. Their breakdowns are the best.
“How can you listen to this after…”
“After you blasted it almost all day, every day for months, preventing me from getting my beauty sleep and thinking straight?” I finish for Sean, shooting him a playful grin. “Easy. Something loved is not easily ruined.”
“I didn’t know you actually liked metal music. I thought you were fucking with us.”
That’s a fair assessment, considering how much I enjoyed toying with them. “I love it. I think it’s in my blood, though.”
“What do you mean?”
The sunlight plays hide-and-seek with the trees as I slow the car. “There are more heavy metal fans in Finland than in any other country. Do you actually listen to what you played at Ex-I, or was that just a fun torture tool for you to use?”
Joy crosses Sean’s gorgeous face. “I like it. The heavier the riff, the better.”
I beam back at him before refocusing my attention on the curving road.
I’m dying to drag him to a show so I can discover just what kind of a fan he is.
I bet he’s the type to stand there looking bored to tears with his arms crossed over his chest, but is secretly having the time of his bloody life.
Personally, I’m the sort to thrust my hands toward the sky, my hair whipping about my face as I bang my head to the beat and belt out every word with an ear-to-ear grin.
“I prefer rock. Thanks so much for asking.”
I giggle at Jace’s obvious sarcasm.
We wind through the scenery for a few kilometers before I turn into the gravel drive that’s nearly invisible if not for the gate. I hop out of the car and enter the code on the lock.
I haven’t been here in over a year, so I can imagine the dusty mess that’s awaiting us. At least it’ll be a safe place for us to rest and develop a plan.
When I make it back to the car, Sean’s moved to the driver’s seat. When I’m in the passenger seat, the wheels begin to crunch over the fresh snow that has piled up. Part of me wonders if we’ll even make it to the house. By some miracle, we do, and about a minute later, we round the final bend.
Before us is a cozy, historic Russian dacha with a screened-in terrace at the rear.
The previous owner had done next to zero renovations to the old summer house.
I’d planned to build a garage and a proper armory, but I haven’t gotten around to that yet.
Although, I did finish the basement, outfitting it with several safes and a gym, and painting the exterior a dark green that matches the forest around us in the summertime.
I couldn’t stand owning a home in the hideous turquoise color that was present before.
I’m the first to climb the steps to the front door, the wooden planks groaning beneath my weight.
My beefy companions are on my heels as I fish the keys from my pocket, but the sight of the window to the left of the door has me reaching for my Glock instead.
There’s an obvious hole through the center of the pane, the jagged edges smeared with blood.
I strain my ears, listening for movement behind the door, but the only sounds are the harmony of snicks and clicks of three firearms cocking.
Unwilling to bust my own damn door down, I shove the key into the lock and turn, glancing over my shoulder at the two men. When they both nod, I twist the knob and swing the door wide.
Then, I scream.