CHAPTER 26 #2
"I've got something. Service cameras caught them heading to Storage Level B3. And I just identified one of the men: Mikhail Dragunov, ex-Spetsnaz, now a mercenary. He worked for the Irish on East Coast operations."
"Keller's men," Alexei confirms, turning toward the wall closet.
He opens it, revealing an arsenal that would make a military commando blush. Without hesitating, he takes two Glocks, checking the magazines with the efficiency of someone who's performed this ritual thousands of times.
I walk over, selecting my own weapon: a Beretta 92. The cold metal against my palm is comforting, familiar. A reminder of who I really am. Not the businessman, not the head of security. The soldier. The protector. The avenger.
"Viktor, coordinate the rescue from here," Alexei orders, sliding a tactical knife into his boot. "I want all our men in position, but no one moves a finger until my signal. This could be exactly what Keller wants: to draw us out."
"Understood." Viktor nods, already typing commands on his tablet.
I turn to my brother, a silent question in my eyes. He understands.
"We're going to kill them all," Alexei confirms, his voice devoid of emotion. "Harper is the only thing that matters."
"And Sloane," I add, unable to help myself.
A shadow of a smile crosses his face.
"And Sloane," he concedes.
With a final exchange of glances, we head for the service elevator. The descent to Level B3 seems eternal, every second a reminder of what's at stake.
The image of Sloane trapped, scared, possibly hurt plays in my mind like a horror movie. If they've touched a single hair on her head...
Stay calm, I tell myself. Think like a soldier, not a lover.
But it's hard. Impossible, almost. Because somewhere between our first hostile encounter and the other night, when I held her in my arms while she slept, Sloane Murphy has become something more than a passing obsession. She's become a part of me.
And those who dare to touch what's mine don't live to tell about it.
SLOANE
Time stretches like a rubber band in this windowless warehouse. With no clocks in sight and our phones confiscated, it's impossible to tell how long we've been here. An hour? Two?
Harper shifts uncomfortably in her chair, a grimace of pain crossing her face.
If anything happens to my friend, I'm going to kill these guys.
"Are you okay?" I whisper, leaning toward her.
"The baby's restless." She strokes her belly. "And I need to use the restroom again."
I turn to our captors. The first one, who I mentally call "Scar" because of the mark crossing his left cheek, is on the phone again. The second, "Baldy," stands guard near the door.
"Excuse me," I call out, keeping my voice steady. "My friend is pregnant and needs to use the restroom."
Baldy looks at Scar, who ends his call with a grunt.
"Five minutes," he concedes, pointing toward a door in the corner of the warehouse. "And you go with her," he adds, aiming his gun at me.
With my hands still tied, I help Harper stand up carefully. Her legs seem a bit numb after sitting for so long.
"Watch them," Scar orders his partner. "I'm going to check the perimeter."
Baldy escorts us to the door of the small restroom, a depressing cubicle with faded tiles and a lingering smell of dampness and industrial disinfectant.
"Two minutes," he warns, staying outside but keeping the door ajar.
Inside, with the little privacy the open door allows, Harper squats down carefully.
"They're stalling," she whispers, so low I can barely hear her. "Waiting for instructions."
I nod imperceptibly, using the moment to scan the bathroom for anything that might help us. Nothing. Not even a window or a vent large enough.
"Alexei will come," Harper continues, her voice shaky but determined. "I know it."
"And Dimitri," I add, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice.
It's funny. A few weeks ago, the idea of these men being our saviors would have seemed absurd. Now, they're our only hope.
"Time's up," Baldy growls from the doorway.
I help Harper up, her eyes meeting mine. I see fear in them, yes, but also ironclad resolve. She's stronger than she looks—she always has been.
Back in the warehouse, Scar has returned. He's tense, repeatedly checking his phone.
"Any problem?" Baldy asks.
"They aren't answering," Scar replies, his voice tinged with unease. "We should have received instructions an hour ago."
A shiver runs down my spine. Something's wrong. Or rather, something is shifting.
Suddenly, the lights flicker. Once, twice, three times before stabilizing again.
Scar and Baldy exchange glances. Scar draws his gun; Baldy checks the door.
"Check the other exits," Scar orders his partner.
A thick, almost tangible silence descends over the warehouse. Even the machinery seems to hold its breath. The only sound is my heartbeat, hammering in my ears like a war drum.
And then I hear it. A barely perceptible sound. A metallic click, like a lock opening somewhere in the distance.
Harper hears it too. Her hand seeks mine, squeezing tight.
Scar takes a step toward us, his gun pointing alternately at each of us. His forehead glistens with sweat, his eyes frantically scanning the space.
"Move over there," he orders, pointing to a far corner.
We've barely taken a couple of steps when it happens.
A deafening roar shakes the warehouse. The main door flies off its hinges, wrapped in a cloud of dust and debris. Simultaneously, a ceiling panel opens, and a dark figure descends with military precision.
Scar shouts something unintelligible, swinging his weapon toward the main threat. He fires. The blast echoes in the enclosed space, a noise so violent I feel like my eardrums are going to burst.
Everything accelerates. More shots. Screams. The dull thud of bodies colliding.
Through the chaos, I distinguish figures moving with lethal precision. Men in black, their movements coordinated like a macabre dance.
And among them, unmistakable even in this pandemonium: Alexei and Dimitri.
Alexei advances like a force of nature, unstoppable. His usually impassive face is transformed by primal fury. In his hands, a weapon he fires with surgical precision.
Dimitri is pure contained violence. He moves like a predator, every step calculated. His eyes frantically scan the room until they find me.
Our gazes lock through the chaos, and something in his expression shifts. Relief, followed immediately by horror.
"WATCH OUT!" he roars, and in that instant, I understand why.
Baldy has emerged from the shadows behind us, his gun aimed directly at my back.
Instinctively, I move to protect Harper, stepping in front of her. Time seems to slow down as I wait for the impact of the bullet I know is coming.
But the shot never comes.
Instead, I see Dimitri lunging toward us with superhuman speed. In one fluid motion, he places himself in front of me, his back to the danger, wrapping his arms around me and forming a protective barrier.
Simultaneously, Alexei appears beside Harper, positioning himself between her and any potential threat, shielding her with his body as he guides her gently toward a safer position behind some crates.
A burst of gunfire erupts behind us. Dimitri's body tenses against mine, but he doesn't move an inch, holding his position as a human shield. His breathing is heavy against my ear, his arms like steel around my body.
More shots. Stifled screams. And then, silence.
A deafening silence after so much violence.
Dimitri remains motionless, his protective embrace not loosening one bit.
"Are you hurt?" I whisper, panic rising inside me.
I feel him shake his head against my hair.
"And you?" he asks, his voice hoarse, unrecognizable.
"I'm fine," I reply, even though my whole body is trembling uncontrollably.
Only then does he allow himself to relax slightly, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. His gaze roams over every inch of my face, searching for signs of pain or trauma. What he finds must reassure him because his expression softens almost imperceptibly.
"Fuck. I thought..." he starts, but stops, unable to complete the thought.
He doesn't need to. I see it in his eyes, in the way his hands tremble slightly as he cuts the zip ties from my wrists with a knife. The fear of losing me.
A few feet away, Alexei keeps Harper shielded behind his body, one hand caressing her face while the other grips his weapon firmly, still alert to any threat. His eyes examine every detail of her, his lips moving in what seem to be whispered promises.
Around us, men in tactical gear secure the perimeter. The bodies of Scar and Baldy lie motionless on the floor, dark pools spreading beneath them.
Dimitri finally pulls away from me, but one of his hands remains firmly on my waist, as if he fears I might disappear if he lets go.
"Can you walk?" he asks, his voice still rough with adrenaline.
I nod, though my legs feel like jelly. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me firmly as we move toward where Alexei is checking on Harper.
"Are you okay? The baby?" Dimitri asks Harper, and the genuine concern in his voice surprises me.
Harper nods, a hand protectively over her belly.
"We're fine," she replies, her voice shaky but firm. "Thanks to you two."
Alexei, whose eyes haven't left his wife's face for a second, briefly turns toward me.
"Did they hurt you?" he asks, and although his tone is professional, I detect genuine concern.
"No," I reply, my voice steadier than I expected. "We were scared, but they didn't touch us."
Visible relief washes over both brothers.
Dimitri pulls me closer, his large, warm hand against my side, as if he needs the physical contact to ensure I'm really safe.
And then, not caring about the stares of his men or even his brother, he leans in and kisses me.
It isn't a soft or careful kiss. It's possessive, almost savage, charged with all the emotions he doesn't express in words.
A kiss that marks, that claims, that promises.
When he pulls away, his eyes are two gray flames.
"You're mine," he whispers against my lips. "And I always protect what's mine."
In that moment, seeing him like this, everything else fades away. The FBI, my mission, my doubts. All that remains is this crystal-clear truth: this man, with all his darkness and his secrets, risked his life to protect me. He stood between a gun and me without hesitation.
And as we walk toward the safety of the casino interior, a certainty settles in my heart with the force of a revelation.
I am completely in love with Dimitri Morozov.
God help me.