Nina #2
“He gave you all the important tasks,” she says. “I started losing out on information. He would never give me anything useful anymore, nothing that could help me take him down later.”
I think of my desk. The endless work.
The files I thought meant Luka did not trust me enough to tell me the truth, only trusted me enough to bury me in tasks.
I think of every fight we had.
Every time I thought he was keeping me at the edge of his life.
Every time I felt like I was useful but not truly trusted.
A horrible realization moves through me.
I have been fighting with Luka because I thought he did not trust me enough.
But that was never the full truth.
He trusted me more than I understood.
I look at Meredith. “You were jealous.”
Her face hardens. “I was realistic.”
“You decided I had to go.”
“Yes,” she says. There’s no hesitation there.
“You helped set up Misha,” I say.
“He set himself up by getting involved with Alina.”
“Because you and Oleg pushed her into Luka’s world.”
“She chose to betray us,” Meredith says.
“She was scared.”
“So was I,” Meredith snaps.
The warehouse goes quiet.
For the first time, Meredith looks close to losing control. “I spent years close enough to power to be used by it, never close enough to be protected by it,” she says. “Do you know what that is like?”
I stare at her. “That does not justify this.”
“No,” Meredith says. “But it explains why I stopped being loyal to people who were never loyal to me.”
Misha coughs. The sound drags my attention back to him instantly.
“Misha,” I say.
He blinks slowly. I can see him trying to focus on me.
“Don’t listen,” he rasps.
Meredith looks at him. “Still trying to protect her.”
“From idiots,” Misha breathes.
Kirill moves toward him again. “Say that again.”
Oleg says, “Enough.”
Kirill stops, breathing hard.
I look at Oleg. “Why are you telling me all this?”
Oleg glances at Meredith.
Meredith looks back at me. Her face is calm again. “Because you won’t be alive to tell anyone the truth,” she says.
The words enter me slowly.
For one second, I feel nothing.
Then fear hits so hard my entire body goes cold.
I look at Misha. His head is hanging again, but his eyes are open enough that I know he heard her.
He tries to move. The chair scrapes weakly against the concrete. “No,” he says.
Meredith ignores him.
I force myself to breathe.
Misha moves before anyone expects him to. At first, I think he is only shifting because he is in pain. His head lifts a little. His shoulders roll forward. His wrists twist behind the chair.
Then I hear the faint scrape of rope against wood.
My heart stops.
“Misha,” I whisper.
His eyes flick to mine.
One second. One warning.
Don’t react.
I clamp my mouth shut so hard my teeth hurt.
Oleg is still near the side door, watching the entrance like he expects Luka to walk in exactly where he wants him. Kirill is talking to one of his men by the crates. Meredith is standing near me, gun in hand, her face tight and focused.
None of them are looking at Misha closely enough.
Misha’s hand slips free. Barely. His face changes with the pain of it, but he does not make a sound.
He waits.
One breath.
Two.
Then he lunges sideways, chair and all.
The movement is ugly and half-broken, but it works. His shoulder slams into the man closest to him, knocking him off balance. Misha’s freed hand grabs the man’s gun before the man can raise it.
Everything explodes.
Oleg turns. “No!”
Misha fires once.
The shot hits the work light above Kirill. Glass bursts. The warehouse drops into a harder, darker light, half-shadow and panic.
I scream, “Misha!”
Oleg curses and fires.
The bullet cracks past Misha’s head so close that I see his hair move.
It misses him by an inch.
Misha drops behind the chair, breathing hard, one hand still trapped, the other gripping the stolen gun like it is the only thing keeping him alive.
Kirill shouts, “Get him!”
Two men rush Misha.
I pull against my ropes until they cut into my wrists. “No!”
Misha fires again.
One man goes down. The other dives behind a stack of crates.
Oleg swings his gun toward me.
“Enough,” Oleg snaps. “Or I shoot her first.”
Misha freezes.
Even bleeding and half-conscious, he freezes for me.
My throat closes. “Don’t,” I say. “Don’t listen to him.”
Misha’s chest rises and falls too quickly. Blood runs down the side of his face, over his jaw, onto his shirt.
Oleg steps closer, gun still aimed at me. “Drop it.”
Misha does not.
Kirill raises his own gun toward Misha. “Drop the fucking gun.”
Misha’s eyes stay on me.
I shake my head. “No.”
Meredith grabs my hair from behind and yanks my head back.
Pain flashes through my skull. I gasp.
“Tell him,” Meredith says.
I breathe through the pain. “Go to hell.”
Her grip tightens. Then something hits the far side of the warehouse.
A low, heavy thud.
Everyone stops.
Oleg turns his head toward the sound. “What’s that?” he says.
No one answers. Another sound follows. Metal scraping. Then a crash.
Closer this time.
Kirill looks toward the loading dock. “What the fuck is going on?”
The men by the crates raise their guns.
Misha uses the distraction to drag himself behind one of the support beams. He’s moving too slowly. Too painfully. But he is moving.
Oleg points his gun at Meredith. “Did you betray us, bitch?”
Meredith’s eyes widen. “I didn’t.”
The sound comes again.
Closer.
A rolling slam of metal against concrete.
Then the side wall near the loading dock blows inward.
A black SUV rams through the old metal doors, sending rusted panels and broken chains flying across the floor.
Men burst in behind it. Luka’s men.
Everything happens at once.
Gunfire tears through the warehouse.
Oleg’s men scatter.
Sergei comes through the smoke and dust first, firing in controlled bursts. Dima follows from the opposite side with three men, cutting off the exit near the van. Pavel appears by the side entrance with another team, moving fast, face cold and focused.
For one wild second, I cannot find Luka.
Then I see him.
He comes through the broken loading doors with a gun in both hands and murder on his face.
My entire body reacts before my mind does. “Luka!” I scream.
His head snaps toward me. The moment he sees me tied to the chair, his expression changes. Something goes completely still inside him.
He fires twice without looking away from me.
A man near the crates drops.
Another tries to come at him from the side, and Luka turns just enough to shoot him in the leg, then the shoulder. The man falls screaming.
Luka keeps coming.
He uses the crates, the beams, the broken light, the chaos. He is injured, but he does not move like an injured man. He moves like pain is something he has decided to punish later.
Oleg shouts, “Kill him!”
Kirill fires toward Luka.
The bullet hits the concrete near his feet.
Luka fires back. Kirill ducks behind a stack of pallets.
Misha appears from behind the support beam, still half-tied to the broken chair, and shoots at one of Kirill’s men before the man can aim at Luka’s back.
The man drops.
Misha staggers.
“Misha!” I shout.
He does not look at me this time. He is looking at Luka.
For one second, through the noise and blood and gunfire, they see each other.
Luka’s face hardens.
Misha’s mouth moves.
I cannot hear what he says.
Then Luka turns and shoots the man trying to crawl toward Misha with a knife.
Whatever is broken between them does not matter in that second.
They protect each other before they think.
Luka reaches me. He drops to one knee in front of my chair. His hand grips my face for half a second, fast and rough, like he has to feel that I’m real before he can breathe.
“Nina,” Luka says.
“I’m okay,” I say immediately.
“You are not okay.”
“I’m alive.”
His jaw tightens. “That is not the same.”
He pulls a knife from his belt and reaches behind me to cut the ropes at my wrists. His hand is steady.
Mine are shaking enough for both of us.
“Your head?” he asks.
“Still attached.”
“Nina.”
“I’m fine enough,” I say. “Misha—”
“I see him.”
“No, he’s bad. Luka, he’s really bad.”
“I know,” Luka says.
The rope at my wrists gives. Pain rushes into my hands as blood returns. I hiss through my teeth.
Luka’s eyes flick to my face.
“Ankles,” I say quickly. “Cut my ankles.”
He bends. Then I see Oleg.
He’s near the broken work light, half-hidden behind a metal shelf. Blood runs from a cut on his forehead, but his gun is steady.
Aimed at Luka.
My body moves before I think. “Luka!” I scream. “Left!”
Luka drops instantly.
Oleg fires.
The bullet passes over Luka’s shoulder and hits the chair behind me.
I scream as wood splinters near my ear.
Luka rolls, comes up on one knee, and fires.
One shot.
Oleg jerks backward. His gun falls from his hand. He hits the concrete hard and does not get up.
For half a second, I just stare.
Oleg is dead.
The man who did all this is dead. But Kirill is still moving.
He comes out from behind the pallets, gun raised at Luka while Luka is turned toward Oleg.
Misha sees him first. “No,” Misha rasps.
He lifts his stolen gun with a shaking hand.
Kirill fires. Misha fires too.
Kirill’s shot goes wild, tearing into the metal beam above Luka.
Misha’s shot hits Kirill in the chest.
Kirill staggers back, eyes wide, and collapses against the pallets before sliding to the floor.
Misha stays upright for one impossible second. Then his knees buckle.
“Misha!” I scream.
Luka cuts the last rope at my ankle.
I fall forward out of the chair, but he catches me before I hit the floor. I push against him. “Misha.”
“Nina, stay down.”
“No.”
I crawl the few feet before I can stand properly. My knees hit concrete. My palms sting. I don’t care.
Misha is on his side, breathing shallowly.
Too shallow. Blood spreads under him.
I press my hands to his shirt, not even knowing where to push because there is too much blood and too many wounds.
“Misha,” I say. “Look at me. Look at me.”
His eyes flutter. “Bossy,” he mutters.
I let out a sob that almost becomes a laugh. “Yes, I’m bossy. You taught me.”
Luka drops beside us.