46. Vladimir
Vladimir
Twenty Minutes Before
The warehouse stands ominous in the distance, surrounded by thick trees and guarded by at least twenty heavily armed men. From our vantage point just outside the perimeter, I can see the glow of lights through the cracks in the metal siding, and my jaw clenches. Luna is in there.
We don’t have time for games.
Konstantin stands next to me, arms crossed over his broad chest, surveying the scene with a practiced eye. "This is a fucking fortress," he mutters. "Whoever set this up knew what they were doing."
I grind my teeth. "Doesn't matter. We’re getting them out."
Behind us, the Bratva and the EAO members stand ready, a lethal combination.
The air is thick with tension, a shared, unspoken understanding that we will spill blood tonight.
Isabella, as usual, looks unimpressed. She leans against the hood of an SUV, arms crossed, her sharp gray eyes locked on the warehouse. "Well, this should be fun," she says dryly. "And here I was hoping for an uneventful evening."
I cut her a glance. "Nice of you to bring Angel out of retirement for this."
Angel snorts, tossing a throwing knife between her fingers before tucking it back into her belt. "I didn’t come out of retirement," she corrects. "I just finally have a reason to shoot people again. Big difference."
Konstantin shakes his head. "I see psychotic behavior runs in the family."
Angel smirks. "Damn right."
We start going over the plan, mapping out attack points, and discussing how to neutralize the guards as quietly as possible. Isabella gives orders, and the EAO members check their weapons. The Bratva men are already gearing up for a bloodbath. Everything is going smoothly.
Until Angel stops talking.
I notice it immediately. One second, she's engaged in conversation—the next, she’s eerily silent.
She’s looking around.
Not at the warehouse. Not at the guards.
At the weapons.
A bad feeling twists in my gut as I track her movements, watching as she steps away from the group, scanning the crates of stolen artillery we brought with us.
Something clicks in my brain.
No.
No, she wouldn’t?—
Angel’s eyes light up.
Like she’s just seen the Holy Grail.
She grins.
Then, without hesitation, she grabs a bazooka.
"HIT THE DECK!" she screams, hoisting the damn thing onto her shoulder.
"Yebat‘!"
Everyone dives.
The next thing I hear is the deafening roar of an explosion as the missile rips through the night sky.
A second later?—
BOOM.
The warehouse shakes as the front doors explode inward. A blast of fire and smoke engulfs the entryway, sending guards flying in every direction. The force of it knocks dust and debris into the air, flames licking at the edges of the now-exposed interior.
I lift my head from where I dove behind a crate, coughing at the smoke.
Angel, the fucking menace, is standing there, grinning like a lunatic.
She drops the now-useless bazooka with a casual shrug. "Damn," she says, brushing off her hands. "I missed being in the field."
What the fuck.
Konstantin glares at her, pushing himself up from the ground. "Are you insane? We had a plan!"
She cracks her knuckles. "Yeah, well, new plan. You’re welcome."
I swear to God.
I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. "Angel, what the actual fuck was that?"
She blinks innocently. "What? The element of surprise."
Isabella, completely unfazed, just shrugs. "Believe it or not, she’s even crazier than Luna."
Konstantin grumbles. "That’s not a good thing."
Angel doesn’t wait for anyone else to bitch. She takes off running, guns blazing, straight into the warehouse.
The rest of us snap into action.
"Move in!" I bark.
I’m coming for you, wife.
Gunfire erupts the second we breach the perimeter, a violent symphony of chaos. The Bratva and EAO operatives spread out, using the trees and debris for cover as bullets fly in every direction.
Konstantin is beside me, moving with brutal efficiency, his rifle kicking back as he takes out a man behind a stack of crates.
Angel?
She’s a fucking demon.
She moves like a shadow, a blur of knives and bullets, her precision unmatched. One second, she’s shooting. The next, she’s in the air, flipping over a guard and slitting his throat before his body even hits the ground.
What family did I marry into?
“Once we get the girls back, I’m talking with Luna about her sister. She seemed normal until now,” Konstantin mutters, reloading.
"Shut up and shoot," I snap back, firing a round into the chest of an approaching enemy.
We’re cutting through them fast, but they keep coming.
One of the SUVs parked near the warehouse screeches to life, headlights flashing as the driver accelerates straight toward us.
Angel, the psycho, smirks.
She lifts her gun, one perfect shot.
BANG.
The windshield shatters—and the driver slumps forward.
The SUV veers off course, slamming into a stack of metal barrels before exploding on impact.
She doesn’t even look back.
Another explosion rocks the ground, but it’s not us this time.
I snap my head toward the warehouse, my heart clenching. The blast came from inside.
Luna.
I take off toward the entrance, bullets flying past me.
I barely register the bodies dropping around me, the way my men cover me as I move. The only thing I can think about is her—getting to her before it’s too late.
As I reach the threshold, I hear shouting.
Screaming.
Then, a loud crash.
Silence.
A terrible, suffocating silence.
My grip tightens around my gun.
I don’t hesitate.
I step inside, ready to burn this entire place to the fucking ground.
My boots echo against the cold, bloodstained concrete as I charge through the warehouse.
The air is thick with the stench of gunpowder and death.
I kick down door after door, clearing room after room. Bodies—broken, lifeless, discarded—litter the hallways. Some groaning, some already dead. But none of them are her.
I can hear gunfire behind me, the sounds of my men, and the EAO finishing off the last of the enemies outside. But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I reach the end of the hall and slam my boot into the last door. It splinters open on impact.
And then?—
I freeze.
The room is a fucking massacre.
Bodies everywhere.
One in particular stands out.
Eugene Henderson—the piece of shit who dared to put his hands on my wife—is slumped in the corner, unmoving, his blood seeping into the floorboards.
And standing in the center of it all?
Luna.
My Goddess of Death.
She’s baptized in carnage, blood dripping from her fingertips, smeared across her face, her arms, and her chest like a fucking work of art.
Her eyes—cold, detached, unforgiving—snap to mine, lips parting slightly, her body still coiled in the violent high of her rampage.
In one hand, she grips a woman by the collar. Blood runs down the woman's face, her eyes swollen, her breath ragged. Barely hanging on.
She looks like she was born in this bloodshed.
The moment she registers me, her grip on the woman loosens.
She lets the woman drop like trash to the floor. Then, without hesitation, she steps over the bodies, walking straight toward me.
Every ounce of control in my body is fighting the primal urge to grab her and devour her whole.
She stops in front of me, her face unreadable.
Then, with bloodstained fingers, she touches my cheek.
"You’re late."
Fuck me.
She says it so casually, like I hadn’t just walked into a goddamn horror movie starring her.
A grin tugs at my lips. "Traffic was a bitch."
Her mouth twitches like she wants to smirk, but she doesn’t. Instead, she drags her fingers down my jaw, painting me in blood.
"You look like you enjoyed yourself," I murmur, trailing my gaze down her body, taking in every inch of her painted in red.
Luna tilts her head, amusement flickering in her dark eyes.
Every ounce of control in my body is fighting the primal urge to grab her, to consume her whole.
But then?—
I see it.
Her dress—what’s left of it—barely hanging onto her body.
My entire body locks up.
A fresh wave of rage floods my system, burning hotter than hell itself.
I move before I even think, shrugging off my suit jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders before Konstantin or anyone else can see her like this.
She blinks, startled, looking up at me.
I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "No one else sees you like this but me."
Her lips part, her breath hitching slightly. Then, slowly—she smirks. "You jealous, Dracula?"
I exhale sharply, resisting the urge to kiss the smirk off her mouth. "No. Just possessive."
She hums, amusement flickering in those dark, wicked eyes.
Before I can say anything else, an annoyed voice cuts through the tension.
"Okay, okay, murder couple, we get it," Raven grumbles.
I glance over to the side—Amani and Raven are still tied to their chairs, watching us with the same mix of amusement and exasperation.
Amani lifts an eyebrow. "So... are we gonna get untied, or...?"
Luna doesn’t even turn to look at them. "Give me a second."
Raven groans. "She’s going to make us sit here while they eye-fuck each other, isn’t she?"
Amani sighs. "Looks like it."
The door swings open behind me, and I hear Konstantin enter the room.
He pauses.
"What the actual fuck?"
I don’t need to turn around to know what he sees—a bloodbath, tied-up women, and me standing there like this is a casual fucking Tuesday.
His eyes land on Luna.
And I see it.
The flicker of shock before he masks it.
Before he can open his mouth, I give him a warning look.
His gaze flickers to my suit jacket covering her torn dress.
“Are you going to untie them, or do you want me to?" he asks instead.
I sigh, stepping around Luna and pulling out my knife. With a flick of my wrist, I slice the ropes off Raven first.
She flexes her wrists, stretching. "Fucking finally."
Amani stretches as I cut her ropes next. "Next time, can we not get kidnapped?"
Luna finally turns her head. "Oh, where’s the fun in that?"
Amani glares. "Luna."
Luna grins. "What?"
Konstantin snorts. "Your whole family is fucking insane."
I smirk, turning back to my wife, my blood-stained, utterly ruthless, completely unhinged wife.
And I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.