10. Demin #2
The fence is the other direction. Octavio's already most of the way to it, safe in Mishka's grip. Our asset is secured, the whole reason I fucking came down here, but Isabela isn't clear yet.
Going back for her is the wrong call. Everything in my gut screams at me as I turn back, shouting her name.
"Isabela!" Her eyes catch mine, and I see the tears streaked down her face as she curls in on herself.
But I have to go back to her. I can't leave her there.
Sebastian can be furious with me, but my conscience won't allow it.
The pull to me and her is too strong. I have to get to her.
"Keep him moving!" I roar at Mishka, and then I'm running the wrong way across open ground while every gun on that side of the compound takes aim at me.
"Demin!" Her cries of fear are barely audible, but I don't need to hear her to know she needs me.
"Give me your hand," I urge as I hit the dirt beside her, hauling her up by the arm, and something punches into my side, just below the vest. I feel the heat of it spread under my jacket and grunt as I pull her into my chest.
"Are you hit?" she gasps, grabbing at me. "You're—there's blood, you're—"
"Move," I grunt, knowing if we stay here, we're sitting ducks. We're lucky she's not hit too.
Two of them come around the corner of the building to finish what they started, and there's no time for anything but what I am at my core.
I put her behind me with one arm and with the other I raise my weapon and fire.
One man drops to a heap, and the other flies backward, hitting the ground flat on his back before curling to a ball.
Blood spatter paints the wall behind them, and when it's done, she's staring at me with her mouth gaping and her eyes wide.
"Run," I tell her, breathing hard, my side starting to scream at me. "Run!"
I get a hand twisted into the back of her vest and I drive her ahead of me toward the gap, my body between her and the worst of the angles. By the time we get through the fence and into the dark of the slope beyond, I see the taillights and know we'll be fine.
Mikhail's men lay down enough fire behind us to buy the distance, and then we're into the trees and at the vehicles where Octavio is already folded into the back of the lead SUV.
"Drive," I grumble as we fall in. I count eleven men climbing into armored cars and finally take a moment to grimace at how painful my side is. It's so much, I almost black out, though I can tell it's not much deeper than the muscle.
The ride to the strip is a blur of black road. Isabela has her hands pressed against my side without my asking her to, leaning her whole weight into it, her jaw set even though her hands won't stop trembling.
"You're an idiot," she says, not looking up, but she's crying. "Why did you do that!" Her head shakes. "You shouldn't have—"
"You're welcome."
"You could have died." The SUV jolts over rough road, tossing her.
Her body presses into mine and I wrap an arm around her to steady her.
She's what's keeping me from bleeding too much right now.
But I can't even tell her why I went back.
I don't even know why other than if I left her there, I'd have to think about that the rest of my life.
And I'd never have gotten this moment with her right now.
"You're worth more breathing. That's all."
Isabela doesn't speak again the rest of the drive back to the tarmac.
The jet is already turning on the strip when we pull up, stairs down, engines spun up and waiting.
My men move quickly, loading Octavio first, then the gear, then the wounded.
I come up the stairs last with Isabela under my arm and don't let go of her even when one of the men reaches to help her into a seat.
"She's with me," I say, and he steps back, eyeing me cautiously. Her hands are covered in my blood and she clings to my side unapologetically.
They usher Octavio back to the cabin to be checked out, and I slump into my seat, ready to pass out from adrenaline and exertion, and to my surprise, Isabela doesn't leave my side. I figured she'd be back with her father but she stays with me, hovering even as Mishka crouches next to me.
"Boss. You need to hear this now, not later."
"Then say it."
"They were ready for us." He keeps his eyes on mine, avoiding the sight of my blood.
"Not awake-ready—like waiting-ready." His eyes then flick to Isabela's and back to me.
"They knew we were coming and doubled their security.
Someone tipped them off." Again he glances at Isabela, but there's no way she could’ve done this. She was so resistant at first, and why walk into that mess if you knew what it was? This wasn’t her.
The cabin seems to go quiet as the plane starts to taxi out to the runway. We're clear, but I won't feel safe until we're airborne. "You're certain," I say.
"I counted them coming out of that south building. Nobody stacks that many men in an empty room on a guess." He glances at the back where Octavio groans, then back. "Somebody told them we were coming, Boss."
There weren't very many men who had knowledge of our plan, only a handful of soldiers who got their pieces a few hours ago, and never the whole.
The list of people who could have sold tonight is short, and every name on it is a name I've trusted with my life more than once—Mishka, Bart, Mikhail… No way they'd rat us out.
Someone put my team in more danger than necessary and I need to get to the bottom of that, but right now, I need a drink, and I need to rest.
"Get some rest," I tell Mishka calmly. "Tell no one what you just told me. Not Bart. Not Mikhail. No one."
"And Sebastian?"
"I'll handle him," I grumble as I look out the window at the tarmac rushing past. My arm is still locked around Isabela, but now there are more questions than answers. If someone inside my organization is spilling my secrets, we have a bigger problem than whether Solano decides to take revenge.
My uncle is going to need to know about this.
As soon as I get this wound patched up.