Chapter Twenty-Six
Malory
The city passes around us in a blur.
My death-grip on the seat in front of me tightening as we drive down the highway almost triple the speed limit, seamlessly winding through the traffic.
If this does kill us all, then I don’t know what will.
Since Nestore cut the drive in half, it’s not even ten minutes later that we pull up in what looks like an abandoned industrial area.
A truly fitting place for torturing someone in peace.
Throughout this whole ordeal, Rafe has been acting completely laid back, amused by my mortified expression.
I’m glad one of us is enjoying this.
“Get ready.” Nestore commands, rounding a warehouse that would appear on the verge of collapsing if it weren’t for the armored vehicles parked up front.
Evidently, my father isn’t trying to hide his tracks. Not expecting anything to go wrong at this point, not expecting me to fight back.
We’ll have the surprise factor on our side since they obviously aren’t anticipating company any time soon.
“I’m assuming it’d be a futile effort asking you to stay in the car.” Raffaele turns to me, making my eyes narrow.
There’s nothing he could say or do that would hold me here while Tyson might be fighting for his life out there.
I’m coming. There’s no question about it.
With a firm nod, he hands me a handgun, clicking off the safety for me. “Just in case.” Rafe smirks and then he’s out.
“At least stay behind me at all times, Malory. Tyson will rip my dick off if there’s so much as a scratch on you.” He helps me out as two more SUVs stop at both sides of us with squealing tires.
“And I happen to be quite fond of it.” My brother mumbles to himself, unconcerned by the impending bloodshed like it’s his second nature.
“I don’t doubt it.” Nestore huffs, strapping me into a bulletproof vest.
We wait until the others are assembled. One group going for the front entrance with weapons ready in hand, while another circles the building in case anyone decides to run out the back.
My eyebrows shoot up as I spot a man wearing a skull balaclava with a whole-ass grenade launcher slung over his shoulder.
At least someone is in his element, I guess.
“What happens now?” I whisper anxiously, ducking behind Rafe’s large form.
“We annihilate the fuckers.”
As soon as he finishes, utter mayhem breaks out.
The metal door getting blown to dust, alerting everyone within a five-mile radius of our arrival as we enter in an unbreakable formation with me in the center.
Over their broad backs, I can barely see the Russians scrambling for their own guns.
“No one’s leaving here alive!” Raffaele bellows as his men spread out into the warehouse. Using old crates and barrels with peeling paint to duck behind.
Rapid crossfire erupting all around us.
My heart leaps into my throat as I desperately clutch the gun with both hands, trying to keep my head down.
No amount of shooting lessons could have prepared me for this.
We dive for cover as Raffaele quickly changes his magazine. He’s been going at it relentlessly with me hidden behind his back.
Still, this is better than awaiting the outcome of this death match locked in the car. I had to be here.
For him.
“Who taught you how to shoot?!” Rafe shouts in the other man’s direction. “I was hoping for a challenge here.” He grumbles as more bullets ricochet above our heads.
Does he have to spur them on?
Aiming his own gun in return, he takes one of the Russians out in a single shot. This definitely isn’t his first time, or the hundredth by the looks of it.
“This is what I call proper sibling bonding.” Raffaele laughs as the sound of gunfire fills the air all around us.
My brother is certifiable, that’s for sure.
From what I can make out in the chaos and judging by the sheer number of bodies littering the ground wherever I look, I’d say his confidence isn’t misplaced.
Even as the Bratva keeps returning fire ceaselessly, it’s a futile effort considering they’re outnumbered by quite a lot.
Under different circumstances I’d be throwing up from the carnage surrounding me, but everything is a blur.
If I think about it, let the mayhem consume me, I’ll panic and that’s a sure way to get yourself killed.
So I block it out, my mind focused solely on one goal.
Getting Tyson back.
“Fuck.”
My head snaps to where Raffaele was just a second ago.
He’s crouched over Nestore, pressing down onto his calf as blood seeps from between his fingers.
Slipping off his belt with one hand, he ties it tightly around the top of the leg. Strangling the limb to stop the blood flow, he earns himself a pained groan from the wounded man.
This is bad. The thick, red liquid rapidly soaking the dark fabric of Nestore’s pants, dripping onto the cement floor.
How did I not notice him getting shot? He’s been at my side this whole time, gunning down the Russians as effortlessly as Raffaele.
Apparently, killing is second nature to these men.
“Fucking Bratva sons of bitches.” Rafe curses, dragging Nestore’s massive body behind some crates, shielding him from stray bullets.
“Mal!” My brother shouts abruptly, the terror in his voice making the hairs on my nape rise.
I turn just in time to see a mountain of a man coming up behind me. Bald and reeking of body odor, his eyes feral.
Blood still dripping from the guy’s mangled nose.
With no time to think, I act purely on instinct as I dodge his large hand grabbing for me without any qualms about hurting a woman, leaving him to spew Russian curses as his fist closes around thin air.
Twisting away, I raise the gun Raffaele gave me, shooting aimlessly in the brute’s general direction.
Hoping that his size will prove to be his downfall with my limited ability to actually hit a target.
By a stoke of blind luck, the man drops to his knees with a grunt. A gaping hole prominent in the center of his chest as I watch the last trace of life fade from his empty eyes.
I did it.
I killed him.
I killed for Tyson, and I don’t feel an ounce of guilt about it. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant protecting the man I love.
Raffaele’s arm wraps around my shoulders, keeping me on my trembling legs as he looks down at the dead body.
“Good job, baby sis.” He sounds genuinely impressed before turning to the masked, unhinged one of his crew.
“Take him to doc. The bullet went through, but his bone is shattered.” I gulp as two guys hoist Nestore up between them.
Most of the warehouse has been cleared out by now. Yet so far there’s been no trace of Tyson.
With my father missing as well, I’m assuming they must be together here somewhere.
“Where are they keeping him?” My voice breaks as I succumb to the hopelessness of finding him in one piece.
No. I can’t let those thoughts in.
I won’t allow it.
A beat of silence passes as Raffaele listens to someone through an earpiece. I haven’t realized he’s been wearing one up until right now.
“They’ll be in the back.” He nods towards a secluded area that’s been walled off.
It has most likely been used as an office to keep track of the inventory back when this building wasn’t a facade for whatever illegal shit happens here now.
“Tyson will be a useful hostage to them now.”
That doesn’t come as a surprise, yet I can’t help the violent shudder that surges through my body.
We can’t allow our father to threaten Tyson’s life in exchange for his own.
Over his dead body, his not mine, will I let that happen.
“There was no other way, Malory. We couldn’t have gotten in unannounced, not with so many of them here.” Rafe tries reassuring me, but it’s pointless.
I’ve learned what my father is capable of.
The fact remains that he keeps underestimating me. He doesn’t know the person I’ve become. Not yet.
That’s the one thing that’ll be his undoing.
“I have an idea.”
In one ruthless go, the cheap wooden door gives way immediately when Raffaele kicks it in.
Here we go.
The room is stale with barely any furniture. Just a desk and two chairs sitting in the middle of four bare walls with chipping paint and water damage.
A disgustingly picturesque place for questioning someone. Completed with concrete floors that would make for an easy clean up.
There’s a beat of silence before my brother waltzes in, shooting the last remaining bodyguard before he can blink.
That went well enough.
Peeking from behind Rafe’s back, I see him.
His strong body slumped on a chair, dried blood from his split temple and busted lip covers his face. Yet the only thing I can focus on is his rising chest.
He’s breathing.
He’s alive.
Someone has bandaged up his shot wound. However there’s already blood seeping through the gauze, only meant to keep him alive long enough for them to torture.
“I must admit John, I didn’t think you had it in you.” Rafe turns to our father who stands frozen in the middle of the room. His face ashen, drained of blood.
I’d never guess from the look of them that he and my brother are related. The harsh difference between the men staggering.
In the end, he’s nothing more than a sperm donor to the two of us. Three including Dante.
Upon hearing his brothers voice, Tyson’s head lifts slowly. His burning dark gaze clashing with mine that hasn’t left him since the moment we entered.
Black fire burns in the depths of his irises. I can barely contain the urge to throw myself at him, shield him with my body.
Not yet.
“Get her out!” Ty rasps, his voice raw yet still menacing.
Shaking my head, the movement barely visibly, I plead with my eyes for him to stay put.
“It’s over, daddy dearest.” Raffaele’s words make me finally shift my attention towards the man I used to call my father.
“The Russians you’ve dragged into your mess are done for. Can’t imagine that going over well with the Pakhan”
His neck turns an angry shade of red, his expression furious. He has discarded his suit jacket, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up as he holds a gun trailed on my brother.
Except there’s a slight tremble in his hand that one wouldn’t notice if they hadn’t known him all their lives.
It gives him away.
He knows it’s over.
While Raffaele holds our father’s undivided attention, I ever so slowly inch towards Tyson, careful not to be noticed.
“What is it you want, son?” Our father spits out with disgust like the word alone is making him sick.
“Nothing from your sorry excuse of a man.” Raffaele’s expression turns impenetrable and I see the flicker of pure hatred simmering below the surface, waiting to be released.
“I’m getting my man out of here one way or another.” He states, making it clear that there’s nothing our father can do about it, that his life bears no significance to my brother.
“Get away from that criminal, Malory!” I stiffen at my father’s harsh words, halting my deliberate progress towards my everything.
“That’s really hypocritical of you to say.” I shoot back, taking another cautious step.
“This isn’t right. You have to let him go.” I demand, trying my best to pacify the man since he doesn’t see me as a threat.
“That man held you captive, he raped you! Don’t deny it, I’ve seen the marks on your neck.” My father yells with suppressed fury. “He took you away from your home, from me!”
“That doesn’t mean he deserves death!” I shout back, not wanting to show my cards too soon. Not allowing him to see how much I truly care.
Let him think that I’m still his soft, righteous daughter that wouldn’t wish harm upon anyone.
If he knew how deep my feelings for Tyson truly ran, he would have killed him on the spot, witnesses be damned.
If he knew how deeply I love him, that I couldn’t possibly live without him, he would have shot him before my eyes right in that park.
His oblivion to the bare truth is what has gained us the time we desperately needed, and what’s our best chance now.
“You’ll release him now!” Raffaele advances our father, giving me the chance to kneel before Tyson.
I inspect his wounds. So much blood everywhere, there’s no way he can walk out of here in this state.
I gently cup the side of his face, careful not to hurt him further. Leaning into my touch, he lets out a deep breath filled with relief as he searches my face and body for injuries.
“Hang on.” I whisper inaudibly.
“That’s enough!” My father strikes out of nowhere, shoving me away from the chair all the while keeping his weapon aimed at Rafe.
Landing on my ass, my palms scrape against the rough cement.
“Don’t touch her!” Tyson grits out, lunging with whatever strength he has left into my father, knocking him away from me.
“Tyson!” I shriek as he lands hard on his side, his leg unable to hold him. With his hands bound behind his back, his head slams into the ground with a loud thud.
Before I can do anything, my father is on him, jerking him up by the collar of his shirt. He presses the muzzle of his gun to Tyson’s neck, using him as a shield between Rafe and himself.
My heart stops.
“If you want him, you’ll let me and my daughter walk out of here.” My father tightens his grip on Tyson who grunts, only half-conscious from the blood loss and most likely a concussion.
“I’m afraid the option to walk away from this has long passed, John.”
All this time, Raffaele hasn’t moved from the door, seemingly unfazed at this development, keeping his own weapon lowered.
My father knows that this is his last chance. If he were to go through with killing Tyson, he’d be signing his own death sentence.
There’s no escape. Even if he somehow got out of this room alive, Raffaele’s men would take care of him before he could take a breath of fresh air.
Though what he doesn’t know is that this is exactly where we wanted him.
Ever so slowly, I slip out the gun Raffaele gave me. The one that has been discreetly tucked underneath my bulletproof vest, hidden from plain sight.
Without making a noise, I point the barrel at my father’s back, his attention still solely set on my brother.
He didn’t see this coming from the obedient, weak daughter.
That’s what he gets for underestimating my devotion for the only man who treated me right in my life.
Squeezing the trigger, the shot echoes violently in the small room as my father’s gun clatters to the ground, falling from his limp hand.
I got him right in the shoulder, effectively disabling the arm that was holding the weapon just seconds ago.
Who would have thought that the shooting lesson would actually pay off.
Whirling around with cry full of unmasked pain, my father lets Tyson fall. Utter shock written on his face at realizing my betrayal.
That’s right, I’m no longer his little girl and he has come to learn it the hard way.
When he frantically scrambles for the gun with his remaining good hand, Raffaele is already on him, slamming the butt of his Glock into the side of our father’s head, knocking him out cold.
It’s over.
I fall to my knees at Tyson’s side, cradling his head in my lap. He’s been watching me this whole time, barely keeping his bloodshot eyes open.
“Little…” He croaks, yet hardly any sound comes out.
“Shhh… You’ll be okay. You have to be.” My voice breaks as I gently stroke his stubbled cheek. “I can’t go on without you.”
He looks so broken in my hold.
That’s when I finally let the tears flow freely, dripping down onto his bloodied face.
“Stay with me.” I whimper through broken sobs as his eyes close at last.
“I love you.”