Chapter 49
CHAPTER 49
DAMIEN
I was the model fucking VP.
Cooperative. Charming. Beyond grateful to have been rescued from my captors and reunited with my Russian brethren.
Yes, I’d burst in, wielding a knife, but only because I’d thought that was the girl who’d killed our comrades back in Howth. I wanted to make sure the soldier who’d captured her had backup. She was extremely dangerous, after all.
They’d accepted my story with suspicious sneers—that wig and voice recording had obviously been used to bait me for a reason—but they kept their mouths shut and fell in line like good little soldiers.
The uniform they gave me helped me play the part as well. It wasn’t a perfect fit—it belonged to the hive’s captain, who was shorter and heavier than me—and it was for an Army officer instead of a Naval officer, but it would have to do.
Because I had another announcement to make, and my father didn’t want me appearing in blood-spattered hospital clothes on TV.
My father.
He was on his way.
I thought of Jack and Paul as I saluted and shook hands with every soldier I passed as Captain Markov escorted me up twelve flights of stairs to the roof. Their deaths would not be in vain.
Because Alexi was arriving by helicopter, and he wanted me up there to greet him.
A tiny flicker of hope sparked in my cold, vengeful heart as I pictured Oscar or Wheezy taking aim at his shiny bald head the moment he stepped out of the chopper, but when Captain Markov led me out onto the roof, I realized just how fucking stupid that thought had been. Twelve stories was way too fucking high for us to be visible to anyone down below, especially when the platform we were on didn’t extend to the edges of the building.
I was on my own.
I thought about what Clover had said, about me not being alone anymore, and shook my head in bitter resignation.
Alone was better.
Alone meant no one else would get hurt … because of me.
Captain Markov and I covered our ears as Alexi’s helicopter touched down, and it didn’t go unnoticed when he took a few steps back, positioning himself between the exit and me.
I might have been Alexi’s puppet again, but I would always be his prisoner.
The moment the chopper landed, Alexi tore off his headset, unbuckled his harness, and exited the chopper before the rotor blades even finished spinning.
A rush of adrenaline shot through my veins as I readied myself to attack the second he got close enough, but I quickly realized that there wasn’t a single fucking thing I could do. Between him, the captain, the pilot, and a third passenger in the back seat, I was outnumbered and probably outgunned four to one.
“My son,” Alexi sneered, placing his meaty hands on my face and kissing me on both cheeks. When he got to the second one, he grabbed the back of my neck and whispered in my ear, “Welcome back.” His tone was venomous, his words delivered with a forked tongue. The only thing Alexi was welcoming me back to was his clutches. His almighty fucking control.
“Father,” I replied in that perfect Russian his tutors had taught me.
“Today is a great day,” he said, holding me at arm’s length. Then, he glanced at Captain Markov with a nod of approval. “He looks good. Very good.”
Turning me around, Alexi swept an arm out over the decimated city below. “Today, we declare victory and break ground on your new palace. There.”
Fuck.
Alexi was pointing at Dublin Castle—one of the oldest, most important buildings in the country and one of the few structures that hadn’t been destroyed yet.
“Sergey,” Alexi barked over his shoulder at the man who was still sitting in the back seat. His door was wide open, and he was clumsily attaching a video camera to a tripod.
Rushing over, the man stood facing us, next to the pilot, as he set up his gear, sweat beading on his brow as he adjusted all the settings.
“Here.” Reaching into his suit pocket, Alexi took out a black device with a red button in the center and extended an antenna from the top corner. “When the red light starts blinking”—he pointed at the camera—“you will stand next to your papa. You will declare victory over the UIB and this entire fucking country. You will announce our plans to build a second Kremlin on the site of Dublin Castle. And then you will blow that motherfucker—”
“Sir!” The door beside us swung open.
And time fucking stopped.
The arsehole who’d roughed up the girl from before—Sergeant Ivanov—stepped out onto the roof, and this time, the redhead in his grasp was no fucking decoy.
She was mine.
Clover’s big green eyes softened in remorse as she held my stunned stare.
She was wearing Kellen’s jacket, and her leggings were wet from the knees down.
She’d followed us.
Fuck.
“Look who we found lurking outside.” The fucker grinned.
“Ha! Perfect!” Alexi clapped his hands together before pulling a cigar out of his breast pocket.
“I’ll do it,” I said, turning to my father. “Whatever you want. Let her go, and I’ll do it.”
“I know you will.” Alexi beamed, a thick Cuban clamped between his tobacco-stained teeth. “I was going to motivate you with the threat of torture, but … you’re an Abramov. Tough.” He made a fist. “Strong. Torturing your little Irish whore instead will be so much more … effective.”
He laughed as he rolled the end of his cigar over the flame of a solid gold Zippo. Then, he puffed on the end until it was lit and exhaled the smoke in my face.
“Ah! This is a good day.” Alexi wrapped an arm around my shoulders, but I barely felt it.
My entire awareness was fixated on the tearstained face of the woman I loved. The humanity I’d buried in order to do my job came rushing back all at once, stealing the air from my lungs and nearly bringing me to my knees.
My greatest fear had been leading my father to Clover and having to watch her die all over again.
But this was so much fucking worse.
He would never let her go. He would torture and rape her whether I behaved or not, simply because he could. Simply because he hated me.
Well, that made fucking two of us.
“In three … two …” The cameraman pointed at us as a tiny red light began blinking on the front of his gear.
“Good evening,” Alexi said in his heavily accented English. “It is vith great pride and triumph zhat I stand before you today, vith my beloved son, to announce historic victory for Russian Federation.” He took a deep breath and extended his arms like the dictator he fucking was. “Ireland … is … ”
A scream so loud and so primal that I thought it must have clawed its way through the cracks of my own broken heart suddenly shattered the air, giving voice to my grief, my rage, my hopeless fucking agony.
Glancing back at the camera, Alexi laughed awkwardly as the sergeant holding my girl off camera slapped a hand over her mouth and clamped his elbow around her neck.
Clover kept screaming into his palm until her eyelids fluttered closed and her body went limp.
And a red mist of fury clouded my vision.
I lunged to catch her, to pound his fucking face into his skull, but Alexi held me back with a single hand around my bicep. It would be his only warning. If I fucked this up for him, she would suffer.
Greatly.
“We’re all very excited.” He grinned at the camera, tightening his fist around my arm. “And to celebrate Russian Federation victory over United Irish Brotherhood and … ah … acquisition of island, vice president and I are pleased to announce …”
Alexi kept talking, but I was no longer listening. At least not to him. I was listening to what sounded like a swarm of killer bees descending upon us from every fucking direction. The skies were clear, but the sound was unmistakable.
Drones. At least two dozen of them, began spilling over the railings of the building as if it were a hornets nest that had just been kicked.
“Get her out of here!” I shouted, not giving a shit what Alexi did to us anymore. If even one of those things decided to shoot, there wouldn’t be a Clover left to torture.
“Is just precaution.” Alexi laughed as drones flew in from behind us as well, spotlights on and aimed at the unconscious redhead in the sleeper hold five meters away. “Our technology is state of art.”
“Your city has been captured by the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation,” two dozen robotic voices recited in unison as they clustered around Clover and the arsehole holding her.
His eyes went wide and cut over to Alexi’s.
“This is your only chance to surrender. You have ten seconds to raise your hands above your head—”
“Sir?” The sergeant began walking backward toward the door, Clover’s heels dragging in front of him.
“Take her inside!” I shouted.
“Zhey von’t shoot.” Alexi chuckled, turning back to the camera as sweat beaded on his bald, wrinkled head. “Each drone is piloted by esteemed member of armed forces.”
Turning back toward Clover, Alexi gave the command. “Zhis is President Abramov. Stand down. I repeat, stand down.”
“Ten.”
“Fuck!” Breaking away from Alexi, I lunged for the door and nearly ripped my own arm off when I yanked on the handle and it didn’t budge. Jerking it again and again, I kicked and pounded on the metal surface, screaming for someone to open it from the inside.
But all of the soldiers were stationed on the first three floors. No one was up there to hear us.
“Six.”
“Is the helicopter armored?” I shouted at the pilot, grabbing Clover’s body from the piece of shite whose death I was plotting next.
He was more than happy to hand her over, considering that there were at least twenty-four fully automatic machine guns aimed at her head.
The man glanced from me to Alexi in confusion. I must have spoken to him in English.
Fuck.
Rather than repeating the question in Russian, I simply lifted Clover into my arms and sprinted for the chopper.
“Three.”
Our shadows splashed across the interior, backlit by a fleet of spotlights, as I laid Clover’s unconscious body on the floorboard.
“Two.”
Climbing in after her, I only had time to close one door before I threw myself on top of her, before the final second of our lives was announced by a chorus of machines outside.
Pressing my lips to hers, I waited to feel a barrage of bullets rip my body to shreds, but all I felt as the drones opened fire was the subtle curve of those lips as Clover’s hands slid up my back and her legs parted, pulling me closer.
What should have been a deafening eruption of noise as two dozen machine guns unloaded at once sounded more like a distant string of firecrackers thanks to the armor-plated exterior of the helicopter and the blood rushing in my ears. There was no ping of metal on metal. No vibration telling me the chopper was under attack. The drones were definitely shooting at something …
But this time, it wasn’t us.