25. Victor
VICTOR
The villa sits at the highest point of the street, perched on the cliff's edge. I crouch low as I approach, my legs burning from the climb, my breath steady despite the adrenaline flooding my system.
As I get closer, I see two guards standing near the front gate, cigarettes in hand. They're talking, laughing about something.
I come up and duck behind a large tree, pressing my shoulder against the rough bark. I lean around the trunk just enough to get a better view, my eyes scanning the exterior of the villa.
Once I'm satisfied, I lean back and rub my jaw, the stubble scratching against my palm.
There are two guards at the front, three more patrolling the perimeter, and that's all I can see from the exterior.
But Dimitri Volkov is inside that house. Which means God only knows how many men are swarming the inside. Ten? Twenty? More?
My hand drifts to my gun as I ask myself the question I already know the answer to: What would I normally do in this situation?
The answer is obvious.
I wouldn't be here, and I sure as hell wouldn't go in alone.
Nor would I be attempting to breach a fortress without proper intelligence, blueprints, and an extraction plan. I certainly wouldn't be trying to penetrate a heavily guarded estate with nothing but a handgun, a silencer, and a few spare magazines.
I'd have a team, my brothers for sure. And I'd have surveillance with options.
But I don't have any of that, and I knew that before I got out of the taxi.
Yet here I am.
My thoughts shift to that piece of shit.
Dimitri is a sick fuck with zero respect for human life, especially women. I saw those pictures, the terrified faces, bound wrists, and hollow, dead eyes. I've read the reports on the trafficking rings. I've seen what my brothers discovered.
And while I haven't personally interrogated Elena about her captivity, I didn't need to. I can see the trauma in her face every time I look at her. I've known Elena her entire life, and the woman who came back to us now carries a hint of darkness that wasn't there before.
It may have been Dimitri's son Maxim who did whatever he did to her, but it was learned cruelty directly from his father.
My jaw tightens.
There isn't a doubt in my mind about what's going to happen inside that villa.
They'll torture Danika.
They'll inject her with so much Siberian Ice she won't know up from down.
And when they're done breaking her, when they've pulled every bit of information out of her trembling body, they'll sell her to the highest bidder.
Fuck that.
Not while I'm breathing.
Dimitri may not be the true don of the Volkovs like I thought, but for what he's done, I'm going to kill him regardless. For the pain he's caused, for the lives he's destroyed.
I'm willing to die to secure the vengeance Adrian deserves. The justice Elena deserves. The peace my family deserves.
And more than that, I will not allow Danika to become another one of their victims.
She means...
I pause, the thought catching in my brain.
She means more to me than I even have words for.
I'm going to get her out.
I break away from the tree, keeping low, and move toward the left side of the property. The stone wall surrounding the area is about a foot taller than I am, easily scalable.
But the moment my head pops up over it, anyone looking in my direction will start shooting.
Once I'm alongside the wall, I start moving down the side, listening closely for voices, footsteps, anything.
But I make it all the way to the far end of the perimeter without hearing a single sound.
Shit.
I'm going to have to look over without knowing any guard's location.
I pull the silencer from my pocket and screw it onto the barrel of my gun. I grip the weapon tightly in my right hand, and my left hand reaches up, fingers curling over the rough top of the wall.
I take a breath, a moment to prepare myself, because I know once I start this, I can never stop until I have her or I'm dead.
When I'm ready, I pull my body up. The muscles in my arms burn, and in an ironic turn of events, Danika's gift to me aches for the first time in a week.
When my head clears the top of the wall, I lock eyes with a guard standing just on the other side.
Shit.
For a split second, we both freeze. His eyes widen. His mouth opens, and his cigarette dangles from the corner.
Then his hand moves toward the gun slung over his shoulder.
I drop.
My feet hit the ground, the impact jarring my knees, but I don't think. I move.
Four quick, silent steps to my left.
I pop up again.
The guard is turning, his weapon halfway raised.
I fire.
The suppressed gunshot sounds like a sharp exhale, but it brings death with it.
The bullet connects, and blood sprays from his throat. He gasps, a wet, choking sound, and his hands fly to his neck, fingers clawing uselessly at the wound to try and stop the bleeding.
His eyes go wide, the realization dawning that his time is up, that it's too late.
He drops to his knees and then falls face-first into the grass.
I vault over the wall, trying to land softly on the other side. I step forward, grab the dead guard by his jacket lapels, and drag him away from the wall. His body is heavy and limp, and blood trails through the grass behind us.
I shove him under a large bush, the branches scraping against me as I push him deeper into it.
I look around and start searching him quickly.
My hands move over his chest, looking for his inside pockets.
I pause.
Wait.
He's wearing a bulletproof vest.
Obviously, I'm taking it.
It takes effort, rolling the dead weight, lifting, and unstrapping, but I finally get the Kevlar free. I rip off my suit jacket and toss it aside, then slip the vest on over my dress shirt.
It's tight, and the straps dig into my shoulders, but I'd rather be uncomfortable and maybe break a rib than take a bullet.
I roll my sleeves up and stand, adjusting the heavy vest one last time, and begin to move.
I sweep across the back of the house, keeping low, my gun raised.
Two men stand together near the other end of the house. They're laughing about something, their guns slung casually over their shoulders. One of them lights a cigarette while the other talks.
I brace my stance and raise my weapon.
I line the barrel up with the first man's head.
Then I shift my aim smoothly to the second man's head.
I do this three times, practicing to feel the exact movement and pivot required to drop them both before they can react.
My finger curls around the trigger.
I squeeze.
The first shot hits.
A mist of red sprays across the second man's face. His laughter stops.
Before he can comprehend what's happening, I fire again.
His head snaps back, and his body crumples, his legs folding beneath him like someone kicked them out from under him.
Both men lie motionless in the grass.
I move toward the bodies, intending to search them for anything, and as I approach, I spot something.
A service entrance. A metal door built into the back of the villa, partially hidden by overgrown bushes.
I squeeze between them and go to try the handle, but I can see there's a lock on it.
This has to be a way in.
I quickly check my perimeter, press the muzzle of my gun flush against the lock, and fire.
The metallic ping of the bullet hitting the mechanism is louder than the muffled gunshot.
The lock shatters and falls to the ground.
I pop the door open and scan the area with my gun.
I see a set of stairs descending under the villa into complete darkness.
I hesitate for only a second, knowing this is my way in, so I step inside and pull the door shut behind me.
Absolute darkness swallows me.
I can't see my own hand in front of my face.
I slide my shoe forward, feeling for the edge of the step. I find it and slowly take a step.
Then another.
And another.
My heart pounds in my chest. Despite my efforts to breathe quietly, my breath is ragged and loud in the enclosed space.
The walls press in around me. The air is thick, and I feel like I'm a sitting duck, but none of that matters because I'm inside now.
I take another step down.
I'm coming, Danika.