by L. L. Ash
Pops sounded off in the distance, then a heavy, low thud echoed through the courtyard. An engine growled, and a parade of large trucks came barreling toward us.
“Back in the house!” Max yelled, ditching our suitcase on the steps as he drew the gun from the holster around his waist.
The trucks stopped just outside the doors and men spilled out of the cabs and backs, dozens of them.
“Inside!” Max was screaming now, shoving me into the house as the men from the trucks lifted rifles and started littering bullets through the wooden siding of the house.
A series of blasts left Max’s gun, each one felling an enemy, but he was out of bullets long before the men were all gone.
“Oh my God!” Zoya called out, taking me in her arms as I fell.
Fell?
Why was I falling?
A cold chill billowed through my body as I felt Zoya press her hand against my belly.
“No, no, my little doch,” she whispered, pressing hard as the gunfire outside increased.
The other men, Vishka’s men, must have finally joined Max in protecting the house.
“Fuck!” I heard his voice, but I couldn’t see his face.
My eyes were closed and they wouldn’t open.
“Do you have a doctor here?” he asked Zoya.
“Not here, but nearby.”
“Get him here now!” Max growled before pressing his own hand on my side while he hovered over me. “You’re going to be ok, babe. Promise you. You know why I know? Because if you die, I’ll die too, and I don’t intend on dying any time soon.”
My hearing got a little wobbly and my limbs grew heavy. It was almost like being half suspended in a dream, but I couldn’t wake up.
“Stay with me, kisa! Fuck! IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou...”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Max
“The fuck is this?” I yelled, bashing my way into Vishka’s office.
“You can go fuck right the hell off, Ghost,” Vishka said, a stern, angry look on his face.
I stepped right up to the bastard and shoved him until his back was against a wall and I was crowding him in.
Guns cocked behind me and the shuffle of rifles told me that I had at least a half dozen weapons pointed at my back, but I didn’t fucking care.
Mila was shot.
Shot.
All because of the arrogant asshole I had pinned against the wall.
“You certainly have balls, don’t you?” he mused, a grin spreading across his face as he put his hand up to stop the men behind me from firing.
“Your little squabble just put a bullet in my girl's guts. You should have known better, Boss.”
The sneer in my words made him grin wider before he pushed me back, separating us a little.
“It’s truly unfortunate what happened to your pet, but this is war. In war there are casualties.”
“You better hope to fucking God that she’s not a casualty, because I will kill you before the dawn rises the next day.”
With a roll of his eyes, he patted my shoulder.
“Good boy. Now that you have the obligatory threat out of the way, let’s see how we can fix this, yeah? How about you be good for something instead of wasting energy on all the spitting and steaming you’re doing.”
“Boss!” A man came into the room, dragging a body with another man trailing behind, holding the legs.
“What is this?” Vishka demanded.
“He’s still kickin’,” the man said, wiping sweat off his brow and replacing it with a smudge of grey.
“Is he?” Vishka asked before shoving a chair forward for the prisoner to sit.
“I’m not saying anything!” the prisoner spat out in perfect Russian.
“There are methods to make a man talk,” Vishka whispered next to the man’s ear. “And it so happens I enjoy figuring out just the right one for each individual.”
Slipping a letter opener from the desk before me into the palm of my hand, I approached.
“Give me five minutes,” I told Vishka, not even looking at the prisoner as my fingers curled further around the small, dull blade.
“Two,” Vishka agreed, then leaned back against his desk to watch.
Assessing the injuries the man had, I could see a belly wound that probably hurt like hell, and another in his arm, just under the bicep. Nothing that would kill him immediately, but it would be a painful end eventually.
“Who are you working for?” I asked, looking him right in the eye.
I wasn’t the best interrogator on my team in the Special Forces. I usually left it up to the pros. But it wasn’t a moment to hold back, and I had a fuckton of rage that needed an outlet before I stabbed the mob boss in front of me and got me and Mila both killed.
The bleeding guy just hocked up a loogie and spit it at me.
Nice.
In a flash, the little metal letter opener was embedded in his leg, about an inch above his knee. Screams echoed around us and I saw the man behind him—a man with a big ol’ gun in his hands—wince.
“Who are you working for? Don’t make me ask again because I will be forced to turn you into swiss cheese.”
The prisoner was wailing and thrashing instead of answering, so I just slowly removed the blade, which would have hurt like a motherfucker, and lifted it so he could see it an inch from his eyes.
“Want another hole?” I asked, and he began to cry.
Sob, really.
“Who are you working for?” I demanded, lifting my arm as if to stab him again.
“Nico!” he cried out just as my hand was about to land.
Good thing too, because the little blade was so covered in blood and slippery that I wouldn’t have gotten a good stab in, anyway. Not until I wiped it up.
“Nico is dead,” Vishka said, crouching beside me to stare at the guy's face. “So is his son.”
“We’re still loyal,” the guy breathed, panting through the pain. “You’re all going to die!”
The slick blade was taken from my hands and in a quick movement, it drove a smile across the man’s neck, making him bleed out in seconds.
“The fuck?” I demanded. “We need to know where the fuckers are hiding!”
“I know where they are,” Vishka said. “We’ve been hunting them down for days. You think I’d let their betrayal go unpunished?”
I had no idea. The guy didn’t exactly scream 'merciful and fair' to me, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“The problem is they’re hiding out at the bottom of a church. Nobody wants to go in guns blazing and kill the priest, nuns or monks.”
Grinding my palms into my eye sockets, I tried to rub away the ache that had formed there hours ago.
If leaving the hotel was hard two days ago, then leaving the horrible, gangster compound was worse. Way worse.
I was about to leave her at the airport with no promises, no hopes, and no way to communicate. She had to be away from me, because being with me would eventually get her killed, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.
“So what then?” I demanded. “How are we supposed to survive your little war if you still have Popov’s men out there gunning for your head?”
“Leave,” he told me.
“I’m not fucking leaving her with you! And she’s too fragile to move right now. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Then someone’s going to have to take out Oleg.”
Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I took a moment to breathe before standing up and looking the man eye to eye.
“Give me the info. I can get in and out, and both our problems will be solved.”
“You’ll die trying.”
“Then I’ll die. No skin off your back.”
He shrugged.
“Fine. You take care of our little pest problem, and I’ll let her stay until she’s recovered. You too, if you manage to live.”
“How fucking generous,” I sneered, so sarcastic, but also a little bit worried.
“Will you be so nice as to call a doctor, too?”
“One is already being escorted this way.”
That was something. Belly wounds did kill, and if she lost too much blood then…
“Details,” I demanded while Vishka waved everyone out of the room.
“Details,” he agreed, then pulled up a blueprint of the church he’d mentioned.
The plan was pretty simple. I would infiltrate the church as a worshipper, then I would find my way down to the basement. Sanctuary meant nothing if they were just going to shoot the hell out of people from their peaceful little place in the basement. Supposedly there were catacombs down there that weren’t on the floorplans, so I was in for a real fucking treat.
I strapped on four handguns over my button up shirt, then slipped a couple flash-bangs into the pockets of my suit jacket. What I would have given for one of my collapsible rifles. I could have hid it on my person and given myself a little more firepower. Finally, I pocketed a few replacement clips.
I was given a Kevlar vest, handguns, and a few bombs before Vishka was ready to show me the door. But before I could leave, I had to check on her.
“How’s she doing?” I asked Zoya, who didn’t look like she’d left Mila’s side since the attack.
“She’s stable,” Zoya told me, staring at the white bandage wrapped around her midsection.
“The doc got the bullet out?”
“He did. He stitched her up the best he could and cleaned her up. He said that things looked good before he had to leave.”
“Leave?” I demanded. “Who’s taking care of her then?”
“I am,” she told me, turning to stare into my eyes with hers, hard and hot as forged steel.
“And you know how to treat gunshot wounds?”
“I’ve lived this life since I was born,” Zoya told me, sparks of anger shooting off her as she spoke. “I’ve taken care of more than my fair share of injuries, gunshot or otherwise.”
My gut told me that Mila was in good hands. I wasn’t sure why, but the woman before me was fiercely protective of her, and I felt alright about leaving her momentarily until the threat was eliminated.
“You’ll make sure no harm comes to her then?” I asked.
“I will protect her with my life. Mila is like a daughter to me.”
The woman couldn’t have been past forty. With vivid red hair and icy blue eyes, she looked more likely in her thirties if it weren’t for the battered soul that haunted her eyes.
“Kill them,” she told me in little more than a whisper. “Kill them all.”
With that she turned away and took Mila’s hand.
That I could do.
I denied myself the chance to say goodbye, refusing to get or give closure, to ensure that I would return back to her. Fuck if I let them kill me just as I find the only woman I’ll ever love.
A nondescript car was parked in front of the house and keys were put into my hands by one of Vishka’s right hand men. He gave me a sad little nod then went about with the repairs and cleanup from the attack that happened only hours ago. Dead bodies were being lined up in the courtyard, and I was just really fucking grateful Mila’s wasn’t one of them.
Curious glances followed me as I got into the car, but I left them all behind at the compound as I drove to the church only a handful of miles away.
It was full inside the chapel. Service had started five minutes before and they were already going into the singing portion. I went up to a stand with candles to be lit for the departed and stoked a light for Mom. I looked toward the high ceiling as the haunting sounds of the voices around me swirled. And I could feel her.
“What am I supposed to do, Mom?” I whispered, voice lost in the din of singers around me.
All I could see as my eyes closed was Mila, smiling, laughing, crying… The woman was everything to me, and that was why I couldn’t let myself have her. Losing her would destroy me.
Then why are you letting her go? A voice inside my head asked.
Such a simple question, but it was one I hadn’t asked myself before. Me, priding myself on being a man of logic, had missed the smallest, most significant little detail.
Fuck it all, if I was going to lose her anyway, then I wanted to spend as much time with her as she would let me. Even if that meant being destroyed by the end. Because honestly, I was already heading into a really bad headspace just thinking about sending her on her way to a new life without me.
But then again, could I leave her to be brought down by all my own personal indiscretions? Could I chance losing her and it being my fault? God, I couldn’t live with that… But those were my options. Learn to live without her or take her with me.
Or, I could give up my mission and give myself to her.
I shook the thoughts out of my head while moving back toward the storage rooms of the church. Nobody even looked my way as I slipped behind a curtain separating a hallway from the stairs. Stepping slowly down to the basement, I pulled out one of my pistols and palmed one of the flash bangs, ready to throw it the moment I reached their lair.
But it wasn’t there.
I found the area where the storage was and it was abandoned.
“Shit,” I breathed into the empty room.
The entrance to the catacombs had to be somewhere.
I slipped around the corner of the room and checked behind every surface, box and shelf until I saw a dark mark on the floor in front of a shelf. It was a stripy half circle that indicated only one thing. The shelf moved and there was something behind it.
I gripped the sides and started pulling until it gave way with a low groan, opening to a dark hallway made of stone. Voices echoed down the hallway, which meant I was on the right track.
“This is bullshit!” the growly voice nearest me said. “Creeping around in crypts while that betraying asshole gets our place!”
“Oleg has a plan,” another voice came in. “They’ll get them taken care of tonight, then by Sunday we’ll be enjoying cold shots while Olog fucks Nico’s traitorous bitch to death.”
They chuckled about it for a minute, until I came upon them. One dropped instantly under my blade, a smile sliced from ear to ear. The other leapt forward, grabbing me around the neck just as the tip of my knife slipped through the soft spot under his chin.
Both men fell almost simultaneously at my feet with nothing more than a muffled whisper.
I advanced forward, completely aware that there was a chance I could have already missed him. Evidently there was an attack planned, but if I was lucky, I could possibly get Oleg out of the picture before his people went for round two.
Continuing down the hall I met a few other guards, dropping them silently as I looked for some hint of Oleg. I glanced at my watch and noted the time, giving myself five minutes to find the bastard before I went back to the compound to warn them.
A barking voice bellowed through the corridor to my left so I paused in the shadow as a flashlight bobbed toward me.
“Get them together,” the voice said. “Evidently I can’t trust you stupid debily to do a simple job!”
Oleg. It had to be.
As the small group passed by the hallway, I got a small glimpse of a profile of the man I’d been looking for.
Oh fuck.
“Hey!” came a voice behind me.
I’d been so wrapped up making sure the man in front of me was Oleg that I’d neglected to watch my six.
Something rammed into my ribs behind me and I fell forward, catching myself on the stone wall across from me. That, of course, had Oleg and his five companions turning and attacking within moments.
My hand reached into my coat, drawing out a flash bang. It was going to hurt like fuck, but it would give me the moment I needed to get out of the sticky spot I’d managed to get myself into.
Snapping the clip, I rolled the bomb through the legs of the mobster in front of me and watched it stop against the far wall before throwing my arm over my face and lifting my shoulders
to cover my ears as best I could as a foot kicked me in the ribs and a gun fired off, ripping through the skin on my arm.
Then the flash and simultaneous bang.
My ears were ringing, but I wasn’t blind like the others. Smoke billowed up from the bomb, as I gripped a second gun in my hand and started shooting. I had to just ignore the intense sting in my arm and the weird, full feeling in my ears.
Fuck, I couldn’t even hear my gun going off. I probably blew my eardrums.
The mobster bastards fell one after the other under my bullets, but none of them were the one I’d come for.
Shit.
Stumbling forward, I followed the corridor toward the exit with blood dripping down my arm until I managed to catch up with the fleeing, cowardly asshole who evidently thought he could run an entire syndicate when he couldn’t face down one American spy.
My pistol raised, I got off a quick shot as he was pushing the hidden door shut. It blew a hole right through his hand, showing a spot where a couple of fingers used to be.
Thank you God for 45 Magnums.
Bursting through the door with my good arm, which, incidentally used to be my bad arm only weeks ago, I practically ran the guy over as he writhed in pain on the ground, gripping his bloody, messy hand to his chest.
Blowing a sigh of relief for having not lost him, I looked down at him and tried to feel something else. Regret, remorse, sadness, disgust. I felt nothing for him, and there was no loss with a man like him gone.
One shot rang through the air, giving me a shallow thud into my ears as I executed him. I tucked away one gun and pulled out my phone, taking a quick picture of what was left of the mobster’s face before I left him there and headed upstairs toward where the service was.
People were just leaving and I was able to slip away with them, my hand tucked into my pocket to conceal the blood, and my jacket dark enough to hide it. Well, except for the shiny, wet surface it left. Nobody seemed to notice it, anyway, because evidently they had heard the bomb blast.
Since I couldn’t hear a fucking thing, I just watched faces and people as they hurried out, spilling into the street outside. I followed at the same clipped pace before practically diving into the shitty little car I’d driven there in.
