As Danica heard the glasses Carrick loved smashing onto the pavement, the SUV turned into the parking structure of a downtown office building, not far from where they’d kidnapped her. Gutted, she shrank back, more helpless than ever.
Once the SUV found a parking spot, she knew her fate was sealed. There was no getting away now. His pistol still drawn, Andriy pushed her out into the concrete structure, moving her through the lot and into a dark elevator. The driver stayed behind in the SUV, probably waiting for his next orders.
Danica darted her gaze back and forth as she tried to imagine how to get away and save herself. There was no way Carrick would ever find her.
“Have you been following me?” She stumbled as Andriy pushed her out of the elevator when they hit the fourth floor.
“We didn’t need to,” Andriy snorted. “We just had some friends trace your credit card.”
“How?” Danica asked, searching for ways they could have found out her false identity.
“Varya’s wedding… I should have thanked you for letting us look through your clutch.” Andriy snickered off her question as he ushered her to the modern building where he was the CEO. “I would have never guessed your fake name.”
An incoherent cry left her lips as he pushed her on, still obeying his every demand. The more she walked along, the more she hated herself for it. He led her through the wide, vacant hallway toward a corner office where her uncle was probably waiting. Petrov shakily stood up from behind the desk, an oxygen tube under his nose, and grabbed his walking cane as he motioned for her to sit.
I need to run.
Danica unwillingly entered the room, pushed forward by Andriy, as she watched the sick old man who had once scared her more than anything.
“Are you ready?” He coughed then steadied himself.
“Yes.” Andriy stepped forward, pushing her toward the desk. “Where do I sign?”
Andriy slammed her down in the chair before the desk then leaned forward to sign a marriage certificate. As the two men exchanged words in Russian, Danica’s mind spiraled.
“You can’t do this,” she cried out again, tears streaming down her face. “You can’t make me do this.”
Andriy turned his face to her, looking her up and down slowly, a slippery, lecherous look crossing his mouth. “I am so looking forward to fucking you. Be nice, and maybe I will be.”
Petrov waved his hand dismissively. “Get the paperwork done and you can do whatever you want with her. You’ll own her then.”
“The paperwork?” she pressed, lunging forward in her seat as she tried to look at what was on the desk.
“You don’t think I’d marry you unless I had a good enough reason?” Andriy asked lazily, turning his nose up at her.
“You are my heir, Dansa,” Petrov said, gripping his cane as he struggled to breathe. “I’m dying. I don’t have much time left. My company and all my assets have to pass on to you, my only American blood relative.”
Petrov bent over to sign a document, barely able to hold himself up.
“As Andriy’s wife, you’ll make him American. Then Andriy will arrange to have it all transferred to him. This is your duty to your family.”
Danica’s mind raced, a familiar stabbing pain of hurt in her chest. Petrov and Andriy leaned over the desk, flipping through the different pages where signatures were needed, mumbling in Russian to each other. Neither of them cared what Danica wanted, of course. She didn’t matter to them. She never had.
I can’t run anymore.
The tears on her flushed cheeks turned sticky, and anger rose in Danica’s chest. It was that same anger she’d seen in Carrick. A hunger. A passion.
“My parents wouldn’t let me throw my life away,” Danica lashed out, leaning forward in the chair. “My parents wouldn’t let me marry a man I didn’t love in lieu of the man I am in love with.”
Andriy and Petrov stopped, frozen, and turned to face her, realizing her admission. Danica felt her hatred. It was the angriest and fiercest she’d ever been, thinking about what Petrov had done to her parents and was now trying to do to her. Upon seeing her expression, the old man started coughing uncontrollably.
“You will sign this. This is the only way.” Andriy seemed to realize that she was pushing back, that she wasn’t going to obey him as easily as he’d once expected. He continued, pulling his pistol back out of his jacket. “Even if you need to be persuaded.”
As he moved forward, pressing the cold steel of the pistol against her head, Danica twisted in revulsion. She was disgusted by what Petrov had done to the memory of her parents, by his abusive, controlling behavior and at herself for never fighting back. Violence flashed across her eyes as she came to a sudden realization.
Carrick was right. I should have done this a long time ago.
“Sign the fucking document.” Andriy pushed the barrel of his gun harder against her temple.
“No.” Danica straightened her back and she shot fire at him.
Petrov stood, hateful disbelief in his eyes. He uttered a familiar threat, one that used to terrify her. “Ne slushaysya menya, ty umresh’ odin.”
Fear rushed over her body, leaving her feeling like a small, helpless child once more. ‘Disobey me and you will die alone.’ Her gaze flitted over to Andriy’s scowling face, then back to her uncle. She had never doubted that Petrov would actually kill her.
Yet, everything Carrick had ever said to her and every way he’d made her feel rushed across her mind. That was the moment Danica knew that she had to fight back, because if she didn’t, she was already dead.
Petrov pushed the documents across the table at her and threw down a pen.
Through clenched teeth, she growled, “Go to hell.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carrick
“Fuck,” Carrick growled as he marched through his kitchen, whipping open every cupboard.
Where is the fucking whiskey?
He couldn’t remember.
He stopped remembering.
All he felt was pure anger, pain—until he opened one door so hard that a picture fell from the inside of it. It was a corner cupboard that he rarely went into—one that had all that extra shit in a kitchen that he rarely used. And what fell out was a picture his aunt had taped there after he’d paid her to decorate the place. He’d only seen it a couple of times—and not for a while.
It’s me and Lauren.
Carrick reached out and grabbed it. He hadn’t seen Lauren’s face in a long, long time. There were no pictures of her around—and especially no pictures of them together. For too long, it had burned him deep inside to even think of her.
He turned to the view of the Pacific Ocean. It hadn’t been long ago since he had been diving with the SEALs—a couple of years. He remembered the long training days, weeks, months—and the longer deployments. The difficulty and toughness of it. He was away a lot. He was never home—all because he wanted to do his part for his country. Did he regret it? Carrick let out a long breath, knowing that he only really regretted not being home enough and missing all those moments with Lauren. He’d never expected that they had an expiration date. He’d always thought there was another day to do all the same stuff—until, there wasn’t, until he was alone, until Lauren was gone.
And here I am—alone again.
Dani’s gone.
Flexed and hardened, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and called Delta. It was time to focus. Work. The hardened operator inside him was happy to take back control, beating out every last ounce of weakness inside him.
“Matteo,” Carrick said once Delta picked up.
“No one calls me that,” Delta scowled back. “What do you want?”
“Let’s finish this. You still in?”
Delta took a minute to reply, leaving Carrick hanging to wonder if his friend really was out—in a real, irreversible way.
But, finally, Delta said, “Yeah, fine.”
“Good. Mount up,” Carrick ordered into the phone
, moving toward the closet near the bathroom where he kept his gun safe. “Where are you?”
“Around the corner. We going after her?” Delta responded, anger still high in his tone.
“We need to do something first.”
“Not Andriy again—”
“No, buddy.” Carrick cocked a pistol, stowing it in his black jeans before grabbing a hunting knife, zap straps and extra mags. Just the essentials.
“Where the fuck are we going, then?” Delta yelled as Carrick moved into the garage.
Running down the stairs, Carrick grabbed the keys to the red rented pickup truck, still in the garage. He hoped to hell that Delta had gotten insurance.
“It’s time to have a conversation with Petrov and lay this fuck to rest,” Carrick growled into the phone, his former SEAL intensity driving hard. “Let’s go see if the old man is still at his office.”
Delta scoffed, “That’s all the way to downtown LA. Traffic is already stifling. What the fuck do you expect from me? Magic?”
“Buddy, just do what you did last time we were in Iraq.” Carrick pulled out of the garage, the evening sun hitting him across the eyes.
“You want me to break the law?”
“That’s never been a problem for you before.”
Delta let out a low chuckle, hinting at that latent monster within—the side of Delta that few people had seen.
Out on Sunset Beach boulevard, Carrick hit the gas hard, moving onto the coastal highway. Delta soon pulled in front of Carrick, throwing a fake cherry on the top of his truck. He turned on the flashing red light, parting the sea of traffic like Moses, as if they were emergency vehicles.
Speeding furiously into the downtown core, they were able to make it in record time. Swift as a wild fox, Carrick parked his truck as close as he could to Petrov’s office tower, taking a street spot that had freed up. He nodded over to Delta, who’d parked his own truck a few spaces down. It was game time.
Tucking his keys in the pocket of his jeans, Carrick felt the cold steel of the pistol against his tailbone in the back of his pants. The way he was feeling, Petrov better be fucking scared.
I’ll do whatever it takes to get Dani back.
Carrick called back to Delta, “Hold the perimeter. I’m going to see Petrov alone.”
“Going to be long?” Delta replied, crossing his arms.
“No,” Carrick shook his head. “We’ve still got to find her.”
Delta hung back, visibly digesting Carrick’s command. After running his hands up the scar on his face, a blank look came over Delta’s eyes. Carrick knew what he was reliving—the last time Delta had needed to save Carrick’s life—two years before in the wild back country of Syria. Carrick shook his head, determined.
It won’t be like that this time.
Carrick nodded at his best friend, silently reassuring him. Delta narrowed his eyes—and Carrick knew that some scars would never heal.
Focused aggression pumping through his veins, Carrick marched through the entrance of Petrov’s office building, turning immediately toward the stairs. The security guard at the desk didn’t seem to notice him. That was no surprise, given Carrick’s ability to remain invisible. He was a master at it, and few questioned him when he wanted it to be that way. Taking two steps at a time, he kept alert for any sign of danger or threat.
He thought back to when he’d been climbing these exact stairs to sign a fresh contract. It had been a big one—a big opportunity for his private security company. Little had he known then…
Carrick had come to realize enough about Petrov and Andriy, and their time had run out. Someone was going to make the first move, and Carrick was strongest on the offensive.
Finally, he reached the fourth level and opened the hallway door into the office space, where he saw the embossed glass entrance for Petrov’s company. Stalking down the hall, Carrick avoided detection. It seemed that all the employees had left for the day.
Carrick reached into the back of his jeans and removed his pistol, keeping it covered under his shirt. Around the corner, he saw it—the corner office, the place where Carrick had been a month before to sign the contract. Petrov’s office. And it was occupied. As he stepped closer, he saw Petrov sitting on a chair beside the desk, gasping for breath. The man looked like he was on the verge of dying, breathing with the help of an oxygen tank.
Carrick stopped in his tracks, realizing the old man wasn’t alone. Andriy was standing in front of the desk, a vicious snarl on his bruised and bloodied face. A sadistic grin. A pistol in his hand.
And the pistol was pointed at Dani.
Holy fuck.
Rage fired up every limb, and pure violence coursed through his veins.
Her head was down and her hair disheveled. She looked like she’d been tossed around. Immediately, a hellacious desire to kill rose in his chest. Without delay, he cocked his pistol, tracking his prey like a goddamn panther. With his heavy boot, he kicked the glass office door open, sending it crashing into the wall and just fucking shattering the glass.
“Gun down! Gun down!” Carrick howled, pointing his pistol directly at Andriy, aggressively rushing him.
“Fuck!” Andriy’s eyes widened, a touch of fear visible.
“Stop him!” Petrov flew off the handle, jumping toward Andriy. “Shoot him!”
Carrick swiftly took control of the room, moving to protect Danica. When she whipped around to look up at him, blood was dripping down her swollen cheek. She looked as surprised to see him as he had been to see her.
“Carrick—” she said, her voice trembling.
Still with a shaking arm, Andriy looked like he was ready to shit himself, his hand absently touching the black eye Carrick had given him earlier. Gasping for breath, Petrov desperately snatched the pistol from Andriy, pointing it at Carrick.
“Drop it or you both die!”
“Fuck you!” Carrick roared back at the old man, rushing closer to Danica.
“Carrick!” Danica screamed, but Carrick pushed her back, covering her body with his.
Petrov wobbled as he held the pistol, unadulterated hatred in his aging eyes. Wheezing, the weakened old man pulled the trigger several times, toppling over with the force of the recoil.
Carrick shielded Danica in place. After four gunshots and two bodies had hit the floor, Carrick held the crying woman tighter in his arms.
I have to save you.
“Carrick!” she sobbed into his chest. “Carrick—no!”
All he felt was searing pain.
Like he was in slow motion, he peeled away from her, assessing the scene. Andriy was shrieking, crumpled over on the floor, holding a bleeding wound on his shoulder. Petrov was convulsing on the ground, his eyes rolled back.
Hearing distant screams, Carrick was on autopilot. He had to get her to safety. Heaving her into his arms, unwilling to feel the pain tearing through him, he ran down the hall, calculating their exit. He ran like the goddamn building was on fire—down the stairs and into the lobby. The rear of his mind registered that he’d been injured. The only thing that felt good was Danica buried in his chest, grasping at him, leaving hot trails from her touch on his skin.
“You’re here,” she wept. “You found me.”
He just squeezed her tighter, feeling a lot of things he had no words for. Once outside the tower, Carrick crashed onto a sidewalk bench, placing her down beside him. The wetness down his back had gotten worse. He was bleeding.
“You’ve been shot,” Danica gasped, jumping up to assess him. “There’s blood everywhere. We need to get you to the hospital!”
Carrick was keeling over, dizzy and losing touch with reality. Danica was leaning over him, holding his head and with blood up her arms. Delta came running, clearly laser focused on him.
“Call an ambulance! And the police!” Danica cried out.
“Well, shit,” Carrick slurred—everything was growing hazy.
I saved her.
Danica held him as she compressed his
wound to quell the bleeding. A large, appreciative grin crossed his lips as he looked up into her amber eyes.
“You’re here,” he grumbled, trying to reach up to touch her face. He drifted his hand to where blood was trickling out of a fresh wound on her brow. They’d hit her. They’d hurt her. He twisted in agony, hating himself for taking so long to find her, and he let out a pained howl.
“Stay with me, Carrick. Help is on the way.” The look in Danica’s eyes was not encouraging. She would know exactly how bad it was, being a nurse.
“I’ll kill them if they aren’t already dead,” he growled, his blurry vision unable to focus on her cut brow anymore.
She reached out, grabbed his hand and brought it down to her cheek. “It’s just a scratch. Don’t worry.”
He coughed and closed his eyes to ground himself. Blackness threatened to overtake his vision, and he knew he was losing a lot of blood. Delta shouted in the background at someone—something about Syria. Danica was anxiously yelling back at him.
“This wasn’t how this was supposed to go,” Carrick rumbled, his mind drifting to the last tour he’d been on with Delta. That rough battle and Delta’s unbelievably heroic actions had saved much more than Carrick’s life.
“I had to save you—” Carrick coughed.
“Keep talking,” she whispered, seemingly trying to keep him awake.
Danica ran a hand through his hair, bringing him back to the present. The evening sun of LA shone on them, warming his cold skin. He was losing consciousness and a lot of blood. The shrapnel inside him was hurtling to his core. Of all the battles he’d been in and the war he’d tasted, he hadn’t expected that he would die on a bench in downtown LA.
“I have to tell you something.” He reached up to touch her cheek with his shaking hand.
Biting her lip, she held his fingers, blinking out tears.
“Her name was Lauren.” He coughed, feeling unmanageable pain. “She was the one. We were engaged…”
She remained stoic on the edge of her seat as she caressed his face.
“But, two years ago—Valentine’s Day—she collapsed,” Carrick continued through haggard breaths. “I took her to the hospital. She’d had a stroke. They told us she had leukemia. She died weeks later—” He panted, clenching his teeth.
Under Control Page 20
