by Jasmin Quinn
Michael came up beside him and crouched down. As Finn handed him back the gun, Michael murmured, “I’m thinking there are two guards. This one and another that’s around the back of the house or stepped inside for a piss. Either way, he’s not racing to save his friend or raising the alarm.” He stood up and jogged quietly up to the house. Finn followed. “I’ll circle the house,” Michael whispered. “You hide the body around the corner.”
As Finn approached the guard, he saw the hole in his neck, dead centre. He felt his humanity ebb as he reached down and grabbed the body around the chest. Maybe he’d always been a killer, he just hadn’t known it. A little pride welled up in him, at the accuracy of his shot, but it quickly turned to disgust at himself, at how easily he took a man’s life, for no reason other than the man was a barrier to him finding Nika.
He shouldered the dead man’s rifle, then dragged the body around the corner of the house, disposing of it in the shadows of a large tree. As he waited for Michael, Finn leaned his back against the house, his gun drawn, his head resting on the cool siding. Little flakes of snow were starting to fall. Weird to have a snowstorm in March, he thought. He glanced back to the body and then tensed as he heard quiet footsteps approaching. He sighed in relief when Michael cautiously rounded the corner. He needed a distraction from his bleak thoughts.
“He must be inside,” Michael said as he stole quietly up a small set of stairs that led to a deck with French doors. Finn felt déjà vu as he covered Michael, who tested the handle. It was unlocked, and they stepped into an unlit room, shadowy light from outside offering a dreary pathway. As Finn started to shuffle forward, he heard a sound to his left. He and Michael both raised their guns in the direction. Then a fucking cat landed at his feet, startling them both and causing Finn to almost drop his gun. Michael blew out a breath. Finn was about to suggest they go room to room when he heard Nika cry out, a long, tortured scream, and then fall silent.
His heart hammered in his chest. Good news, Nika was here. More good news, Nika was alive. Bad news, Nika was hurt. Pure unadulterated rage seared through him. He started moving towards the source of the screams, but Michael grabbed his arm and saved him from his recklessness. He pushed past Finn and motioned him to follow. Not towards Nika but up the staircase. Finn hesitated, understood they needed to clean out the house before they entered that room, because that’s where the real fire fight might take place and they couldn’t have anyone on their backs.
But it was almost impossible to follow Michael up the stairs and Finn stood for a moment debating. He’d be no good to Nika if he was shot in the back because he’d let his emotions rule his head. Still, as he followed Michael reluctantly up the stairs, his fear for Nika squeezed at his heart, almost choking his breath.
Michael stood patiently at the top of the stairs as Finn caught up to him. Then they swept the upper floor, going from room to room. One door had a bolt on the outside. Inside was empty, no one in the room, no one in the adjoining bathroom, but the bed was unmade. Someone had been here. Nika, Finn thought.
They walked softly trying to mask their footsteps. But someone heard, and Finn caught sight of a stealthy shadow on the stairs. Michael was in a bedroom sweeping the closet, and Finn stepped backwards through the door, trying to get Michael’s attention. Michael had the silencer, he needed to be the shooter to keep the noise down, keep the attention off them. But Michael was distracted by something, trusting that Finn had his back. When the Russian stepped through the doorway, his gun trained on Michael, Finn had no choice. He pulled the trigger and the Russian fell.
Michael spun around as the noise from the shot reverberated through the house. There was no point in being careful or quiet now. “Fuck,” Michael exhaled as he saw the dead Russian on the floor. “Did you just save my life?” Nothing in his voice or his face betrayed how close he had just come to dying.
“Yes,” Finn said brusquely.
“Shit!” Michael swore again and as he followed Finn out of the room, they heard shouts below, heading toward the stairs. “Finn get down the stairs. We can’t be trapped up here.” Michael jumped the railing and landed in front of Finn on the stairs, then tucked himself into a ball and rolled the rest of the way down, leaping into a standing position as he hit the landing. Finn ran softly past him and then leaned back from a doorway as he spotted a Russian hurtling towards him. Michael positioned himself in the hall, his pistol readied as Finn used himself as bait. The Russian stormed towards Finn and Michael shot him in the chest. It was that easy.
Except that it wasn’t. A bullet whizzed past Finn’s head. He dropped to the floor and rolled himself into the kitchen, shooting recklessly, hoping to hit the fucking Russian. Then a shot from Michael, behind him and over his head as he crouched, then another, aimed in the same general direction. A grunt as the Russian fell.
They heard Nika scream again, anguish and terror ricocheting through the room and Michael ran towards her cries. Finn paused momentarily, picking up the dead Russian’s rifle. As he started to stand, another Russian rounded the corner, gun aimed at Finn. Instincts kicked in and Finn plowed a foot into the Russian’s groin, knocking him off balance. The thug’s rifle flew from his hands as he crashed into the wall. But the fucker didn’t stay down, instead he bounded up and threw himself at Finn, headbutting him in the stomach and driving him backwards into a table. Finn grunted as he let go of the rifle he was holding and dropped down on the floor on his back. The Russian straddled him, his strong hands wrapped around Finn’s neck, trying to choke the life from him. Finn slammed the Russian repeatedly in the head with his fists, and when that had little effect, brought his hands to the Russian’s face, trying to gouge his eyes.
The Russian let go of Finn’s neck instinctively protecting his eyes, and Finn curled one of his hands into a fist, rearing back and punching the Russian in the throat, driving his Adam’s apple back and crushing his windpipe. The Russian toppled over and fell to the floor, writhing. He grappled at his throat, gasping futilely for breath. Finn ignored the dying man’s gasps as he shot to his feet, retrieving his pistol and one of the rifles. He turned his back on the dying Russian and followed Michael at a dead run, losing his mind when he heard Nika scream his name.
He ran towards an open the door and then stopped dead in his tracks at the scene in front of him. Nika was tied to a chair, her face battered, her lips split and swollen. Her eyes were red, pain and fear etched into her forehead. Blood flowed from her upper right arm and dripped to the floor, the shredded sleeve of his shirt drenched in red.
His eyes landed on Nika’s torturer and fury swept over him, a rage so primitive he would have torn the asshole limb for limb if not for the scalpel he was holding to Nika’s neck. He glanced to Michael, who was standing to the right of Nika, his pistol drawn and pointed at her captor’s head. Finn raised the rifle he was holding and peered down its sights.
The man, not Russian, spoke. “I’m leaving here with Nika. You will let us walk out of here together, otherwise I’ll slit her throat.” Nika was weeping, staring at Finn, her eyes pleading, her body shaking.
Michael shifted slowly to his left, then he carefully put his gun down on the floor and raised his hands up beside his head. “Why don’t you let her go? This is over, and you know it’ll only end badly for you if you don’t.”
The fucker shifted his body towards Michael, pulling Nika with him. “Nika is Rusya’s prize. If I let her go, he’ll kill me.”
“Take me instead.” Michael took a careful step towards Nika’s captor and another step to the right. “I’m a better prize than Nika. I know more.”
“No,” he replied testily. “Rusya wants…”
He never got to finish his sentence as Finn shot the rifle, a clean shot into the asshole’s temple. As he pulled the trigger, Michael leapt forward, grabbing at the scalpel held tightly in the dead man’s hands. The body toppled, the scalpel slicing a thin line across Nika’s neck. Nika twisted away at the same time, and blood started seeping f
rom a long shallow cut.
Nika started screaming. Then the screams gave way to hysterical wails. Finn threw the rifle from him and rushed to her, dropping to his knees in front of her. “Finn,” she sobbed wildly. “Let me loose, let me loose!” He seized the scalpel from the floor and sliced her binds, pulling her out of the chair and taking her in his arms as she clung to him weeping. He held her to him, soothing her, rocking her.
Michael picked up his gun from the floor and holstered it as he walked over to them and crouched down on his haunches. He flicked back the tattered bloody sleeve, revealing a series of deep cuts on Nika’s arm. He met Finn’s eyes. “She needs to be sutured.”
Nika looked at Michael, startled as if seeing him for the first time. Her face paled. “I didn’t tell him anything, Michael. I promise. I didn’t tell anyone anything.” Michael patted her thigh and stood up.
“Finn, I’m taking her back to Jackman.” He pulled his gun from his holster but held it loosely at his side. “I don’t want to kill you, but I can’t leave here without her.”
Nika stared at Michael in disbelief, her tears still falling, her voice desperate. “I will not leave Finn. I won’t go without him.”
Finn pulled Nika up as he got to his feet. She was quaking, her shaky legs barely holding her upright. Then he stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Nika’s not going anywhere with you. She’s mine.” Finn knew he sounded insane, and maybe he was. If there was such a thing as soul mates, he knew he’d found his. She healed him, gave him his life back. He just got her back, he couldn’t lose her again.
Michael tried to reason with him. “She can’t stay here with you, Finn. She’d never be safe. You couldn’t keep her safe. And if you keep her, you’ll forfeit her life. If she doesn’t return, Jackman will kill her.”
Finn reached behind his back for his gun, but Michael raised his gun up and aimed it Finn’s chest. “You can’t win here, Finn. Neither of you can win. The only way Nika can live is to return to Mr. Jackman.”
Nika stepped out from behind Finn, holding his pistol. Her hands were unsteady, the gun shaking wildly, pointing at Michael. “Nika,” Finn held his hand toward her. “Don’t shoot him.”
Nika looked at Finn, despair clear in her eyes. “I wasn’t Finn, I’ll kill myself. Then everything is solved.”
Finn’s blood went cold. “Nika, no! That’s not the solution. You may as well shoot me first because there’s no point to my life if you’re not in it.”
Michael sighed and holstered his gun, then strode up to Nika and took Finn’s gun from her hand, handing it back to Finn. “For fuck’s sake, Finn, you should be embarrassed, talking like you’re in a bloody Shakespearean play.”
Finn inhaled jaggedly as he took his pistol back, tucking it into his waistband, then pulling Nika to him, holding her tightly. “Is this a stalemate? What’s next, Black? Wait until my back is turned, then stab it?”
“No,” Michael said seriously. “I hate that you saved my life. I hate that I’m so fucking honourable.”
Finn would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so tense.
Michael paused, frowning grimly. “You can’t go back to before, McQueen. You’ve left a trail of dead bodies. Your brother will make the connection.”
“Doug’s loyal.”
Michael shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He’ll know. You want to be with Nika, you’ll have to go with her. And once that happens, you don’t get to go back.”
Finn held Nika a little tighter. It was the only way out of this. If he wanted to live happily ever after with Nika, he was going to have to make a deal with the devil. “What’ll Jackman have to say about that?”
Michael considered this. “You’re not without skills.” His eyes flicked to Nika. “And if your presence keeps this little fool in line, it will be of some value to Jackman.”
“And my family? They won’t be safe.”
Michael sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll add that to your list of demands.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re wasting time. Let’s have this discussion enroute. Nika needs a doctor and I need to think.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Before they left the izba, Michael found a clean towel in the kitchen to wrap Nika’s arm then did a second walkthrough of the house to make sure it was clean. While he was gone, Finn carried Nika to the chairs near the door. She was alert now and clinging to him, still trembling. As he sat down, settling her on his lap, he drew her into a rough, possessive embrace. “I’m so sorry I let this happen,” he said softly, rocking her to reassure her.
Nika’s tears flowed freely down her face as she burrowed it into Finn’s chest, “Finn, I thought they had killed you.”
Finn pulled her closer, and Nika tightened her hold on him. They stayed that way, in silence, until Michael returned. “No one else here, nothing of value for us. I expected that would be the case. Savisin’s too smart to leave details of his operations lying around.” His eyes flicked from Finn to Nika. “I’ll get the car and bring it up. No point in jarring her around any more than we have to.”
Finn carried Nika out the door when he heard the crunch of tires on the gravel. They were greeted by howling wind and blowing snow. “Fucking weather,” Michael words were almost lost in the storm as he circled the SUV and pulled the back door open. Finn tried not to jar Nika as he placed her on the seat, moving her over to the middle, then settling himself beside her.
No one said anything as Michael drove through the city. The ride was intense, the roads slick with snow and ice, visibility non-existent. But Michael handled the SUV gracefully. Another thing the fucker was good at, Finn thought a little bitterly as he watched Michael deftly avoid the idiots that were driving faster than the conditions warranted. He almost took out two assholes who were running crazily around on the road as if snow was a blessing. He swerved around them and managed to regain control of the vehicle, keeping it from sliding off the road. “Motherfucking cunts!” he swore. Finn had to resist the urge to cover Nika’s ears. “It would’ve been a service to the world if I’d taken those fucking assholes out and prevented them from procreating.”
The rest of the ride was uneventful in comparison, and they made it to the Vancouver Airport Hotel unscathed. As Michael booked them into a suite, Finn and Nika waited in the car, huddling together as the cold rapidly pushed the heat away. Michael came out with the room keys and opened the back door. He said to Nika, “You have to walk to the room. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” Michael took off his jacket as Finn helped Nika out of the SUV, then draped it around her shoulders. Finn swallowed down a surge of possessiveness as Michael smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “You’re almost presentable. Would look better if you had shoes.” Then he turned to Finn. “Zip up your jacket. You’ve got blood on you.” Finn did as he was told, wondered why Michael was the only one with the cool head. Thought maybe he was in a little in shock himself.
They walked through the lobby, Finn’s arm around Nika’s shoulders, Michael crowding them to block prying eyes. “I’ve sent the doctor up already. He’s waiting for us,” Michael said as they boarded the elevator. Another couple tried to enter behind them, but Michael waved them off. “My sister has the flu. You should take the next car.” He smiled at them, and they smiled back, delighted that he acknowledged them. As the doors closed, their voices floated in, hoping Nika got better soon. Finn closed his eyes and sighed. Jackman sure knew how to pick them, he thought.
The doctor was indeed waiting. He was in his mid-thirties, lanky with a sharp face and a full head of short blond hair. He had already helped himself to a scotch and soda from the bar and was in the process of taking a sip as the trio entered the suite. “What the fuck kind of doctor drinks before tending to his patients?” Finn growled, his ire growing. For some reason, he wanted to throttle the life out of the bastard who was sitting casually on the sofa, legs crossed, tumbler in hand.
“Finn,” Michael interjected smoothly, “This is D
r. Stuart Conrad.”
“Are you sure he’s a fucking doctor?” Finn snarled, shifting his gaze from the doctor to Michael.
“Yes, Finn. Stuart’s an excellent doctor. He and Jackman have a deal. He comes when he’s called. He’s a genius when it comes to patching up knife wounds and bullet holes.”
“Then why didn’t the fucker fix Dean up when he was shot?”
“Excuse me,” the fucker in question stood up. “I am in the room.”
Michael glared at Finn, ignoring Stuart’s interruption, “Dean wasn’t sure the doctor could be trusted.”
“I’m not sure, either,” Finn muttered.
“Jackman pays him well to keep his mouth shut.”
“So the fuck what? How do we know this isn’t the asshole who’s been passing information onto the Russians?”
“Because Finn, Stuart doesn’t want to end up on the bottom of a lake,” Michael said through gritted teeth. “And you need to be more judicious about what you say in front of the help.”
Stuart paled at Michael’s words, but showed no other signs of distress. Instead he said, “Perhaps I should tend to the patient while the two of continue your pissing contest.” Finn felt his face redden as he turned to Nika, who was standing behind him, shivering in silence. Michael’s coat had fallen from her shoulders to the floor and her injured arm hung limply to her side. Her eyes were dull and unseeing, her legs barely holding her up.
“Nika, I’m sorry.” Finn guided her over to the couch, seating her where the doctor had been.
“Get her some water,” Stuart ordered as pulled a chair close to Nika and placed his case on the coffee table. Nika flinched and Finn ran his hand reassuringly down the back of her hair.
“He’s here to help, Nika, I promise and I’m here to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. I’m going to get you some water, but I’ll be right back.” Nika gave Finn a small nod and he slipped over to the bar.
