Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Mikhail is on the phone, talking quickly and relaying all the information.
I press down on the gas, something dark and violent twitching in me as I think about all the things I’m going to do to the bastard stupid enough to put my woman through this.
The van tears around a corner and then hits the long strip that leads toward the docks.
“Are they going to take her onto the water?” I growl. “Is that their plan? Those dumb bastards. Mikhail, tell Dad to get the choppers ready.”
“On it.”
As Mikhail relays more information, two more cars pull up beside us. I glance over to see Dimitri behind the wheel, looking as ready as I am, like he’s filled with the same cutthroat violence.
“Idiots are driving too fast,” I snap.
“I was thinking the same,” Mikhail mutters.
“If they crash …”
Mikhail lets out a sigh. “I know. Remember what we said to you about if you ever hurt Ania?”
They said they’d make my death last days.
“The same goes for them,” he goes on.
“It’ll be barbaric,” I agree, “but it won’t do Ania much good.”
Or Molly, I remind myself, which seems callous as hell—the fact I even have to remind myself. Yet I can’t ignore the fact that right now, the thing that’s playing on my mind most is the thought of losing my Ania, not my stepmother/mother-in-law. It’s my stepsister, my prisoner, my woman.
My everything.
They take a corner at high speed, causing the back of the van to kink out and then teeter from side to side as it corrects its balance. It has me thinking about what kind of mayhem my woman is experiencing in that vehicle. Ugly images of her petite body being bounced around hit me, but nowhere near as hard as I’m going to hit these bastards for daring to put those ideas in my head.
“Should be a couple of your father’s boys up ahead,” Mikhail tells me. “If the van doesn’t stop—”
“Then Ania and Molly get seriously injured,” I say, or die. “These bastards have just given me an excuse to wipe out their entire fucking Bratva, but they’ll stop, Mikhail.”
“You’re sure?” Mikhail says, sounding shocked but curious, as though he believes me but is unsure why.
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “They’re cowards. Opportunists. They want this, it’s true, but they want it like all cowards—easy, without a real fight.”
The long road is dead at this time of night, streetlamps lighting up the grayness, the moon shining down. At the end of the road, three big SUVs pull out, completely blocking it. The van moves one way, then the other, and I can imagine the fight going on in there, the petty motherfuckers yelling at each other to slow down.
Finally, it’s just like I guessed—no, not guessed. It’s a lifetime of dealing with scumbags, but that doesn’t mean this is even close to being over.
A second after the van comes to a screeching stop, a man leaps from the back, a gun in his hand, dragging a woman by her hair. It’s my Ania with her dark, beautiful hair in his grimy hand, the gun now aimed at her head, something she doesn’t deserve. She’s been through too much. This world has been too damn cruel to her.
I leap from the car, shoulder my rifle, advancing on Roman Kozlov with murder on my mind.
CHAPTER 30
ANIA
“Fuck, fuck,” the man whispers under his breath as cars pull up, surrounding us on the street, more men climbing out with weapons aimed right at him. His hand is in my hair like an angry little creature. Fear tries to twist through me.
Then I see Aiden with the rifle in his hand. Everything else fades away, even Mikhail standing at his side and the sound of Mom moaning as one of the big men handles her. It’s like everything hones down to one single point. Aiden’s lips are twisted in determination, his huge body seeming to pulse with protectiveness.
“Far enough!” the man yells.
“Roman, you stupid fuck,” Mikhail snaps. “All you had to do was stop dealing the shit that kills your customers anyway. We were going to let you off easy.”
The pasta in my belly swirls, and a crazy idea hits me. It’s one of those ideas that would probably make me laugh if my life wasn’t in danger. Sometimes, my throat is so sore that sticking my finger down there is painful. So I’ve pressed and pushed on my belly instead.
The idea grows, and I subtly poke at my stomach. I want to help. As pathetic as this is, as small as it is, it’s something, right?
“Let’s not make this ugly,” Roman yells.
“Do I seriously have to point out that you’re surrounded?” Mikhail snaps.
From behind us, Dimitri says in Russian, “It is time for this to end.”
Roman shouts, “I don’t fucking speak Russian.”
Again, I almost laugh. Everything feels so surreal, so ridiculous. I don’t even let myself think about how futile all this belly pushing probably is. Aiden keeps staring, his eyes narrowed, his chest rising and falling harder than it ever did in the gym.