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The blond I fought at the club and confronted in my apartment just this morning speaks up. All eyes shift to him. But he’s not talking to Viktor as his voice carries through the room. Instead, his cold gaze is focused on me.
“Man, you must be a turncoat,” he states emphatically. “I kept telling Kryuger, but he wouldn’t believe me. And then your story this morning was just so damn convincing. You even had me going for a minute there.”
Viktor’s eyes flash toward me as the blond’s words turn my veins to ice. And in an instant, I feel the energy shift. The Sakharov men’s quiet observation of a moment before transforms into a tangible tension.
I’m so dead.
If I thought Viktor’s finding out that I was sleeping with his sister was bad, I know without a doubt that this is worse.
But the blond’s not done yet. He gives a low whistle, demonstrating the astonishment at his realization. “You’re cold-blooded, Mishka. Not only did you open fire on the men you once called brothers, now you’re ready to stand by and watch as we’re tortured to death?” He tsks, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “What would Sascha think of you now?”
Rage boils in my blood as he says my brother’s name, and I take an involuntary step forward, my fists clenching. I’m ready to murder the smug bastard, to strangle the life from him right here and now.
But it would seem his accusation has had the desired effect. All eyes turn to me now, open hostility laser-focused in my direction.
And in the blink of an eye, I’ve been exposed for the traitor I am.
29
ALINA
Relief floods me as Viktor’s car pulls into the alleyway behind our house. Several other black SUVs follow suit, making my heart skip a beat. I’ve been waiting for hours at the window, watching for any sign of their return, and the breath rushes from my lungs as I’m astonished to see they had far more Sakharov men in this fight than I had realized.
That little nugget of information might have saved me hours of agonizing. But I can’t really blame Viktor for letting the detail slip his mind. I gave him a lot to think about.
Men pile out of the vehicles, many disbursing into the night like shadows, but among the men who enter the house through the back gate, I recognize Viktor and three of the soldiers that were in his car earlier tonight. My heart skips a beat when I realize Mishka and the fourth man who was with them are missing.
Tears sting my eyes, and I cover my mouth as I wonder if that means the worst has happened. Then a commotion catches my eye. From the back of another vehicle, three men are hauled out, their wrists bound, Sakharov men steering them roughly forward down the alley.
Prisoners.
My heart pounds to think I might get a chance to face my aggressors. And though the possibility terrifies me, I also desperately crave the closure. I want to see the man with the scarred face, to look him in the eye and know he’ll never terrorize me again. Maybe then, I can be free of him in my dreams, even when I’m not falling asleep in Mishka’s arms.
Though I know my father wouldn’t want me involved, I can’t help myself. I race down the stairs, determined to catch a glimpse of the men before they vanish into the catacombs beneath our home. And hopefully learn about Mishka’s whereabouts.
But as I reach the landing, I stop dead, and my heart pounds with renewed horror.
Men fill the entryway, near twenty in all, I would say. Several with various levels of injuries. But that’s not what makes my stomach drop. What does is the fact that my burn-faced aggressor is not among the prisoners…
But Mishka is.
Hands tied behind his back, he’s hauled roughly through the doorway by two men as I stand in stunned silence on the landing. He looks as though he’s had the beating of a lifetime, every inch of him covered in bruises and cuts. An open wound above his eyebrow bleeds heavily down his temple, making my stomach drop.
Is this what Viktor meant by he would see what he could do?
How could my brother be so ruthless?
Did he even consider the promise he made me before he hurt the man I love?
He said we could talk before he did anything, but from the looks of it, he’s already found Mishka guilty and is more than ready to execute him.
The prisoners, Mishka among them, are forced to their knees, forming a line in the center of the foyer as though they’re about to stand trial right here in our entryway. No one seems to have noticed me yet, and as my father steps into the foyer, all eyes shift to him.
“What the hell is going on?” he demands. “You know this isn’t the way we do things, Viktor. Besides, I told you, no survivors. Finish them all.”
Then his eyes fall on Mishka, and a deathly silence blankets the room.
“We killed the men who took Alina—well, most of them,” Viktor states coldly. “But we brought these prisoners back for questioning because their leader wasn’t among them.”
