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Cracking the door open, I gaze out, but I’m too nervous to go further. Guards might see me, and then they might decide to lock me in. When I left the basement, I spared a look at the dining room and saw that it was empty.
That was hours ago. Are they in Yevgeniy’s bedroom?
Shuddering with raw disgust, I shut the door quietly and return to bed. Rolling onto my side, I hug my knees until I’m more curled than a snail’s shell. My mind keeps throwing awful images at me, conjuring up things that Yevgeniy might be doing to my mother. I could reach them if I tried. Guards or not, if I was quick, I could run past them. And then what would I do?
I’ve never felt so helpless.
That’s when the tears start coming, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until rivers run down my cheeks.
I burrow into my pillow, but my mind continues to torture me with vivid pictures of the vile things Yevgeniy is doing to my mom.
There’s one person who could appear from the darkness, thrusting himself into the fray. Someone with enough strength and a drive for vengeance that would allow him to vanquish all my enemies and save both my mother and me from this living hell.
Arsen ... please ...
Come save us.
That night, I dream that he does.
But it remains just that—a dream and nothing more.
2
ARSEN
The bullet wound in my shoulder still burns days later. The cuts on my hands from shattered glass are barely healed. A normal man might have taken time to rest up and heal, but I don’t have the luxury of wasting a single second. There are more pressing matters at hand.
Turning the wooden bat in my fist, I slap it into my opposite palm. Blood flicks from the bat, staining the front of my shirt. Mila stands behind me, watching with a bored expression on her face as I turn my attention back to the object of my fury.
“Stop, God, please fucking stop!” Sergei roars.
“Damn,” I mutter. “Maybe wearing white was a bad idea. Then again, your black clothing isn’t helping you much, now that I think about it.”
Sergei’s shirt collar and shoulders are soaked with blood from his broken mouth. Every wheezing breath he takes or desperate cry he makes sends more red splattering onto the material. “Arsen Kirilovich … stop this. I’m begging you.”
“Not until you tell me where Yevgeniy took my wife.”
“I don’t know, you bastard!”
“Wrong answer.” Giving the bat a lazy swing, I take a few practice hits at the empty air. Sergei flinches during each one. “You know something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have led us to the safe house. Galina was there. So were your buddies waiting to ambush us.”
It was a miracle we got out of there alive. Mila was quick enough to narrow in on where the sniper was. She rolled next to me in the heat of the onslaught, snatching one of my guns from my belt. She managed to shoot him through the broken window while he was reloading. A single shot was all it took. Mila was deadly efficient, especially when neither of us knew just how many others there were.
And there were others. But by the time they approached the house, thinking we were injured and cornered, we were ready for them. Together, Mila and I left the would-be ambushers dead on the ground. We didn’t bother to clean up the mess afterward—the cops could handle that for our troubles.
I had other pressing business.
Gritting my teeth, I rub at my bullet wound again. Between the warehouse and this last encounter, Yevgeniy’s men are leaving more scars on me than I’ve earned in years.
“You were hoping we’d die in there, weren’t you?” I ask.
“No.” Sergei shakes his head rapidly. His eyes bulge, focused on my bat. “I would never hope that, Arsen Kirilovich.”
Smiling with an echo of cynicism, I push the wet tip of the bat into his chest until I hear a discernible pop.
“You’re a terrible liar, Sergei.” My lips twist into a bestial smile. “I’m ashamed I didn’t see the trap coming, in hindsight. So that’s on me. But leading me to it …” I take a deep breath. “That’s on you.”
I hoist the bat over my shoulder and slam it into Sergei’s rib cage, where I hear the satisfying sounds of multiple ribs breaking from the impact. He doubles over, spitting blood into his lap with a bubbling gag of sticky phlegm.
