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This was why we wear black. No mess.
“Less than twenty minutes left,” Yegor muttered, his cold voice breaking through my hazy thoughts. “We need to get to Valerie and Irina fast.”
I nodded silently. Time to get my girl and then we were getting the fuck outta this place.
My heart felt heavy in my compressed chest the longer it took me to get to her. I was fighting on adrenaline, pushing past through the barrage of guards, Solonik’s soldiers, and assassins, leaving a trail of dead bodies behind me.
I grew unfeeling toward the screams of pain. The copper scent of blood was strong, but I thrived on it, breathed it in, and let the little fucking devil on my shoulder feed on the smell of death.
There was a bellowed scream. I turned around to see a man standing two feet away, pointing his Glock in my direction, his barrel aimed at my chest. I pointed my own gun at him and pulled the trigger but nothing happened…FUCK.
The world stilled.
The bastard grinned and a gunshot echoed through the wall. My eyes widened and the world grew dark. I expected a fiery pain, but then I was being pushed to the ground. It happened too fast and my eyes only caught a blur as a solid body slammed into me. My head hit the wall and my vision grew hazy for a second.
The fucker who shot at me was on the ground too, writhing. I heard a gurgling sound coming from his throat. The heavy weight on my back brought me back to the present.
“Viktor.”
The voice was rough and pained.
Yegor.
Fuck! Holy shit!
I struggled from under his body, where he had covered me, and he rolled on the ground. Yegor’s eyes were clenched shut and the palm of his hand was pressing flat over his chest. No. No. No.
Dark red blood seeped through his fingers and coated his shirt. Blood of my enemies did nothing to me. I killed with a passion. My favorite fucking pastime. It’s child play for me.
But blood on my family—my brothers—it made me lose whatever sanity I had left.
He slowly opened his eyes, and once he saw that I didn’t get shot, he looked almost relieved.
“Not…okay…” he wheezed. “Probably pierced something important…inside…me…”
Panic welled in my throat, and my body grew heavy. I fought the tremors running through me, but the chill spread through my spine, taking all the heat out of my body.
Shock and adrenaline made it hard to think for a moment.
“Not…gonna make…it, Boss.”
His words snapped me back to where I needed to be. I shrugged off my suit jacket and pressed it over his wound. Fucking shit. He was bleeding too much. “Put pressure on it,” I hissed.
“Nah…”
If possible, his mocha skin grew paler. His dark eyes were deep and a bit hazy. He was trying so fucking hard to keep his attention on me, fighting to stay alive, fighting for his next breath.
His chest expanded as he took in a shuddering breath. “Honored…to work on…your side, Viktor.”
FUCK!
“Don’t speak, Yegor. Don’t. Fucking. Speak. Save your strength.”
I looked around me, the mass of dead bodies now mocking me. No escape. No help. No fucking escape from his motherfucking hellhole.
Yegor grasped my hand with his bloodied one. His hand was shaking, but he saved the last of his strength to squeeze my hand. The back of my eyes pricked, and I wondered if they were tears.
Yegor was a man of honor.
A trusted soldier.
A beloved brother.
“One favor…I ask only one favor…” he breathed and then coughed. Blood started to gather at the corner of his lips, and he spat it out.
“Name it,” I said, my heart weighing heavy.
“I want to die as an Ivanshov. Not with the name of the traitor attached to me.”
Yegor was a Solonik but loyal to the Ivanshov family.
I knew what he needed.
“Give me peace,” he muttered.
This was Alessio’s job. The King decided who carried his name. Very few people had the honor of that. Only family.
I took out my dagger, the emblem of the Ivanshov family on the handle. Taking his palm in my hand, I made a tiny cut in the middle. “With this blood, I honor you with the name Ivanshov.”
I kept it short, but the job was done. He was now one of us.
Yegor chuckled and then hissed, pain masking his expression. I handed my dagger to him, the same one Alessio gave me when we turned eighteen years old and he took over as Boss and I his second in command. This dagger held too many memories—a dagger of loyalty. Yegor wrapped his fingers around the handle, clenching it tight. He nodded, looking relieved and at peace.
“I am sorry, brother.”
“Nah…knew this…would happen one day…”
My throat seemed to close, and I tried to say something. My lips parted, but I couldn’t find my voice. “You…need to go,” Yegor struggled to say. He patted the gun on his side. “I’ll cover your back.”
