“Without this woman, you don’t have a ballet troupe,” I point out. “You have a bunch of unhappy girls in tutus.”
Taylor’s eyes are wide and pleading with me not to hurt her mentor.
“You wouldn’t dare,” sneers Yevgeny. “Your little dancer would cry.”
“Try me.” I click the safety on my gun, and though it’s not audible over the sound of the plane engines, I see him register the movement.
Taylor presses her lips together, and I attempt to communicate with a silent look that I don’t care about her friend. I only care about her. If Madam Polina is collateral? Not an issue.
“You’re on your own, Yevgeny. There’s no one coming. The owners of this airfield turn a blind eye, you know that. Just give in, and I’ll let you go.”
Briefly, I think he’ll release Taylor. Then Taylor’s gaze meets mine, and she blinks, and looks down. My brain has barely processed that when she collapses, crumpling onto the ground and leaving Yevgeny exposed for a split second.
That’s all I need.
I’ve straightened my arm and fired right at his head without thinking. He’s blown backwards by the impact, and I release Madam Polina to run forwards. Another bullet in Yevgeny’s skull, and I reach down to Taylor.
My heart thumps in a way I don’t think it ever has before as she takes my hand. She’s cold from the frigid night air, and I pull her to her feet. Then we’re running. I don’t have to tell her.
We sprint up the steps, catching up with a panting Madam Polina, and we practically drag her onto the plane with us. My men have already sprung into action, taking up positions and replacing the aircraft crew.
I bang on the closed door to the cockpit, and yell, “Time to go!”
“Yes, Pakhan!” comes the muffled response. Good man knows he’ll get his family back. They’re waiting for him, and he played his part, keeping the plane grounded until we were done. There’ll be the money I promised as well as a cute reunion.
My team does something clever to push the steps away, then the door slams shut, and Taylor’s caught off-guard as the plane lurches forwards.
I catch her in my arms, and it’s all I can do not to kiss her with premature relief. Because we’re not safe yet.
10
TAYLOR
My heart slows, but my mind can’t take it in as we rise into the air, up, up. Leaving Russia, Yevgeny’s dead body, and the Volk mafia, behind.
Everything is familiar, and yet very different. My ballet colleagues are mostly in the same cramped seats as usual, and there are guards, but they’re suited and serious, breathing hard. Not being gross like Yevgeny’s men.
Kon strides into the middle of the plane.
“Listen up.” Kon’s deep, commanding voice cuts through the hubbub, and everyone turns to look at him. He speaks in Russian, and one of the other girls replies.
His back is to me, and a bolt of something very much like jealousy goes down my spine as I see how he holds the attention of his own men, who are mixed in amongst the rest of us and who look unflinchingly at their leader, and all the dancers.
“English, then,” Kon says. “I apologise for the unconventional way you ended up here. We’ll be swapping planes in a short time to better stay hidden from Volk, then flying to London.
“Where you go after that is your choice. If you have somewhere or someone to go to, we’ll provide transport. Ifyou haven’t, then you’re welcome to settle in Harlesden for as long as you need. London,” he clarifies. He reels off a list of a combination of Russian and English names. “You’ll take the details of help required by…” He sweeps his hand to indicate the dancers on the right-hand side of the plane. “Ivan and Danill, you’ll look after this side.” He pauses, huffs like a dad having his patience tested, then swears in Russian. “Danill, get something for that wound. If there are particular questions, come to me.”
I’m behind him, so I’m not sure who I should go to. I remain where I am.
The plane comes to life with chatter. The other girls show the full range of emotions. Some are sceptical, others laughing and clinging to each other. Michelle comes over and kisses me in that French way of hers, but she’s quickly distracted, and I think I’m a bit numb. Can’t believe it.
The plane swap is chaotic, but we get everyone from the Volk plane to Kon’s private plane. And that catches all of our attention. It’s plush. Cream leather, thick carpet, huge seats.
The second time we take off, there’s a change. The smartly dressed cabin crew are remarkably unfazed by the haste and the unexpected passengers, and press us into seats, but the mood lifts. I see Kon nod when one of the crew asks him something, and then there’s champagne being handed out as soon as we’re in the air, along with canapes as though this is a party. There’s laughter and intense conversations, and everyone wants to talk to Kon.
It all happens so fast.
We make an odd group. The women I’ve danced with for years, all in their comfy clothes but their straightened hair in tight buns or ponytails, on this luxurious private jet, with Kon’s tattooed men.
