The warehouse explodes. Two guys dive for cover behind a forklift, spraying the air with submachine gun fire. I shove Irina behind a steel pallet, my body acting as a shield for a split second before I roll to the left.
The noise is deafening—the thunder of my Sig and the rattle of their Uzis. I fire twice more, the bullets punching through the forklift’s thin metal. One man screams, clutching his shoulder, and my next round finds his chest. He slumps over the steering wheel.
"Mikhail, left!" Irina suddenly screams.
I spin. A fourth guy is charging out of the shipping office, a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. I don't have time to aim. I squeeze the trigger, and the bullet catches him in the throat. He stumbles, blood bubbling out of his neck as he hits the concrete.
The last guy realizes he’s alone. He turns to run for the side exit, but I’m faster. I fire a single shot, low. It shatters his kneecap, and he hits the floor, screaming.
I walk toward him, the barrel of my gun still hot. I grab the guy by his hair and jerk his head back. Blood is leaking from his mouth.
"Who gave the fucking order?" I hiss. I press the hot barrel of my gun against his forehead.
“We were just ordered… I don’t know?—”
I drop him.
I turn back to the women. They’re still on the floor, shaking. Irina is already there, kneeling next to a girl who looks about eighteen. She’s using a knife she found on the floor to cut the zip-ties. Her voice is low and steady, comforting them.
"You're safe," she says, her eyes locked on the girl’s. "I’ve got you. You're safe now."
I watch her for a long moment. She doesn't care about the blood on her shoes or the bodies on the floor. She’s focused on them. She looks up at me, and her blue eyes are full of a fury that matches mine.
"We need to get them out of here," she says.
"I’ll call Artyom," I say. I look at the man I just shot in the leg. "And then I’m going to find my father."
The silence of the warehouse is heavy now, filled with the scent of cordite and the quiet sobbing of the women. I look at Irina, and for the first time, I don't see the bride I bought. I see a partner.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MIKHAIL
The silence in the warehouse is louder than the gunshots were.
I stand in the middle of the bay, my chest heaving, the weight of the Sig still heavy in my hand. The air smells like burnt powder and iron. I look at the man I shot in the leg. He’s curled in a ball, making a wet, pathetic sound every time he breathes.
Fucking sodding bastard.
I should be finishing him. I should be checking the back exits. But I look up at Irina.
She’s still on the floor, kneeling next to one of the girls who was about to be loaded into a crate. She doesn't look like a spoilt, lying, bratty Petrov princess right now. Her hair is a mess,there’s a smudge of grease on her jaw, and she’s holding that girl’s hand like it’s the only thing keeping them both grounded.
I feel a weird, uncomfortable jolt in my chest. It’s not lust—though the way her pants are stretched tight over her thighs while she’s crouching isn't helping—it’s something else. It feels a lot like respect and it’s fucking unsettling.
I pull my phone out and hit the speed dial for Artyom.
"It’s done," I say as soon as he picks up. I don't wait for him to speak. "Warehouse Seven is a mess. These bastards were moving women through here. Slavic girls. Twelve of them."
Artyom doesn't say anything for a second. I can hear him exhale, a long, tired sound. "Father is involved?"
"I’m sure he is, with fucking slimy Boris." I grunt, glancing at the man on the floor. "I need the cleanup crew here in ten. And Artyom? Open the hospital wing in the west estate. I want doctors and a security detail. No one touches these women unless they’re wearing a medical coat."
"I'll handle it," Artyom says. "Get to the dinner, Mikhail. We need to be perfect tonight."
I end the call and shove the phone back into my pocket. I walk toward the wounded man. He looks up at me, his face pale and slick with sweat. He’s terrified. He should be.
"You're going to stay alive just long enough to tell my men everything you know," I say, my voice flat. I grab him by the collar and jerk him toward a support beam. "If you lie, I’ll start with the other knee."
