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Later, he learned that the shot had only grazed Raketa’s scalp, resulting in enough bleeding that Lena had believed she’d successfully offed the woman.
He didn’t remember much about the night they’d spent together, except he knew they’d had sex until he finally passed out. Then, in the morning, she’d sneaked out while he was in the shower.
A few months went by before he heard from Raketa again, and then she wanted to make a deal. She told him she knew who had kidnapped the victims of his then-current op, and where they were being held. In exchange for that information, she wanted his help with an op of her own—leaving the employ of United Russia, or in other words, defecting.
Agreeing to help her was what had landed him in the bowels of hell, otherwise known as Baku, Azerbaijan, trying to find where a Russian black market arms’ dealer was holding her prisoner and, more importantly, why.
—:—
Makar Petrov was a cold-hearted sonuvabitch, but Raketa doubted he’d kill her. If he was going to, he would’ve done it by now.
If it weren’t for Rauf “Topor” Evasov, she would’ve killed Petrov first, but she’d ended up his captive instead.
Raketa still cursed the emotional reaction she’d had when she saw Petrov put a gun to the head of a woman who shared her DNA. Letting her guard down, not pulling the trigger for fear she’d kill the woman rather than the man who was her target, was what had allowed Topor to knock her out and load her onto Petrov’s plane.
The circumstances of her incarceration certainly weren’t what most would consider a hardship
. Instead of keeping her in a cold, dark room, Petrov had ensconced her in an apartment within his compound in Old City Baku. She’d been told she was free to come and go within its ancient walls, which dated back at least to the twelfth century, although some contended they were constructed as long ago as the seventh.
She could probably live out the rest of her life here. Petrov would keep her safe from United Russia, who’d put a price on her head of over a million dollars. However, there were two reasons she couldn’t do that.
First, she’d never work in intelligence again, unless it was for Petrov, and then it would have to be done within the confines of the Old City because she wouldn’t be let out of it in her lifetime, or his.
The other thing was, she’d never see Gunner Godet again. The man likely had no recollection of the last time they were together. It was the same day he’d saved her life, and she’d gone in search of him to offer her thanks.
“You shouldn’t be here. What the fuck are you doing here?” Gunner scowled through what was obviously a drunken haze when she found him sitting in the otherwise empty bar.
“Paps, you’re—”
“Don’t call me that,” he barked back at her.
“Izvini,” she muttered. “I know Lena was—”
In a flash, Gunner stood and grasped her neck with his hand, holding it tightly enough that it was difficult for her to breathe, but not enough that he cut off her air supply entirely. If she wanted to, it would be easy for her to break free. Instead, she absorbed the pain flowing from his fingertips.
“Never say that name again either. Do you understand me?”
She couldn’t nod or speak with his hand on her throat, but her eyes bored into his.
“Never,” he spat again, this time releasing her.
She sat down at his table when he did, and lifted the half-empty bottle of vodka. “May I?”
He grabbed it from her, stood, and stalked over to the bar. When he returned, he slammed a glass on the table in front of her and poured.
She didn’t wait for the toast that typically would be expected. The situation was anything but typical. She threw the shot back and poured herself another. This time she waited for him since his glass was still full.
Her eyes remained focused on his as she kept her hand clasped around the icy-cold vodka.
“Leave,” he said right before he threw the shot back.
Raketa shook her head, watching the only other person in the room, the bartender, follow a command intended for her.
Gunner inched closer, leaning forward enough that she could feel the heat of his breath.
“I want to be left the hell alone,” he seethed.
“No.” She’d been where he was too many times before, but never because she’d killed someone she cared about.
