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“Vanity mission? Watch who you’re talking to,” snapped the young buck.
Mikhail rolled his eyes and cut in, “Both of you, drop it. You’re on the same side, and you all work for me. So leave your bickering behind or I’ll waste you too. Got it?”
The men definitely did get it. They set aside their arguments and listened to Mikhail. The hours of daylight ticked away until it was afternoon, and finally, the men were hot on the Armenians’ trail. The man with the coordinates drove first, followed by the other two Bratok, and finally Mikhail in the rear. The desert shimmered in the afternoon sunshine. The cars sped down the highway and turned left off into the dirt. Mikhail gritted his teeth as his sedan, with its broken passenger side window, rumbled across the rough landscape. With every mile closer, Mikhail’s righteous fury grew more intense. The Sokolovs had been at war with the Armenians for a long time, as long as Mikhail could remember. Compared to the Baranovs, it was a piddling rivalry. The Armenians were coarse and cruel, but far less connected. They weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, but they were no match for the Sokolovs’ resources. Vasili had been stomping them down for years, only for the group to pop back up and cause issues again. Now that Mikhail was Pakhan, it was doubly important that he got them under control. He needed to strike an imposing figure as the head of the organization, to inspire loyalty in his men and reverence in his enemies. He wanted them to fear him.
And it was such a personal attack, stealing his own future wife right out from under his nose. It was bad enough having to defend his father’s choice to unite with the Baranovs, but to be disrespected by the Armenians? It was too much. It was unacceptable. Mikhail would make them pay for what they did and make an example of them.
The convoy of Sokolov vehicles shot across the desert with dust in their wake, following the curls of smoke and the traditional music playing on the wind. Mikhail saw the vans and trailers clumped together up ahead. Some of the Armenians were outside, drinking, joking around, scrapping with each other. The camp was set up like concentric circles, with the most important people and supplies hoarded in the center. Mikhail knew that was where they’d find her.
There were more of them than expected, but Mikhail felt no anxiety as they pulled up to the outer edges of the camp. The watchdogs caught sight of the Sokolov convoy. They dropped their nudie mags and smokes and took up their weapons. They shouted threats and fired at Mikhail and his men. But this time, they were prepared. The Armenian security guys were no match for their marksmanship. Mikhail calmly shot down several of them through the shattered passenger window while his men did the same. They made quick work of the security circle, and their gunshots drew more of them. Mikhail reloaded his weapon and fired again and again. There wasn’t a breath of remorse in his body as he watched them drop to the ground. He was on a mission. Nothing scared him. Nothing slowed him down.
He and his men pummeled through the concentric rings of the Armenian camp, killing ruthlessly as they went. When they reached the inner circle, Mikhail saw the older, better-dressed of the group hanging around one particular trailer, trying to guard it. He knew instantly that had to be the place they were keeping Annika. Rage and disgust bubbled up inside of him as he pondered what they’d put her through. His anger reached a steaming high.
He rolled down his window and poked out the barrel of his gun. At the same time, he floored the gas pedal. The car lurched forward, crushing several of the men who didn’t move fast enough. The others were even less lucky, as Mikhail and his men picked them off with their guns. Shots cracked the stillness. The smell of propellants and gasoline stunk in the air. Mikhail lost count of the bodies he felled on his path to the locked trailer. He shot the lock off the door and it popped open, slamming hard against the vinyl siding. Mikhail backed into the trailer, still shooting at the Armenian gang members coming after him.
“Annika!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Mikhail!”
Her voice was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Annika came rushing over and nearly knocked him down with the force of her embrace. Genuine relief and affection rushed over him. Mikhail slid one strong arm around her while he fired down the trailer steps. His three men were doing a fine job of eliminating threats outside, and the few enemies left were starting to throw in the towel. They took off into the desert, some on foot and others jumping into their vans to escape.
“Cleared!” the eldest Bratok yelled.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” shouted Vadim, who was grinning maniacally.
“Come on,” Mikhail hissed. Blocking her with his body, he led Annika down the steps and out into the cool desert air.
“Oh my god,” she gasped.
She put a hand over her mouth when she saw the carnage littered across the Armenian camp. She and Mikhail had to leap over twitching bodies to reach his car. Mikhail’s loyal Brodyaga continued to stand guard and shoot at anyone who moved.
“Go! We’ve got your back!” one of them hollered.
Mikhail threw the car into drive and took off. The desert chill whipped through the open windows. The sunset glowed like a dying coal ahead of them. They drove and drove, leaving the gunshots far behind as they pulled onto the highway again. Adrenaline pumped through Mikhail’s body. He looked over at Annika, who was staring at him with tearful eyes.
“I thought you were dead,” she cried.
“No fucking chance,” he replied.
“I saw them shoot you!” she blurted out.
Mikhail pulled back his jacket to flash his vest. “It’ll take more than that to kill me.”
“You came back… you saved me from them,” Annika said, almost in shock.
“Of course, I fucking came back,” he retorted. “I would never leave you withthem.”
“They said they wanted to hold me for ransom. They were going to ask my father for money,” she explained. “I… I don’t think he would’ve paid it.”
Mikhail felt a pang of pity for her. That was an unusual feeling for him. But she was right. Egor was unlikely to pay the Armenians to get her back, especially now that Annika was Mikhail’s property, not his own.
Instead of saying that, he simply replied, “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Annika admitted softly.
She reached out and laid her dainty hand on his muscular arm. He looked at her in the radiance of sunset. Despite the tears and dirt on her face, Annika was glowing. Mikhail thought he had never seen anything or anyone so beautiful. He felt that deep stirring of lust again. He was so grateful to have her back. He was more eager than ever to possess her, make it so nobody could ever question again to whom she belonged. He picked up speed as they rolled across city limits toward the Arts District. Mikhail was in a hurry to get back to the privacy of his penthouse apartment, so he could show his future wife just how much he had missed her.
CHAPTER12
