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With one swoop, he lifts me off my feet and just as he turns, I hear a soft click that has him going rigid.
“Leaving so soon, Malikov? Is that any way to start our new business relationship?” The voice drips with confidence and a hint of disdain. Each word is a taunt from the shadows until the man steps out into the light of the streetlamps, his gun aimed at Konstantin’s head. “She must be valuable if you’re willing to break our deal for her.”
I keep my head hidden by the hood as the man moves in closer. I catch a quick glimpse of dark hair slicked back, a jagged scar trailing down his cheek that sends a shiver down my spine.
“The night is young, Moretti. Go back inside and get yourself a drink. Before you find the bottom of the glass, the deal will be done.” The words rumble through the night, calm and sure, but I feel the change in his heart. The ominous thud in his chest as the adrenaline in his blood surges to a whole new level.
Moretti’s dress shoes click in time with the clucking of his tongue. “This looks a lot more interesting.” A cool hand glides over my calf. “Why don’t you do whatever it is you need to do, and I’ll keep the girl company.”
“Hands off.” A growl echoes from Konstantin’s chest. With a quick jerk, he yanks me free, spins me, and dumps me in Grigori’s arms.
The cat and mouse games die the minute Moretti laid a hand on me. With one move, Konstantin meets the challenge of battle and our quiet escape plunges into chaos. Shots split through the hum of the air as Grigori’s feet pound the pavement.
“No! We can’t leave him.”
I push against his chest, fight him with everything I have, but he only tightens his grip, a curse of frustration on his lips. “He’s fine. Dammit. Stop moving.”
Digging my nails into his flesh, I thrash against him, my every movement shifting the cape until it binds me while more shots ring through the night. Konstantin could be dying right now. In the street, alone, bleeding, and I never had the chance to tell him—to show him—what he means to me.
My lungs ache as I fight back frustrated tears. I can’t see to stop tearing at his skin, his blood slick under my nails, his pain-laced hiss the only sign I’m having any effect on him. Within minutes, he’s taking the steps two at a time and ducking into an apartment building.
Dropping me to my feet, he snatches my hands away from his neck and holds them up between us, his eyes widening at the sight of blood coating my fingers almost to my palm. “Fucking hell. Damn women. More fucking trouble than they’re worth.” With a grunt, he drags me over to the door under the stairs that lead to the second floor. Shoving me through, he drags it shut behind us, plunging us into darkness.
My heart hammers in my ears, the sound of his mutters blurring at the edges until they disappear under the thunder of my own panic. I spin around and reach out, searching for something, anything to ground me. My fingers scrambling for something familiar.
When I spin again, he flicks his flashlight on, the beam hitting me right in the eyes. The dull glow offers sweet relief from the darkness, and the panic threatening to sweep me under recedes, just a bit.
I blink down just as Grigori yanks open a panel in the floor. “Go.”
There’s no light, just stagnant air, and silence.
I take a step back. “I can’t.”
Darkness, thick and warm from another time, another place closes in on me. I hate the weakness. I loathe the control those memories have over me. The power I fear they’ll always have, reminding me that despite my strengths, I’m weak.
I fight for every breath, shaking my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. There’s no way out and he’s here. In the darkness. Waiting to touch me. Taunt me. Hurt me.
Vlad’s torment breathes life despite the two years apart. Because of him, and his torture, I will always be vulnerable, even when I’m strong.
“Nikoletta!” The urgency in Grigori’s voice cuts through even as my vision narrows, and blackness creeps in along the edge until oblivion swallows me whole.
CHAPTER FIVE
KONSTANTIN
I make my way through the cold stone walls of the tunnels to the crypt where Grigori was to take Nikoletta. Every second she’s out of my sight deepens my sense of dread. It was all I could do to turn her over to him. It’s not that I don’t trust him; I just trust me more.
Hunched over and aching, I shuffle through the shortest, narrowest section of the passageway, the part that runs alongside the crypts under Old Saint Patrick’s church. After I pass two more corners, I feel for the false wall that leads to the makeshift dwelling in the family crypt running along the south side of the property. The passage through to this section is a bitch, but it’s the only section where we’ve managed to tap into the water and sewer system. At least then, if we had to lay low for a long period of time, we could survive.
When my fingertips snag on a rough edge along the painted stone walls, I stop. Digging my fingertips into the crumbled gap between the pseudo door and the concrete, I give a firm push. The fake stone slides into the crypt, the foam sealant we use to make it look like it’s sealed giving way with a scrape.
My hand lands on my gun at the sight waiting for me. Grigori is leaning over Nikoletta’s still body on the bed. Something deep and possessive snaps inside me at the sight of him looming over her and in two steps I’ve got him by the collar. Dragging him off the bed, I throw him against the wall and level my barrel at his forehead. “What did you do to her?”
Palms up, he cranes his neck where I see claw marks and dried blood soaked into the collar of the dress shirt and sticking to the fabric. “Easy. She passed out after she tore the shit out of my neck. I still managed to get her down here. You’re welcome.”
With a click, I tip my gun back. “Watch it.” Grigori might get away with that sharp-witted tongue with me, but other members of the Bratva wouldn’t put up with it.
“What happened?” I whip my jacket at his chest which he catches at the last second.
