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“Fuck you, Kolya!” Gasping, she shrinks away from me.
Hurt flashes across her face and remains in her eyes as she stares wildly at me. Her wounded gaze can’t break mine. Larissa doesn’t know where to look and trembles with pain and rage. My nasty words went deep into her heart, and they will remain lodged there between us.
Rurik steps forward to intervene. His mouth is set in a straight line as he stares at my grip on my sister’s arm. He knows betterthan to challenge me, but it’s Larissa who has come between us this time. Standing beside us, he hesitates for the first time.
Larissa is his wife, but I am still his pakhan.
“Face the door!” I demand. “Eto moi prikaz!”
“Rurik, it’s all right,” Larissa tells him swiftly, yanking her arm away. “You know how siblings fight.” She glares at me. Hurt and anger fight for control in her eyes. “Dirty and below the belt.”
I glare at Larissa, but she ignores it, knowing I’m teetering on a dangerous edge. I know I went too hard and that words can hit harder than bullets. A bullet wound will heal over. A word’s wound will always remain agape and rip you to pieces when you least expect it.
And that’s exactly what we did to each other.
Rurik turns silently to the door and resumes his position. Suddenly, he steps away as a man bursts in.
“One of the guards spotted a man that fits the description of Zakhar.” The words rush out of the guard’s mouth. “She’s following him from a distance until he can be surrounded.”
I stare at Eden in her bed, torn between how I should act at this critical moment. Leave her or finish Zakhar?
“We’ll stay with her, Kolya.” Larissa ignores the hurtful words spoken a moment ago. She reaches around her husband’s waist, and her hand disappears under his baggy sweatshirt. When it reappears, she’s holding one of his Glocks, fully loaded, and hands it to me. “You do what you must.”
“Lara.” I nod to my sister. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
“I know,” she says, lifting her chin. “And I’m sorry I kept this from you.”
Alertto potential dangers around the next corner, I hurry out of the room with the guard, Taras, leading the way. His baritone voice is barely audible as he talks into his Bluetooth headset, yet I hear every word. Taras repeats the response on the other end for me to hear.
“He’s dressed in janitorial gear,” he says. “But his face is recognizable. Spotted by the loading dock in the blue wing.”
I pick up speed down the hallway leading to the elevator bank. “Is he carrying or pushing anything?”
“A gray trash can on wheels,” Taras replies.
I shake my head. “They don’t use gray trash cans in this hospital. That thing’s deep enough to hide a rifle.”
The hospital is painted in muted colors, making navigating through the maze of indistinguishable hallways difficult. We slow down to find the right hallway leading to the loading dock where Zakhar, in disguise, was spotted.
The industrial metal doors to the loading dock are up ahead, wide open, and the entire rear parking lot is visible. But something is off.
The two female guards who called it in are the only two people around. Why are the doors open when there’s no truck? And why is this area empty of people right now?
Halting, I raise my hand and motion for Taras to fall in behind me. He signals the others to stop and be silent, and the two women warily eye our surroundings. Dressed in dark blue nursing uniforms with ID tags, they won’t arouse suspicion until it’s too late.
The blonde guard peeks through the gap between the wall and the open door. A heavy piece of industrial plastic divided into flaps creates a hazy view of the outside, but she can see enough. The guard moves her fingers in a unique sign language only we can understand.
“Two vehicles in the parking lot, drivers’ side windows facing each other,” whispers Taras. “Put eyes on them.” He speaks low to an unseen guard and then addresses me. “They’re running the plates, but it’s suspicious. Should we …”
I hold up my hand to silence him.
If Zakhar is in one of those cars, I can get a clean shot and end this forever. My heart races with excitement as my hands instinctively ball into fists. I’m ready for the kill. Eden almost died because of him. I should’ve finished Zakhar sooner. If I had … I think about Ippolit, justifying my building rage and intent.
If my child dies, there will be no place Zakhar can hide on this earth.
“Cover me.” I march through the open doors and head straight toward the two idling cars. My keyed-up body splits the plastic flaps apart, and heat rushes through me as they flap shut behind me. My hand has a mind of its own. It extends as if the gun is welded to it, and they are one. The traitor must die, and I ignore the voice in my head, begging for one last chance. I will endZakhar, and he will never take another person I love away from me again.
“Nikolai Gennadyevich!” Taras hisses from the dock. “Cover him. Cover him.”
