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Prologue
ANDREI
Blood coated my hands as I fought for control of my breathing. Sergei shook my shoulder, and I jolted back to awareness.
“Get it together,” my cousin snapped. His clothes and arms were covered in blood, and more pulsed down his chest from a gunshot wound in his shoulder. “We’ve got to go!”
The room's sounds snapped into focus, and I fell back into the moment.
The exchange had gone bad. The Armenians didn’t like something about us and had opened fire.
Sasha was dead. A bullet had struck him in the chest. I told him to wear a damn vest, but my best friend and bodyguard said it was going to be an easy day. Mygrandfathersaid it was going to be an easy day.
Now, his lifeless eyes would haunt me. It was his blood that covered my hands.
But now was not the time for mourning the dead.
It was time to avenge them.
I pulled my gun out from its holster and fired several shots as I leaned out from my hiding spot behind some shelves.
One dead.
Two wounded.
I snapped back behind cover as bullets flew at my location.
Sergei nodded, his face paling as he grimaced with pain.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I snapped and made a run for the back door, Sergei close on my heels.
He tried to go to the driver's side, but I cut him off. “Seal your damn wound. You can’t drive when you’re already swaying.”
Sergei gritted his teeth but rounded the car to the passenger side.
I hopped in the driver's seat and started the car to gun it out of the parking lot. I was thankful to Sasha, who told us to park in the back in case we needed to make a quick escape.
“Fuck,” I bit out and slammed my fist against the steering wheel.
“Call Doc,” Sergei gasped out, holding his phone for me. I turned to see him lift his hand from the wound, blood dripping from his fingers. His face was deathly pale.
Another string of curses passed from my lips, and I grabbed the phone. Expertly, I steered through the streets of Moscow and flipped the phone open to call my grandfather.
“Da.”
One word. Not surprising.
“Get Doc over to the house immediately.” I dodged a police car that began to give chase before giving up quickly.
No one crossed the Volkovs. Not even the police. Not when the commissioner was good friends with Viktor.
“What happened?”
“The Armenians turned face and started shooting,” I snarled. “Sasha is dead, and Sergei is losing a lot of blood. I’ll be back in five.”
I disconnected the call, in no mood to listen to anything more from Viktor.
Sergei grunted and leaned his head back to rest against the seat. “Fucking hurts.”
