Page 32 of Ruby Menace

Despite my conflicting emotions, I know that my only hope is Kirill.

The only problem is that he’ll be walking right into a trap.

Chapter Twelve

Kirill

Dima and I stand outside the warehouse, surrounded by my loyal men.

All the clues these fuckers have left behind lead us here. It is clear that they wanted us to find them. Which also means that they will be expecting us.

It also means they’re using Tiana as leverage to get to you, dolboyob.

I know it’s me they want. But the fact that Tiana has to suffer the consequences of that makes my blood boil. I dragged her into this shit, then I fucking failed her. Over and over again.

Blyad!

I clench my jaw and force myself to focus on the task ahead. If I had my way, I would blow up the whole fucking place, with every spineless Petrov bastard inside. Except I can’t do that. Not when Tiana is inside. The only way to get her back is to go in, kill anyone who gets in my way, and get her out. I grit my teeth as a surge of adrenaline courses through me at the thought. I’m on the hunt, and nothing will stop me from getting my woman back. Not even Vlad fucking Petrov.

“This is the place,” I grit out.

Dima nods, fixing his attention on the building ahead of us. “You know they’ll be waiting, right?”

“Da.” Of course I know but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting to face these motherfuckers for a long time. In fact, my lust for their blood is drawing me like a rabid beast snapping at the end of a chain.

Dima gives another curt nod, then raises a hand, gesturing to the men lining up behind us. Dozens of shapes flit through the shadows, circling the sprawling structure.

“Move in,” I say under my breath a second before I spring to my feet and surge forward. I’m incensed, out for blood – enemy blood. I don’t bother looking back to see if the others are following. I know that they are.

Less than a minute later, we’re in.

We storm the warehouse, guns blazing. It only takes a few seconds for the bullets to start hailing down in response to our assault. It’s a few seconds too long. The two men at the door go down without getting a chance to scream. I put a slug between the eyes of one while Dima slashes the throat of the other, arterial blood spraying out in an arc. It spatters my face and my clothes, but I leave it, not caring that it dries on my skin as I bolt through the door. If anything, it’s better that I’m covered with the blood of my enemies. It will take a psychological toll on any fucker who dares to stand up to me.

There are more men on the inside, but I don’t think that Petrov was prepared for me to come at him with full force. There can’t be more than twenty of his thugs out here. One of them charges at me, a snarl on his face. I can see the madness in his eyes, the desperation. He’s a cornered animal, and he’s ready to fight to the death. I can respect that. But it won’t save his life.

I sidestep his clumsy lunge, my movements fluid and precise. He stumbles past me, his momentum carrying him forward. I don’t give him a chance to recover. I grab the back of his head and slam his face into the nearest wall. I hear the crunch of bone and cartilage, before he goes limp in my grip. I drop his corpse to the floor, already turning to face the next threat.

“Kirill!” Dima’s shout has me spinning in his direction. There are more of them now, pouring out of the shadows like hungry hyenas. With so many of our men milling about, it’s not a good idea to be raining lead. So, I draw my knife, the blade glinting in the dim light. It’s a beautiful weapon, perfectly balanced and razor-sharp. I’ve taken many lives with it, and I’ll take many more before this night is through.

The first man to reach me swings a wild punch, but I’m ready for him. I manage to dodge the blow and counter with a swift strike to his throat, crushing his windpipe. He gurgles, clutching at his neck as he falls to his knees. I don’t bother finishing him off. There are too many others to deal with, and he’s not going to be a threat for a while.

I sprint through the crowd, my knife flashing in the darkness. I take down one man after another, my movements a blur of violence and precision. It makes me feel alive, invigorated. This is what I was made for. This is who I am.

But even as I fight, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. These men are well-armed, well-organized, but there are too few of them. They’re not the usual rabble that Petrov sends after me. There’s something more going on here, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

I hear a shout from behind me and whirl around just in time to see one of my men go down. He’s been shot, a red blossom spreading across his chest. I snarl, my rage boiling over. These fuckers will pay for that, too.

I charge toward the shooter, my knife held low. He tries to fire again, but I’m too fast for the fucker. I close the distance between us in a heartbeat, my blade slicing through the air. He has just enough time to register the look of pure fury on my face before I gut him like a fish.

I don’t stop there. I keep moving, cutting down anyone who gets in my way. I can hear Dima shouting orders, rallying the men.

But even as I fight, the feeling that something is wrong continues to linger. There’s a tickle at the back of my mind, a nagging suspicion that I can’t quite place. And then it hits me.

She’s not in here.

I don’t see Tiana anywhere among the chaos. My heart clenches in my chest, a cold dread settling over me.

Where is she?

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