Page 213 of The Lazarov Bratva

“Right, back to the bed for you.”

Leaning on Mikhail, we hobble back to the bed, and he lowers me down. He works quicker than the maid, securing my left wrist back to the bed. I don’t act until he leans over me and reaches for my right wrist.

Shard in palm, I slam my hand upward and stab the plastic shard deep into Mikhail’s neck.

It slices into him like a hot knife through melting butter, and he chokes. Hot blood immediately spills across my arm, but I don’t stop. I stab him repeatedly, getting as many stabs into his throat as I can before he lurches upward.

Blood sprays like a hose from his throat, and it sprays over me like the fountain I see from my window. Mikhail gurgles and presses both hands to his pouring throat, but he loses blood so rapidly that there’s very little he can do to prevent death.

His eyes lock wildly onto me, and he reaches for me with one crimson paw, but his legs give out before we touch.

My heart pounds and blood soaks my clothes. Dropping the shard ignites a sharp pain in my palm. It seems the shard sliced back into my palm as a result of my frantic stabbing.

No matter.

Mikhail tries to speak, but nothing comes out. The pouring blood pulses, and his eyes roll back as he falls forward.

“You can’t have me,” I hiss as he lands motionless at my feet. “Or my baby.”

34

KRISTOF

“Mikhail is dead!”

Andrev flies into the meeting at such speed that he nearly wrenches the door clean off its hinges. Panting, he slams his hands down on the table, making all the glasses jump in chorus. Then he lifts his head to me and August.

“What?” August booms, his cigar nearly slipping from his fingertips.

“Mikhail. He’s dead. Murdered, actually,” Andrev pants. “The Kuznetsovs are on the warpath, and I mean like, bloody mess kind of warpath. Alexei called and said the place is in a shambles because… well, I don’t know how true this is yet, but?—”

“Out with it,” I snap as Andrev starts to ramble slightly.

“Right. Sorry.” He takes a calming breath and straightens up. “Mikhail was murdered. Stabbed to death by some sort of weird weapon, and Alexei is pretty sure Alena did it because the Kuznetsovs are vying for her blood, but Mara is standing in their way because of the baby.”

That’s my girl.

I smirk briefly. Out of all the news I anticipated coming out of the mansion, this wasn’t on the list, and while I had the desire to kill Mikhail Kuznetsov myself, it’s fitting at least that Alena got to do it.

Although it puts her in terrible danger.

“He’s definitely dead?” I press, unwilling to act if there is any chance this was false information and a trap. It had already been a struggle to get my health back in line with my desire to raid that house and rescue my girl.

“Hundred percent.” Andrev nods. “His throat apparently looked like a game of knots and crosses.”

“We can’t pass this up.” I switch to face August. “You and Seamus want the Kuznetsovs. All I care about is Alena. If things are as bad as Alexei says, then we need to act now. Storm the place, kill them all, and get Alena back.”

This is it. This is our chance, and it stands a much stronger chance of succeeding than my previous plan of sneaking in and sneaking Alena out. Something like that was going to be difficult, but given August’s plan to attack the Kuznetsovs at their home, I’d been counting on that as a distraction.

This, though? This is much better and infinitely more dangerous. Given their anger, if any of the Kuznetsovs get their hands on my girl, they won’t care about our baby.

“You’re right.” August, thankfully, agrees, and he picks up his phone.

I rise from my seat but lower back down when August shoots me a warning look. Every fiber of my being screams at me to go to Alena right this moment, and every second I wait runs the risk of her dying without me there.

“Seamus,” August barks down the phone. “Did you hear? Mikhail is dead. We’re moving now. How soon can you join us?” He pauses. “Excellent. I’m thinking you launch a full frontal attack on the Estate while Kristof and I take the back. Pincer them in and kill every last rat we see.”

While Seamus’s words aren’t audible on the call, the buzz of his excited tones does reach my ears. August nods along then hangs up and dials another number. This one connects him to his right hand, and a few barked-out words begin the preparations to move.

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