Page 119 of Little Blue

The need to be close to her, to have her in my arms where she is safe, is an itch I can’t scratch.

It’s uncomfortable and infuriating. It’s enough to drive a man crazy.

Pavel comes through again. “All set.”

“Fucking finally,” Misha hisses into the line.

“We’re good to cut the fence?”

“Yes,” Pavel confirms.

“Take out the guards.” I give the order and watch as the guard closest to me falls. I know on the other side of the property, that guard falls, too.

Then I give my man a nod. “Cut the fence.” To the back of the property and the east, I know the men are giving the same order to their teams.

It doesn’t take long, but the minutes drag as I wait for the time I can finally slip through the fence onto the property. Adrenaline soars through my veins, a foreign feeling to me that has blood roaring between my ears. The need to be closer to her consumes me.

An unsuspecting guard steps around the building, and I aim my raised gun a moment before I fire. He falls heavy to the ground, red a harsh splash against the white.

Misha giggles into the line as an unhinged, “Got one,” sounds a moment before Pavel says, “Down.”

I swing two fingers in the direction of Dimitri, who holds the bomb. “Blow the door.”

At the back of the warehouse, Misha gives the same order. On the other two warehouses, a team of men wait to kill. They’ll come running when they hear the commotion. And for it, they will die.

“I want Ivan alive,” I say into the mic. “Kill everyone else.”

“With pleasure,” comes Misha’s reply, a moment before Pavel’s, “Painfully.”

I take cover crouched in the snow behind a concrete pillar as the bomb is set at the door. We could just storm the place, guns blazing, but there’s nothing quite like the surprise of an explosion to really fuck people up.

“We’re set,” I tell the men.

“Ditto,” Misha returns.

Counting down from three, the detonation blows the doors inward, descending the night into chaos.

My team invades.

Men bark orders and bullets begin to fly.

My eyes scan the warehouse for any sign of Ivan as I make my way into the direction of the room where Luka confirmed she’s being kept. It’s a concrete room, so she should be safe from stray bullets as long as her door stays closed.

A pockmarked man stumbles from a side room, gun raised, but not aimed. His eyes are bloodshot, and his face is mean. Cruel. It’s probably the mug more than one woman has seen in her end. I lift my gun and shoot, blowing his face clean off. Stepping into the room, I do a sweep. There’s no one else, but computer screens line a messily kept desk. A bottle of vodka is uncapped next to a mostly polished glass. On a still lit phone, a porn video plays.

My lip curls.

I turn and leave the room. If he’d been doing his job rather than trying to jack off, we might not have had the upper hand we have right now.

Fucking idiot.

“Misha’s been hit.”

“How bad?” I’m moving along the wall that will take me to Irelynn, my focus singular.

“It’s a flesh wound.” I can practically hear Misha’s eye roll.

“He’s dripping blood steadily.” Pavel’s reply is dry.

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