Page 103 of Maxim

My self-motivational talk works right up until the point when they bring another young woman in. She’s crying, her skinny arms covered in lurid purple bruises. The moment she turns around, I recognize her. Beata, the young blond girl who thought the mayor was charming. The girl who dreamed of being a model.

“Natalya?” Her confusion is palpable when she sees me standing next to Jane.

“Five minutes and we go live,” someone shouts.

“You, get on the bed,” a goon orders, shoving Beata in the direction of the large bed in the center of the room.

“No,” she cries, “I’m not doing this!” He slaps her around the face and then picks her up and deposits her on the mattress.

“Fight back, girl, our audience loves a fighter.”

Jane turns away and vomits all over the floor. A cameraman curses and she’s pulled out of sight. My legs wobble and the room fades. For a long minute, I think I’m going to pass out, but Beata’s screams pull me back.

“Look at me, Beata!” I yell. She turns in my direction, her face wet with tears. “Whatever happens, keep looking at me.” I can’t take her place but I can reassure her she’s not alone. I don’t know if it will help, but it’s all I have to give right now.

Chapter seventy-two

Max

All my best guys are with me for this rescue mission, plus as many men as I could persuade Vlad to send me. Uriov won’t be expecting an attack and it should be enough, but we’re going in blind.

Sasha hasn’t had time to do virtual surveillance on the old farm where Micky believes Natalya is being held. He tracked the IP address for the photo uploads to this location. Sasha checked the info and says the mayor purchased the farm under a shell company last year, so it makes sense.

The property is isolated enough not to attract too much attention with traffic coming and going, but close enough to the city for internet service not to be an issue.

Everyone has assembled a mile away from the farm. Mickey will act as tech backup. He says he can disable the security system and monitor the live website stream. The kid is good. Even Sasha has admitted he’s good, so I may offer him a job once I have Natalya back in my arms.

“The cameras are down,” Mickey tells me through the earpiece. “I’ve looped the feed of the areas around the farm, which should work for a while, depending on how observant the person watching the footage is.”

I nod. “Everyone ready?”

There are various grunts and nods from my guys and polite affirmations from Vlad’s men.

I check my weapons and shove some extra ammo in my pockets. “Let’s move.”

It’s fucking dark out here but thankfully, the moon momentarily graces us with her presence. It’s just as well because we soon come across a bear trap. Thank fuck nobody fell into it.

“Jesus,” Sasha mutters. “Uriov must take security seriously, these things are fucking barbaric.”

The word gets passed along and progress stalls while we look for other traps. Thankfully, there’s nothing else. When we reach the perimeter fence, we pause.

The farmhouse sits in a clearing surrounded by trees. From here, I can see at least five guards on patrol, all armed. They don’t seem particularly vigilant, which should work in our favor. One stands smoking and chatting on a phone, and a second wanders out toward the trees to take a piss.

“I’ll deal with him,” Kolya murmurs before slinking off into the shadows, a knife in his hand.

There’s a muffled scuffle and then silence. Kolya returns a few moments later, wiping blood off his blade.

“We’ll take the front and you take the rear,” I tell Vlad’s main man, Kiril. He nods and leads his guys off through the trees. When we checked the property listing, it indicated there were a few outbuildings. Once this is all over, I plan to check them for my stolen weapons. I have a feeling this is where they were taken.

We move as one toward the farmhouse.

Each guard is taken out quickly and silently. The last guy recognizes me just before I slide a blade between his ribs. His eyes widen in shock before glazing over. I drop him to the ground and edge over to a reinforced door. As I’m about to pick the lock, it swings open and another guard wanders out, whistling softly.

He yelps with surprise when I press a gun to his head. “How many men are inside?”

“Fuck you!” he snarls.

“Is Uriov here?”

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