Page 29 of Reign of Four

If this were my rescue mission, I’d toss the bitch onto someone else, run back to the dinner party, snatch Valentina’s fine ass out of Liam’s lap, and get the hell out of Dodge.

Valentina shouldn’t be forced to stay in that room after witnessing her grandmother’s death. Everyone talks about the murder weapon being the big bad thing that causes nightmares, but no one talks about the murder scene. The day I shot my dad, I walked out of that bedroom and never went back. To this day, I haven’t stepped foot in that house. I wouldn’t be surprised if Valentina took one look at the Baranova dining room back home and backpedaled the hell out of there.

It’s hard to watch those we think we love die, and even harder to stay in the room once they’ve passed. The look on Valentina’s face when Katya took her final breaths . . .

I run a hand down my face, but I can’t get the image out of my head.

Her grandmother deserved worse, but Valentina deserved better.

That bastard is going to pay.

A growl rumbles in my throat as I turn the next corner. What the fuck am I supposed to do with Katya? “Hey,” I call out, jerking my chin towards another guard. “Where do I put her?”

I’m already agitated as fuck, but the tone from this man—“The furnace is in the basement, dipshit. Fucking pay attention next time—” about sends me over the edge. I’m glad I can’t see his face behind the mask because then I’d have to do something about it later.

I’m really fucking stab-happy right now, but I’m saving it for the blonde bastard who made our woman fucking cry.

She better have counted every single fucking tear over the past week, because Liam’s getting a jab of the knife for each fucking one. If I have to stab the bastard ninety-nine times, so be it. Even better if Valentina’s right there with me, hand in mine as we slide the knife through his flesh over and over and over again.

One hundred cuts or a thousand—it will never be enough. Not really. But I’ll do what it takes to give our girl closure.

I glare at tone-boy as I walk past. If this house is a replica of our estate, then the basement is three doors down. I pick up the pace. Can’t wait to send Katya on an express ticket to hell and wave as her paper-thin snakeskin burns to a fucking crisp.

As I jostle her body to pull open the basement door, gunfire echoes down the hall. I snap my head in its direction, but the other guards around me are quicker to react. They jump into action, barreling towards the sound, guns raised, as they move in one unit.

A small army is headed Andrei’s direction, and I’m fucking here.

I take one last glance at Katya before tossing her body down the stairs. She’s rail-thin, but she still causes a racket as she tumbles. I know I’m supposed to respect the dead and all, but fuck her.

“Ezra,” I growl into my comms, “where’s the fucking signal? Are we clear?” I run after the other guards, lifting my own gun as I mirror their movements. I can’t take down six armed men on my own. I could try, but the armor will prove a problem on its own, and once they realize I’m shooting at them and not the ghost over their shoulder, they’ll turn on me.

I’m not dying without ensuring Valentina’s way the fuck out of here first.

Ezra’s voice is clear enough that I glance behind me to make sure he’s not standing there brooding. “We are not clear,” he grunts, more gunfire popping through my earpiece as his team accelerates their plans. We no longer have the element of surprise. Time is of the essence. “Where are Andrei and Thanatos?”

“With Valentina.” Both men can hear our conversation, but the fact that neither of them are responding makes my stomach churn.

“I will secure exit. You will bring lisichka out back door.”

“On it.” Reaching into a pack attached to my belt, I pull out a flashbang. I hate the fucking things, but it beats stepping over a dismembered arm or bloodied leg to get to our girl. This way, I can run through the fuckers and get to her first.

I lob the thing right in the middle of the six guards and turn away as it goes off. The men who notice it incoming either drop to the ground or jump out of the way in the nick of time. The explosion rattles the walls and breaks a vase, knocking a few men senseless enough that they crumple to the ground.

Brute force isn’t my strength, but agility is. I run over the motherfuckers and put a pair of bullets in each of their chests. The good news is that whoever bought this gear is a fucking idiot, because they didn’t get the good stuff. It’s not bulletproof in the slightest and only meant to ward off stray bricks and bottles lobbed by angry protesters and the like. The other good news is that these guards aren’t all trained for close-quarters combat, so it’s easy to kick their guns away and put a bullet in their guts.

Huh. I guess there is no bad news.

“Andrei, what’s going on?” I catch the mayor of Harlin Heights running towards me, and I swing out my arm to clothesline the bastard. He chokes, such a pretty sound, and gives me an outraged look, eyes wide as he cradles a purpling nose.

Andrei sure does have a thing for breaking noses.

“Do you know who I am—” He spits blood on my mask—gross—so I kick him into the wall and tear the thing off. Fresh air is a godsend, catching on the sweat dripping down the side of my face. “Mr. Mayor,” I greet with a sharp grin, “you never told me you had a hard-on for the mafia. We could have inducted you years ago. Given you a proper—” I slam the heel of my boot into his knee—“welcome.”

He screams and folds to the floor like folded paper, dramatic and useless.

“But I think you’ve got a one-way ticket to hell. Send Katya my regards.” I bury my pistol in his forehead and enjoy the flash of fear in his eyes as he realizes he chose the wrong side.

Too little, too late.

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