Page 98 of Crown of Hate

MIKHAIL

Pain explodes through my body, dragging me back to consciousness. Memories flash behind my eyelids in a disjointed blur—the screech of tires, the deafening crash, and throwing myself over Alya to shield her from the impact.

Alya.

My eyes tear open, and I squint at the harsh fluorescent lights. The sterile smell of disinfectant invades my nostrils. White walls, a hospital bed, a sliding door—fuck, I know exactly where I am.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” a familiar voice drawls beside me.

I turn my head, wincing at the movement, to find Alexei slumped in a chair. He looks like hell—disheveled, exhausted, and… there’s a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Worry.

“Where is she?” I ask, ripping out the IV and staggering to my feet.

My head hurts like a motherfucker and my vision swims. The pain I feel all over is immense, but not nearly as much as the panic flaring in my chest.

Alexei doesn’t answer. He steps in front of me, blocking my path “You’re injured. You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

“Where. Is. My. Wife?” I growl, my patience evaporating like mist. “Tell me where she is, dammit!”

He swallows hard and sighs. “Akim has her.”

My fists clench and my jaw tick. Fury burns through me, blending perfectly with the pain. “How long was I out?”

“Two hours. You hit your head hard, but luckily no concussion… well, maybe a little concussion, but nothing you can’t handle…” He stops talking when I glare at him.

“Her mother?” I ask.

“Safe house. Semyon is on his way here. We’ll find her, I promise.” He nods to the bed. “But you need to rest.”

I huff out a mirthless laugh. “Rest? My wife is in the hands of that psychopath and what? You’re telling me to fuckingrest?” I shove past him, ignoring the way the room spins. “Track her phone. If that bastard hasn’t found it yet, we might have a chance.”

“I already did.” He pauses, and I want to shake the words out of him.

The suspense is fucking killing me. My rage simmers, barely held in check. I’m seconds away from losing it. “And?”

“He’s taking her to Russia.”

“Fuck!” I grab my head and bite my lips to keep my rage in check. It’s either that or I start putting holes in the walls. I’m already weak and in pain, and I need every ounce of strength if I’m going to stand a chance at saving my wife. “That sick bastard already figured out our plans. Dimitri betrayed me.”

“And Igor?” Alexei asks, his eyes flashing red with anger.

“Dead.” Then I lock eyes with him, feeling a fierce determination solidify inside me. “We’re going to Russia. Now.”

The familiar scent hits me as I descend the plane steps. Rich, earthy—a bittersweet reminder of everything I left behind. It’s been a year since I last set foot on Russian soil, but the sense of familiarity does nothing to ease my tension. And right now, it just feels like enemy territory.

I haven’t slept a wink during the ten-and-a-half-hour flight. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was I saw Alya—alone, terrified, suffering God knows what at the mercy of that monster. The helplessness is maddening, eating away at my sanity with every passing second.

But I’m here now. I check my watch. It’s four p.m., which means the boys and I have precious few hours before we make our move. I don’t give a damn what it costs—Alya will be in my arms tonight, or I’ll burn this whole fucking country to the ground trying.

Four black SUVS pull up before me. A bodyguard scrambles out from the driver’s seat in the lead car and hurries to open the back door. A familiar face emerges.

Andrei.

He looks older, but there’s a lightness to him I don’t remember. Retirement seems to have been good to him.

He’d come to Russia to visit his family a month ago. Ilya reached out to him to arrange some support for me since I’ve been away for so long. I don’t need much, just a few of his men to help me out.

He walks up to me with a smile. “Good to see you again, Mikhail.”

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