Page 59 of King’s Promise

“Wouldn’t be the first-time stupidity led to an all-out war,” I grumble as I hand my phone to Dmitry. He looks at incoming calls and finds the burner number. Sergei didn’t use WIFI, and Dmitry runs it through programs on his high-powered laptop.

I hold my breath, hoping he can pull off a miracle. If we can narrow down the area where Sergei might be holding her, we will have more information than we do now. The adrenaline has my heart ticking like a time bomb.

“Okay, I have a cell phone tower, now I need to triangulate it with the Tube at the time he called. He has to be in a densely populated area.”

Roman is in the kitchen loading and stacking guns on the counter so he and Pavel can carry them to our vehicles parked out front. From the security feed to the house, Roman observes vehicles amassing in front of the house as more men arrive to help.

“I know London like the back of my hand,” Konstantin declares, peering over my brother’s shoulder. “I bet Sergei is holed up in the East end, where our Irish rivals work. He’s using the Irish, so we need to assume he has some of Cillian’s men.” He spitballs ideas, his voice filled with angst and adrenaline. These are the situations we dread, but at the same time know they are inevitable.

This bastard stole the love of my life and I’m going to fucking annihilate him when I find him.

“It’s still too big but I have it narrowed down to a square mile. I’ll cross reference it with property owned by Cillian’s corporations,” Dimity adds enthusiastically. “We’ll find her,” he says as his eyes dart as fast as his fingertips fly. God, I never loved technology as much as I do today. “I’m also hacked into the CCTV cameras with facial recognition.”

“Fuck, you’re incredible.” Inside, adrenaline burns in my veins, I hope we’re not too late.

“The car is loaded. I say let’s head out and you can direct us from there,” Roman suggests. I’m happy my brothers are here to help.

“I’m behind you with a vehicle full of men,” Konstantin adds as he gives me a reassuring pat on my back as we file out.

24

Nikolay

Two days before the wedding and my bride is missing. Talk about karma biting me in the ass!

I’m in the front seat as we drive down one alley after another looking for Sergei’s car. Sweat is puddling under the chest protectors we wear over our t-shirts in anticipation of heavy gun fire. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand. I hope the GPS chips are working in all the vehicles he might have used to carry out this stunt and pray he was stupid enough to drive one of them to the location where he has Anya.

We hit a pothole and our butts fly out of the seat. I grip the dashboard even though I’m wearing a seatbelt.

Konstantin calls to say George is talking. He said there is a huge Russian from Belarus who might be helping Sergei. Other than that, he suspects the Irish are involved. He has no clue where the horse is. It would be stupid to kill a valuable asset, but my enemies would not think twice about killing her to piss me off.

“We could handle this for you, Nikolay, that’s our job,” Pavel states.

“No! It’s my war. Anya is mine and anyone who puts a hand on her is a dead man. I won’t rest until we kill them all. The Irish will think twice after this.”

Dark clouds gather overhead, reminding me of the afternoon when I picked Anya up at her flat. Everything reminds me of her in one way or another. I long to have her in my arms and vow to hold her when we sleep at night, every night, for the rest of my life.

“There,” Dmitry shouts, “the laptop shows up at a house beside you but keep driving.” My brother’s welcomed voice comes through the vehicle’s Bluetooth, as he stayed at home to oversee our mission.

Pavel passes the house and my adrenaline surges; my heart is beating so hard it pulsates in my ears. Could it be we’re going to find her?

“I’m going in first,” Roman calls out, opening his door before Pavel has brought the vehicle to a complete stop. We park in an empty driveway three houses away.

“Roman, I’ll go first,” I say.

“I’m the one who’s best at this, I’ll take out whomever is in our way and save Sergei for you,” he declares as he hands out weapons from the trunk.

“Fine,” I acquiesce. He has a valid point. He’s worked with the most skilled military men in the world, which is why he’s our utility man. I need to let him do what he does best, it’s for the good of the family.

“Besides, you have to get married and seal the deal or it’s going to be a long, drawn-out war,” Pavel adds.

“Right, no pressure…” I joke but no one laughs.

We follow military protocol, single file as we descend upon the dilapidated house on crack row, named for the number of homeless drug addicts.

It’s late afternoon, the sun is low, and we’re shadowless thanks to the cloud cover. A burst of shots ring in the humid air as Roman makes his approach. There’s only one way in, and a bullet whizzes past our heads in the narrow corridor. I’m sure there are plenty of men and plenty of ammo inside. Bullets bounce off buildings and rusted, broken-down cars with a ping. Ricocheting bullets are a legitimate concern and the reason I hate shootouts in tight spaces. We take turns returning fire. We’re basically sitting ducks and it’s every man for himself.

Thankfully, Roman got the men stationed on the rooftop. We duck, take cover, then advance again when Roman gives us the sign. The gravel crunches under our feet when we move. They have us dead to rights. We can’t hide a direct assault.

---