Page 24 of His Order

His smile fades. Just a flicker.

“You should be scared,” he says softly. “Because you’ve seen what I do to people who disappoint me. Like your brother.”

Fury boils violently at the mere mention of his name.

"Don't you dare speak about my brother, you dickhead." My voice is a rasp, and in defiance, I spew a mouthful of blood onto his polished shoe. He recoils, an ominous shadow reclaiming his face.

"You'll regret that," he growls with a sinister edge.

"No," I croak, a grim smile stretching through the agony. "It is you who will regret this."

“I am going to enjoy killing you.” He grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him. “It’s a shame that such beauty will be robbed from the world.”

“I don’t care what you do to me. Do you think I am scared? Ha-ha! I am not. I thought you were smart. I was wrong. You are just an idiot. And by the way, idiot, I have already sent your secrets to the FBI and, most importantly, to your business partners. I know how you wash your money. I know the bank accounts, passwords, and where you transfer the businesses. Maybe you don’t care about the feds, but you do care about who you are in business with. Don’t you? I know you do, you motherfucker! So, kill me. But they are coming after you.Because they know. I sent them everything. The Italians know. Your rival and my former friend, Maksim, knows. Pavel will know soon, too. He is getting an email with details as we speak.”

“You are a fucking cunt,” Dmitri sneers, wiping at the bloodied splatter with a look of disgust. He stands to his full height and then steps back, holding a fearsome arrogance that makes my skin crawl. “Your boyfriend should be on his way,” he taunts, his tone shifting to a dark satisfaction. “And when he gets here, I will kill him in front of you first. Then I will have you. Then you will die, suka. Then we are even. Eye for an eye.”

He leaves me here on the floor, bound and broken. The floor beneath me swims in a pool of crimson, and I cling desperately to the slivers of consciousness that threaten to slip away. This motherfucker is not going to see me suffer.

Chapter 13

Pavel

The second I stepped into the penthouse, I knew something was wrong. My gun is drawn, and my body is on high alert. Roman and Mikhail move in behind me with their own weapons armed at the ready. The only thought in my mind is that I have to find her.

My shoes move against the cold marble floor of the foyer, and then I slowly make my way inside. I look over my shoulder at Roman and Mikhail and give them the signal to spread out. They nod in acknowledgment and fan out. I step deeper into the ample space. I walk through the foyer and come to the living room, and I freeze. The blood in my veins turns to ice, and my entire existence tilts on its axis.

“Shit.” I hiss under my breath at the sight of her. “Anya.”

The world narrows to a single point of focus as I launch myself forward, every instinct driving me toward her motionless form. Air rasps through my teeth, and the steady drum of my heartbeat pounds in my skull. My feet slam against the floor in a rhythm that mimics the rising panic, a visceral urgency clawing at my insides as the distance between us collapses in an excruciating slow-motion sprint.

The sight of her is a knife's edge against my senses—the disarray of her usually fierce presence, the stillness that screams danger and violence. For a brief, agonizing moment, I wonder if I'm already too late if the betrayal and gunfire have left nothing but destruction behind. I refuse to think about her lifelessness, refuse to accept it as I close the space between us with brutal desperation.

“Anya.” My voice breaks as I am barely able to get her name past my lips. “Fuck.”

Her name tears out of me again, a strangled plea against the oppressive silence. I drop to my knees beside her and finally see the full extent of what’s been done.

She’s crumpled on the floor— and she’s not moving. My vision tunnels. The walls blur. I hear nothing but the pounding in my ears.

“Anya!” I’m already moving, falling to my knees beside her. I am no religious man, but at this moment, I seek the heavens for some kind of divine intervention. I can’t believe that this is actually happening right now. The fear grips my throat with so much force that I struggle to breathe.

“Come on,” I feel around, praying for a damn pulse, and then I feel it. It’s the faintest of beats, but it’s there. “Oh, thank God.”

My head hangs in relief, and the weight that had pressed against my ribcage finally releases its hold on me.

“You’re alive.” I stare at the blood that stains the floor underneath her, but when I assess her, it seems that it’s not coming out of her—anymore. She needs immediate medical attention. “I need to get you out of here. Come on.”

I shift her body, carefully lifting her into my arms. I carry her through the room, my senses on high alert, my eyes scanning every corner for any sign of danger.

As I step into the hallway, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching. I grip my gun tighter, bracing myself for whatever lies ahead. Then I saw my two men come in shaking their heads after they had searched and found nothing.

“I’ve got her,” I say to Roman and Mikhail, who appear at the end of the corridor.

“Let’s get out of here,” Roman says, his voice grim.

We move quickly, retreating through the penthouse, our steps echoing in the opulent silence. I can feel Anya’s body trembling against mine, her breaths shallow and erratic.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, my voice barely a murmur. I press my lips to her temple and offer the smallest of kisses. “I’ve got you.”

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