Page 5 of His Order

“Whoever finds her – kills her and gets a bounty. That was Dmitri’s order: clean and done.”

“You think I grabbed her just to fuck her?” I say, smirking, leaning forward. They’re missing the bigger picture. “You’re not seeing it.”

Mikhail’s eyes narrow. “Then spell it out. We are all brothers here. I’m sure you can let us in on your plan.”

I sip again, letting the alcohol sear my temper down, keeping it cool. “She’s not some random girl,” I say, voice low and steady. “She’s someone who managed to get past Dmitri’s cyber security. The feds couldn’t do that, and she could. Do you know what that means for us? Besides, I know she was talking to the feds a bit, and now I need to know what it is that they know. Nevertheless, fuck the feds. I don’t care about that. There is a big brain inside that beautiful head of hers. If you don’t see it, then I don’t know what to tell you. Ok, bratya?”

“With the feds? Did you just say that that bitch was talking to the feds? Are you out of your mind? Give her to me now, and we will know what she knows in a few minutes!” Mikhail demands, visibly shaking from anger.

Mikhail and I have been through everything together since we were boys. We worked parallel to Dmitri’s Bratva and made sure that our empire remained intact all these years.

“No,” I say, smirk sharpening. “She’s gold, our gold.” They’re catching on now. I can see it. “She can crack his empire, every account, every secret, every dime. Do you not see it, Mikhail? Are you so blinded by rage? She’s the key to everything, and I’ve got her.”

Victor snorts. “Pavel, stop with circling around. What’s the plan? Do you think she’ll just give it up and start handing you over everything? After you’ve got her tied up?”

“I have my ways of breaking her,” I say, leaning back. I’m picturing her on her knees, begging, spilling it all, and my cock’s already stirring.

Roman grins, shaking his head. “Make sure she does not get you twisted.”

“She’s a risk,” Victor snaps. “Dmitri finds out – it’s a war.”

Mikhail cuts in, voice hard. “What happens when he knows you kept her alive?”

I smirk, eyeing the ice in my glass. “By then, he’s fucked,” I say, calm and final. “This isn’t just keeping her. She’s the match, and I’m lighting the fire. Don’t you remember how Dmitri betrayed her brother? Do you remember Leo? He was one of us. Well, he worked for Dmitri. Remember that? And the next day, he was gone. Mikhail, I shouldn’t tell you about what Dmitri is capable of. You know exactly what he does. What he did to you.”

“And then what?” Mikhail leans towards me with a question in his eyes.

“Then we are free. Don’t you want to be free?”

They go quiet. Mikhail’s jaw ticks, Roman’s still grinning, Victor’s glaring. The truth is Mikhail knows the plan; he is my most trusted man. He and I need to play it safe in front of others. They don’t need to know everything, not just yet.

“Exactly. Your silence is my answer. The meeting’s done,” I say, standing, voice sharp. “And a kind reminder. Hands off her; she’s mine. That’s it.”

Roman calls out, “No front-row seats to the action?” His laugh chases me as I head out, boots hitting the floor hard. I don’t care what they think; I’ve got her, and that’s the game.

“Fuck you,” I call over my shoulder.

***

I’m pacing Pavel’s penthouse, barefoot, his black shirt flapping around my thighs. My wrists are raw from those damn zip-ties he cut off. He’s gone now, took my laptop with him—bastard—and that door’s cracked open.

“There is no way in hell I’m staying,” I’m at least 50 floors in the sky, and not even Superman himself would make this jump.

“Door it is,” I say, wiping my mouth, and bolt for it, slipping through the crack. The hall’s dim, concrete stretching ahead, and I’m off. I’ve got no plan, no laptop, but I’ll improvise—find a phone, a wire, anything. I’m Anya Sokolov—I’ve dealt with Bratva before, and I slipped through Dmitri’s traps ever since Leo died. I am not about to stay in a cage.

I am resourceful, and I will make it out of here alive. I creep out of the door and make my way out into the hallway. It’s just as extravagant as the penthouse.

“Shit, I’ve got to be quick,” I hiss, hitting the stairs, metal cold under my feet. I walk fast—down, down—heart pounding. I need to get to the elevator.

“Fucking Bratva,” I think to myself. “You can never trust men like them. They only care for one thing and one thing alone—themselves.”

I try to make it to the lower elevator, but I pause when I hear sounds. Boots thump —sharp, heavy—and voices hit me.

“Dmitri went to Spain, but he should be back within the next few weeks,” one grunt, rough and low. I freeze mid-step, my breath locked in my chest. There is only a concrete wall for cover and not enough time to turn back. Flattening my body againstthe wall, I listen, gulping breaths and praying they won’t echo. Maybe they’ll pass me by. Perhaps I can get out before anyone knows.

“Still weeks away,” another voice replies, deeper and annoyed.

“What about the girl?” My gut twists. They are talking about me.

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