Page 59 of The Bratva's Hunted Bride
Her brothers’ enemies have her. Ruthless men who won’t hesitate to hurt her.
Images flash through my mind of the night she escaped my mansion, and those men tried to take her. That same rage, the unrelenting, ferocious need to tear them apart—it fills every cell of my body.
I want to drive straight there, but I need help.
I dial Oleg, turning my car in the direction of his mansion, and when he answers, I tell him what’s happened.
I arrive at Oleg’s place at the same time as Diomid, but I’m parked and out of the car before he is. The front doors are open, and when I run through them into the house, Oleg already has a team of men preparing. Heavy automatic weapons are spread over the living room table. Men and loading handguns and strapping them to their sides. I stare in bewildered relief that my brothers are so willing to be there for me at a moment’s notice. Dark fear is pulling me into dangerous places. The fear of losing her, of something happening to our baby.
Oleg tosses me a Kevlar vest. I catch it, having snapped out of my thoughts and into reality. “Put this on,” he demands, not bothering with a greeting.
Diomid walks into the living room behind me. “My guys are prepping too. They’ll meet us on the road,” he says, nodding at me.
Diomid grabs a vest and pulls it over his head, strapping it tightly around his chest. Oleg is shouting orders to his men. My heart is racing too fast, my head spinning wildly. I can’t think straight.
Diomid reaches out and grabs my shoulder. He pulls me to face him. “Timofey, she’s going to be ok. We’ll get there before anything happens.”
“I’m not leaving a single one of them alive,” I snarl.
“We’ll burn their place to the ground,” he agrees, pulling the slide of his handgun back to load a round into the chamber.
We drive in convoy toward the location. Diomid’s men slide in behind us as we travel along the highway, past the pointwhere her phone was tossed, heading closer to her. I haven’t said a word because I’m too scared to voice the thoughts in my head. Oleg and Diomid are discussing strategy, and I’m doing my best to focus on that as a source of distraction.
I don’t need a strategy, though. The moment the car stops, I’ll be out, raining death and destruction over every man I see.
And if they’ve hurt her in any way…
“We’re here,” Oleg says, parking, pulling up the hand brake, and turning to grab my jacket before I can climb out. “Stick to the plan, Timofey. These guys are dangerous, and they’ll be waiting, expecting her brothers. Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll work together. Right?”
I let out an annoyed huff. “Together,” I agree, knowing it’s the best chance of saving her.
Pushing the doors open, we spill from the car in silence, moving like black oil over the surface of a still pond. Our men surround the property, staying low and as quiet as death, as they take out the guards around the perimeter.
Now and then, from the darkness, I hear a wet gurgle as a knife slips over someone’s throat.
I’m carrying an automatic rifle, the barrel pointed down as I crouch to the left of the front door. Oleg nods at his men.
One man signals another, and gunfire erupts near the back of the property.
“Now!” I shout, leaping up and shooting out the lock on the door. Wood splinters and the shatters open.
I burst through it, into the mansion, rolling to the floor as bullets ricochet past me, into the wall behind my head.
I lift the rifle and scatter bullets like rain across the mansion. Bodies drop, one by one. Blood splattering from exit wounds, coating the walls, dripping down like fresh paint.
There’s no time to think. Just act. Move. Instinct is taking control of my body. They drop like flies, one by one, and I move deeper into the house.
Through the chaos and gunfire, Diomid shouts my name. I don’t hesitate to run toward him.
He’s in the kitchen, his back against the wall.
“There.” He gestures toward a heavily locked door with cameras pointing at it. “Basement,” he shouts, ducking, as bullets pierce the wall next to him.
He lifts his gun and shoots the man with ease.
Pulling a small explosive device from my jacket, I press the sticky putty against the lock and trigger the countdown.
“Five!” I shout, even though everyone else is preoccupied.
