Page 25 of Hostage of the Russian
Kostya moved through the chaos like he was born for it, his grip on Azriel never loosening as he navigated between panicked students and abandoned backpacks. She stumbled trying to keep up with his longer strides, her heart hammering so hard she could barely breathe.
“Where are we going?” she gasped.
“My car.” His eyes never stopped moving, cataloging every face, every potential threat. “Two blocks north.”
They had almost reached the edge of campus when a man stepped out from behind a parked security vehicle. He was tall and lean, wearing a maintenance uniform that might have looked normal if not for the gun in his hand.
“Kostya Nikolai,” the man called out, his accent thick and unfamiliar. “You’re a hard man to find.”
Kostya pushed Azriel behind him in one fluid motion, and suddenly, there was a knife in his hand, where it had come from, she had no idea.
“Not hard enough, apparently,” Kostya replied, his voice conversational despite the weapon trained on them.
The gunman smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “Your brother sends his regards.”
“Which brother would that be?” Kostya took a step forward, seemingly oblivious to the gun pointed at his chest. “I have so many enemies, it’s hard to keep track.”
“The one who’s going to dance on your grave.”
The man’s finger tightened on the trigger, but Kostya moved faster than should have been humanly possible. One moment he was standing three feet away from the gunman, the next his knife was buried to the hilt in the man’s throat.
Blood sprayed across the sidewalk in a crimson arc. The gunman’s eyes went wide with shock and pain, his hands clawing at the blade protruding from his neck. A horrible gurgling sound escaped his lips as he collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward onto the pavement.
Azriel stared in horror at the spreading pool of blood, her mind struggling to process what she’d just witnessed. The casual efficiency of it, the way Kostya had acted, as if killing was as natural as breathing, was like watching a completely different person.
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered.
Kostya was already moving, retrieving his knife and wiping it clean on the dead man’s shirt with practiced ease. “We need to go. Now.”
He grabbed her arm again, but gentler this time, as if he’d suddenly remembered she wasn’t accustomed to watching people die. Azriel’s legs felt like water as he guided her toward a black SUV parked at the curb.
“Get in the car,” Kostya ordered, opening the passenger door.
She climbed in on autopilot, her hands shaking as she reached for the seatbelt. The click of the buckle seemed unnaturally loud in the confined space.
The pain hit immediately, sharp and sudden, like someone had driven a red-hot spike through her left shoulder. Azriel gasped, her hand flying to the source of the agony, and her fingers came away wet with blood.
“Kostya,” she whispered, staring at her crimson-stained palm in shock.
Chapter 9 - Kostya
The SUV swerved violently as Kostya caught sight of the blood, tires screeching against asphalt. “Fuck. Fuck!”
His hands were shaking, actually fucking shaking, as he yanked his phone from his pocket and speed-dialed a number he knew by heart. The phone rang once before a crisp voice answered.
“Dr. Petrov.”
“It’s Kostya. I’m bringing someone in. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. ETA fifteen minutes.” His eyes flicked to Azriel, who was slumped against the passenger seat, her face alarmingly pale. Blood was seeping through her fingers where she pressed them against her stomach.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough.” Kostya took a sharp turn, ignoring the honking horns behind him. “And Petrov? This stays between us. No records, no questions.”
“Understood. Bay three will be ready.”
Kostya ended the call and pressed the accelerator harder. Beside him, Azriel’s breathing had become shallow and rapid. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes stark against her too-pale skin.
“Hey.” He reached over and touched her cheek, his voice gentler than he’d ever heard it. “Stay with me, princess. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
