Page 52 of Hostage of the Russian
Chapter 17 - Kostya
The call came at three in the morning, jarring Kostya from sleep with its shrill urgency.
Viktor’s voice cut through the haze of interrupted dreams like a blade.
“The Nikolai rivals hit one of our warehouses. They took everything and left a message.”
Kostya was already reaching for his clothes before Viktor finished speaking.
“What kind of message?”
“The kind written in blood.”
Twenty minutes later, Kostya stood in what remained of their operation, watching smoke curl toward the dawn sky. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he surveyed the damage. Crates lay splintered, their contents either stolen or destroyed. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the acrid smell of burnt merchandise.
“They knew exactly what they were looking for,” Fedya said, his voice carrying that cold edge it always held when business turned personal. His pale eyes swept the destruction with calculated precision.
“This wasn’t random,” Viktor nodded grimly. “Someone fed them information. Told them when the guards would rotate, where we kept the valuable shipments.”
“Danny,” Kostya growled, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
The bastard had been missing for weeks now, ever since that night at the alliance party when Azriel had nearly collapsedat the sight of him. The memory of her fear, the way she’d trembled against him, ignited a familiar rage in his chest.
“We tracked them to the industrial district,” Viktor continued. “They’re holed up in an old textile factory. Heavily armed.”
Kostya checked his gun, feeling the familiar weight of it in his hand.
“Then let’s go remind them why crossing a Nikolai is a death sentence.”
The drive to the factory was tense, filled with the kind of silence that precedes violence. Kostya and his brothers had done this dance countless times, but something felt different today. Maybe it was knowing Azriel was back home, probably still asleep in their bed, her dark hair spread across the pillow like silk. The thought of her waiting for him made his chest tighten with an emotion he wasn’t quite ready to name.
“You seem distracted,” Fedya observed, his light blue eyes studying Kostya in the rearview mirror.
“Just thinking about how satisfying it’ll be to put bullets in these bastards.”
Fedya didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. He understood the value of focused violence.
The factory loomed before them like a concrete gravestone, its broken windows staring out like dead eyes. They approached from three angles, communicating through earpieces and hand signals that had been perfected through years of coordinated strikes.
“I count at least eight,” Viktor’s voice crackled through the comm. “Maybe more inside.”
“Copy,” Kostya whispered, positioning himself near the main entrance. “On my mark.”
The next few minutes blurred together in a symphony of gunfire and shouting. Glass exploded around them as bullets flew. Kostya moved through the factory floor with deadly precision, his training taking over as he neutralized targets with cold efficiency.
That’s when he saw him.
Danny Hartford stood near the back exit, his cowardly face pale with terror as he clutched a briefcase to his chest. The man who had offered his own daughter like cattle, who had put Azriel through years of abuse and neglect. The sight of him sent molten fury coursing through Kostya’s veins.
“You son of a bitch!” Kostya roared, abandoning cover to charge toward him.
Danny’s eyes widened with recognition and fear. He stumbled backward, shouting something to his companions before disappearing through the exit. Kostya fired after him, but the distance was too great.
“Kostya, get down!” Viktor’s warning came a split second before Kostya felt the burning tear of a bullet ripping through his shoulder.
The impact spun him around, sending him crashing into a stack of metal crates.
Pain exploded through his body, white-hot and immediate. Through the haze of agony, he could see the rivals retreating, dragging Danny with them toward waiting vehicles. His vision blurred as he struggled to his feet, determined to pursue them.
