Page 76 of Hostage of the Russian
Danny’s men were shouting to each other, their voices tight with fear and adrenaline. She could hear return fire from outside, the distinctive crack of high-powered rifles. The Nikolais had come prepared for war.
“Boss!” One of the men by the window spun around, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. “They’re inside the building. East entrance.”
“How many?” Danny didn’t look away from Azriel, his gun now pressed against her temple.
“Too many. We’re fucked, boss. We need to go.”
“We’re not going anywhere.” Danny’s voice was steady, almost calm. “This ends here.”
The warehouse door exploded inward in a violent shriek of metal, fragments of steel and sparks ripping through the air like shrapnel. The blast wave knocked two of Danny’s men clean off their feet, one screaming as a jagged sliver tore through his throat, painting the wall behind him in arterial red.
Smoke poured through the opening like a living thing, and through it came the Nikolai brothers like avenging wraiths from a blood-soaked myth.
Kostya led the charge, his eyes devoid of mercy, his face a frozen mask of fury. His rifle barked fire and thunder, each pull of the trigger sending a body crashing to the floor. One man took a shot to the gut, crumpling with a howl, clutching at intestines that spilled through his fingers like coiled rope. Kostya didn’t pause. A second round punched through the man’s skull, cutting the scream short.
To the left, Viktor was a blur, a phantom cloaked in smoke and shadow. He moved with terrifying precision, rifle whispering death with each pull. A bullet carved through a guard’s temple, the exit wound blasting pink mist onto the crates behind him. Another stumbled as a round shattered his knee, before Viktor ended it with a cold shot through the eye.
Fedya slipped through the chaos like a ghost. His knife flashed once, twice, three times. A throat opened beneath the blade, blood pulsing rhythmically before the man collapsed. Another tried to scream as Fedya drove the knife up under his chin, the tip bursting through the roof of his mouth and into his brain. Only a wet, gurgling rattle escaped.
But it was Kostya who owned the room.
He was destruction given form, moving with a grace that was all the more horrifying for its calm. He advanced through the smoke and gunfire like a storm, eyes locked onto targets before they even realized he was there. One man raised his weapon too slow, Kostya blew his arm clean off at the shoulder. The scream that followed was cut short as a boot crushed his windpipe.
Another tried to run.
Kostya caught him.
He slammed the man against a steel beam so hard his spine crunched audibly. Then he dragged his combat knifeacross the man’s belly, slow and deliberate, watching with cold detachment as intestines spilled free in a steaming, glistening heap. The man slid down the wall, sobbing, choking on his own blood.
“Cowards,” Kostya growled, turning from the dying man like he was already dust.
The stench of copper and cordite filled the warehouse. Blood pooled across the concrete floor, slick and dark, reflecting the flickering muzzle flashes like an oil-slick mirror.
The firefight didn’t last long. Danny’s men were outgunned, outmatched, and utterly unprepared for the fury that descended on them. Limbs were shredded, faces blown open, bodies left twitching in puddles of gore.
And through it all, Kostya never stopped. Each shot was a sentence. Each kill a message. His wrath was cold, clinical, the vengeance of a man who didn’t just want them dead; he wanted them erased.
By the time the last body fell, the warehouse was a charnel house.
And Kostya stood in the center of it all, unflinching, blood on his hands, his boots, his soul, and not a single trace of remorse in his eyes.
Within minutes, the shooting stopped. The warehouse fell silent except for the echo of gunfire and the distant wail of sirens. Bodies lay scattered across the concrete floor, Danny’s men reduced to still forms in spreading pools of blood.
Only Danny remained, his gun still pressed against Azriel’s head, his breathing rapid and shallow.
“That’s far enough.” His voice cracked slightly, but his hand remained steady. “Drop your weapons. All of you.”
Kostya stepped into the light, his dark eyes locked on Azriel’s face. Blood streaked his cheek from a shallow cut, and his expensive suit was torn and stained, but he looked magnificent. Deadly. Hers.
“Let her go, Danny.” Kostya’s voice was quiet, controlled. “This is between us.”
“No.” Danny’s grip tightened on the gun. “This is exactly where she belongs. Right here, paying for your sins.”
“I’m the one who hunted you. I’m the one who shot you.” Kostya took a step closer, his weapon still raised. “Your problem is with me.”
“My problem is with both of you.” Danny’s voice rose, hysteria creeping in around the edges. “You think you can just take what you want? Think you can hunt me down like some kind of animal? I’m her father. I gave her to you, and you repay me by trying to kill me?”
“You gave her to me because you’re a coward.” Kostya’s words cut through the air like a blade. “Because you’re too weak to face the consequences of your own actions.”
