Page 9 of Crimson Curse
Beside me, Lex stiffens, a rare crack in his polished composure. He knows, like I do, that Viktor never lays all his cards on the table. There’s always a hidden angle that spills blood. I lift a hand, cutting him off before the protest rising in his throat can escape.
My mind races, considering every angle and examining each possible interpretation of Viktor's offer. He wants me desperate, and to lunge blindly so he can tighten whatever trap he hasprepared. The reasonable response is to consider his proposal while working to locate Naomi through other channels.
But if he truly moved her to Wisconsin, then time becomes the critical factor. Every hour she remains in his custody increases the chance that Lucien will make his move, and the delicate balance maintaining this standoff will collapse into chaos.
I close the distance, my shadow stretching over his polished shoes. “Give me the coordinates,” I grind out, every word laced with the urge to open his throat here and now. But Naomi comes first. For her, I’ll play this part for now.
Viktor may think he’s measured my ruthlessness, but he has no idea what I become when someone threatens the few things I actually care about. His time will come, and when it does, he’ll beg for an end that never arrives.
He tips his head in mock amusement, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. The gesture is deliberate, a dismissal dressed as nonchalance, and careful enough to avoid sparking the violence simmering between us.
Two hours later, the SUVs tear across a back road in rural Wisconsin. The headlights carve tunnels through the darkness revealing glimpses of a forest that stretches endlessly on both sides of the narrow asphalt.
The coordinates Viktor provided have led us deep into the wilderness, far from any populated area where witnesses might complicate whatever we find at our destination. The trees crowd the narrow road like conspirators, their branches forming a canopy that blocks even starlight.
The isolation is a blessing and a curse. If Naomi is truly here, then we can extract her without worrying about civiliancasualties or police interference. But the remoteness also means that if this is a trap, help will be impossibly far away.
Timur rides shotgun in the lead vehicle, his hand resting casually on the grip of his rifle. In the back of my SUV, Maksim hums a tuneless rhythm, the sound jagged with anticipation. Roman keeps his eyes on the treeline, silent and focused, every sense honed to razor sharpness. Beside me, Lex studies the GPS, his finger tracing our route, calculating distances and timing with the precision that makes him invaluable in any tactical move.
“There,” Lex mutters, pointing toward a break in the trees. A cabin squats at the end of a dirt track, lights glowing faintly in the windows like eyes in the darkness. Smoke curls lazily from the chimney, creating gray ribbons against the star-filled sky.
The structure appears ordinary, almost quaint in its rustic simplicity. But appearances mean nothing in our world, where death can wear the face of respectability and violence can hide behind the most innocent facades.
My pulse surges, and my heart hammers against my ribs with enough force to be painful. Every muscle in my body aches as I prepare for whatever we might find inside that seemingly peaceful building.
Our vehicles stop simultaneously, leaving only the tick of cooling metal and the whisper of wind through pine branches. The doors open in silence, well-oiled hinges making no sound as my men emerge with weapons ready.
We reach the porch, our boots silent on wooden planks that creak despite our care. The sound seems impossibly loud, but no response comes from within the cabin. Lex signals with subtlehand gestures. Three. Two. One. The door bursts inward with a crash that shatters the night, Timur storming in first, rifle raised and ready.
Shouts echo through the small structure. “Clear left!” “Clear right!” Maksim barrels in behind Timur, his bulkier frame filling the doorway briefly before he disappears into the interior. Roman covers the rear, his sniper rifle tracking across windows and potential escape routes.
Lex and I enter last, vengeance a steady drumbeat in my veins. The interior of the cabin appears exactly as rustic as the exterior promised. Rough wooden walls and simple furniture, that might serve as a hunting lodge or vacation retreat for someone who enjoyed pretending to rough it while maintaining access to modern conveniences.
But something feels wrong immediately. The air tastes stale, abandoned, as though no one has occupied this space for days. The cabin is empty. Every room we check reveals the same story. Whatever this place might have been, it is no longer serving as anyone's prison.
Naomi is gone. The truth slams into me harder than any bullet I have ever endured. My chest constricts, breath burning like acid in my lungs as the full implications consume me. Viktor lied. Of course, he lied. The meeting, the coordinates, the careful performance of reasonableness, all of it nothing but elaborate theater designed to accomplish goals I am only beginning to understand.
He was never going to return her. This was nothing but a diversion, a clever trick to buy himself time while positioning pieces on a board I can’t even fully see. Every moment I spentnegotiating, every second I wasted believing his lies, Naomi was being moved farther from my reach.
Lex's voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. “Ambush.”
The word has barely left his lips when gunfire explodes outside, sharp and brutal as lightning strikes. The night erupts into chaos, muzzle flashes strobing through the forest like deadly fireflies. Bullets tear through the cabin walls, splinters raining across the floor in a wooden blizzard that stings exposed skin.
My men return fire instantly, training overriding surprise as they dive for cover and begin laying down suppressing fire. The air becomes thick with the staccato roar of assault rifles, the sharp crack of pistols, and the deeper boom of Roman's sniper rifle picking off targets.
Maksim hurls himself toward the window, firing wild bursts into the trees. His technique lacks Roman's precision, but the sheer volume of fire he produces serves its own tactical purpose, forcing enemies to seek cover rather than taking aimed shots.
Timur barks orders in Russian that cut through the chaos. Lex drops to one knee behind the overturned table, his rifle braced against the window frame. Each shot from his weapon produces immediate results, enemies falling in the treeline as he takes out targets.
I dive behind the overturned sofa. The cabin is in chaos, but my mind becomes razor-sharp. Combat has always had this effect on me, stripping away everything unnecessary and leaving only the essential elements required for survival. I fire through the shattered window, the gun bucking in my hands as I put three rounds center mass into a shadowed figure in the treeline.
My teeth bare in a snarl of satisfaction. Lex moves quickly to my side. “We need to fall back,” he shouts over the noise. “They'll box us in if we stay.”
The tactical assessment is correct. Already, muzzle flashes are appearing from new positions, enemies moving to flank our position while we remain trapped in the cabin. The initial advantage of hard cover is rapidly disappearing as superior numbers begin to tell.
“Not yet,” I growl, putting another round through the head of an enemy foolish enough to expose himself while moving between trees. “Not until their blood soaks the earth.”
These men, whoever they are, represent everything that has gone wrong in the past few days. More gunfire erupts from the north. Shadows flit through the trees, too many moving fast.
