Page 19 of Bratva's Innocent Obsession
We’re half an hour away from the airfield Yevgeny uses, but we can’t afford to arrive too soon. Neither can we risk missing them, because we’re too late.
The conflict is a clamp in my chest. In the end, I think they’ll leave just after dark. That’s what I would do. So we endure hours of agony while I listen to the coms non-stop, hoping I was right.
I’ve been less tense when expecting a retaliation from Volk for taking the London territory of Harlesden for myself ratherthan on their behalf, at the dentist, and when I thought Camden was going to chop my hand off.
My right hand.
I imagine Taylor and her friends travelling through Moscow, and obsess over the ways this could go wrong.
We review all the scenarios as we wait.
Then the call for the plane comes in on the airfield’s coms, and we set the plan into action. There’s no need for discussion on the drive over. There’s just taut silence.
I’m asking a lot of my men. We’re a strong team, but this is different.
Our first SUV crashes through the fence of the airfield and it bounces off the roof of the vehicle I’m in. One more follows.
“That’s the target,” I say as the full airfield cuts into visibility. There’s a private jet on the ground, surrounded by SUVs and guards in black T-shirts and jeans.
The ballerinas are being ushered up the steps onto the plane. My heart is in my throat in a way it has never been before as I see that we’re just in time.
This having-something-to-live-for shit is terrifying.
My men shoot out the drivers first. Five shots from a 9mm submachine gun to the same spot get through the best bulletproof glass, and a dead body behind a steering wheel is a hindrance.
The girls who are yet to board shriek, and there’s the noise of feet on metal as they scramble up the steps onto the plane.
And out of danger. I hope. If Taylor is hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.
If any of the other dancers are injured, I suspect Taylor will never forgive me.
But there’s no time for that. There are shouts from the Volk guards. They’re out-manned and surprised, but not going down without a fight.
A small group of women, and Yevgeny, are closer to the limo than the plane. Yevgeny grabs one by the arm, and there’s a cry of “Madam Polina” from the other. They bolt into his limo, slamming the door.
Fucker. Using human shields, of course.
According to Taylor, Yevgeny’s team is ten. There are seven guards visible, with two vehicles. At the sight of the men, anger overtakes me. I intended to be the cool, calm, mastermind of this situation, but instead I shoot before I think.
Taylor hated these men. They made her so uncomfortable that she can’t be called gorgeous in Russian. The window is down, and bullets spray from my gun. The nearest man takes a shot to the neck and the chest, falling backwards as we screech to a halt.
I’m barking orders and numbers to my team as the windows are peppered with bullets, the glass opaque and shattered for a few critical seconds, allowing us to shelter.
I lead two of my men, ducking out the far side as planned. The driver stays down, reloading weapons to pass to us.
From the SUV to our right, Vadik is providing covering fire.
There’s a scream, and I know someone’s been shot.
I peek over the bonnet and take in the scene in half a second before a hail of bullets hits the car as I fall back. They’re at the tail end of one of their cars, the only place they’re shielded from us.
I fire off a few rounds over the top of the SUV, giving the third part of my team a moment of respite. Then I signal to Vadik, and we creep around in opposite directions. We need to get to them before they can reload and regroup.
Shots are fired on both sides.
Bullets whistle over my head.
“I’m down,” Danill calls out from the other side, remarkably calm despite the fact he’ll be bleeding.
