Page 1 of Brutal Loyalty

CHAPTER1

Roman

Roman Garnovich had thought this would be just another mission: pilot a plane to Russia, pick up the cargo, and return back home. Simple. And while it was true that he generally preferred to drive over flying, he hadn’t balked when his pakhan, Viktor Sokolov, had given him his orders to head out from Boston to Russia at the last minute. He hadn’t balked when maintenance at the private airfield in Boston had told him that engine three had just been replaced and that the safety check would take longer than usual. And he hadn’t even balked when Viktor had refused to give him any details on the nature of the cargo, only telling him flatly that he was to “get the cargo and return with it as quickly as possible.”

But Roman was balking now. A restless sleep after he had landed near Moscow had left his eyelids heavy, and now he’d spent nearly two hours at this bratva-run hangar, wasting his time waiting for…what? That was the real question. There was still no sign of his cargo, and there were no extra sets of hands here to answer his questions or help him as he refueled and inspected the plane before take-off.

Roman had worked for the Sokolovs—specifically, for Viktor—for years now. He’d started off as his personal driver, a job which he enjoyed, and then gradually, Viktor had added more and more responsibilities, which Roman had accepted. No questions asked.

He trusted Viktor with his life, and he would do anything for his pakhan, who was also his best friend. Despite the circumstances, he’d been overjoyed when Viktor had assumed the position of pakhan after his father’s murder, and in the three short months since then, Viktor had already proven himself to be a formidable leader.

But sometimes, he could be too damn cryptic.

What the hell was going on?He checked his watch, again. 4:07 pm. It would be two in the morning back at the Sokolov mansion, but Roman was exhausted, and if he had any chance of getting out of Russia sometime tonight, he needed his cargo ASAP. At the very least, he needed a status update on what was causing the delay, so he could plan accordingly. With no one around, he couldn’t simply sit on his hands and hope that everything would work out. With a sigh, he called Viktor’s cell and hoped he was making the right choice.

The phone rang several times. Roman expected it to go to voicemail, but Viktor picked up on the last ring.

“This had better be good,” Viktor grunted, noticeably out of breath.

Roman could only imagine what he’d be doing awake and out of breath at two in the morning—probably better not to ask.

“Viktor. Apologies for waking you.”

“You didn’t wake me, and you damn well know it. What’s wrong?”

“It’s been two hours, there’s no sign of the cargo I’m waiting for—and there’s no one here to ask about it,” Roman explained.

He heard a faint clicking sound behind him, echoing through the hangar, and pressed the phone closer to his ear so that he could tune out the distraction.

“She’s not there yet?” Viktor asked.

“She?” Roman’s brow furrowed. Had he heard him right? “What are you talking about?”

“I knew you never would have accepted the job if I’d told you.” Viktor sounded faintly apologetic. “Your cargo is a woman.”

“Oh.” Roman’s voice was flat as he struggled to understand what Viktor meant. He knew that his pakhan did not engage in human trafficking, so it must be something else. The clicking sound in the hangar was getting louder. “And I suppose she’s running late?” he asked.

“I haven’t heard anything, but if she hasn’t arrived yet then she must be.”

Roman shook his head at the annoyance all this was turning out to be, bracing his forearm against his plane and leaning in, speaking quietly and hoping he could convince Viktor to tell him whatever truth he was still keeping from him. “Viktor, I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I have agreed if you’d told me the cargo was a woman?”

“Because she’s not just any woman…” Viktor’s voice trailed off.

Suspicion and anticipation twisted in Roman’s stomach, but he waited for the rest of Viktor’s response. The clicking was right behind him now. Then, he heard someone clearing their throat. Roman turned around, phone pressed to his ear, only to seeher.

“It’s Elena Popov,” Viktor said just as Roman’s eyes locked on the figure who’d come up right behind him. ItwasElena Popov—there was no mistaking that model physique, those plump lips, or the disdain on her face.

When Roman had been assigned as Alexandra’s chaperone, keeping an eye on Viktor’s new wife, he had met her best friend, Elena, twice: once at a café, and once at her apartment. Both times, she had proven to be almost unbearably outspoken. If Roman had made a list of his least favorite people, Elena would have been toward the top of it. She was an insufferable brat whose sole redeeming feature was, for some reason, that she could count Alexandra as a loyal friend.

He turned back to face the plane, holding in a curse. “I have to let you go,” Roman answered simply. “She’s here. And, yes, you were right. I wouldn’t have accepted the job if you’d told me. Good night.” He jabbed the “end call” button before Viktor could answer and turned to face Elena.

“You’re late.” Roman looked her over. His eyes started at her face, then swept down her lithe body to her stiletto heels. The clicking he’d heard had been her ridiculously high heels against the concrete floor of the hangar.

“Oh, am I?” Elena asked, almost innocently but with the faintest trace of venom, and then she spun a length of silken light brown hair around her finger. Roman noticed for the first time just how long her hair was—it fell all the way to her waist, with honey-colored highlights that reflected even the hangar’s dim fluorescent lighting. Despite the frost outside, underneath her pale pink coat, she was wearing a revealing dress that accentuated long, graceful legs. The whole outfit was wildly impractical given the chilly temperatures. There was only one reason she was wearing it. For the attention. Practicalities be damned.

She took a few steps closer to him, moving with breathtaking elegance. She would have been beautiful, Roman thought, if not for her personality. He remembered her as being both stubborn and rude. At the moment, she was proving true to memory, and Roman already felt prickles of irritation.

“Two hours late,” Roman added.

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