Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“I’ll not feed this MacKenzie to them,” I ground out. “It will ignite a war between us.”
“Their home is Swiss cheese, Vassili,” Simeon barked.
I shrugged, though my gut burned. “Done by a hotheaded man in his wrath. If a Lorenzo exists, he will pay. If not, we feed this one to Lev to vindicate Natasha.” My throat caught fire. “On everyone. MacKenzie Scotsmen, women. Their children.”
My half brother smiled, patted my shoulder like we were boys again, blood wet on our fists. “I thought you’d gone soft, brat. Khoroshiy. This is good. Decent.”
“Let’s go,” I muttered, my eyes swung to the building again. God, intervene before I must.
Over an hour later, the home in Bieldside rose like a painting from the art gallery that displayed my daughter’s photos. Mossy stone walls, ivy curling around tall windows. Russians stood guard in a manicured garden opposite a wrought-iron gate. I could imagine this place … a vacation for Zariah and Anastasiya. What would they call it? An air … B B? Da. A place meant for peace and laughter, for children running in the yard. Not men like us.
My palms sweated inside my gloves. My heart was heavier than it had been even at Natasha’s birth. I’d first held her fragile body, feeling like tenderized meat after a UFC match. At first, I’d tried not to cradle her too close. I’d not showered. In fact, a police detail had helped me leave the stadium to get to her. Two days without her were two eternities. Two days of wondering if Natasha drew breath after they drugged her like a cheap prostitutka.
Maybe the Mikhailovs embedded Boyra? They abducted her and left him for dead?
The van slowed.
I glanced toward Mikhailov’s fleet of Range Rovers, which lined the circular drive.
My pulse drummed like a war march. Our men shifted in the seats behind us, tense, eager. Lachlan still had duct tape over his mouth, hands bound, matching me glare for glare. Beside me, Simeon rolled his shoulders, calm as ever, his hand brushing the grip of his pistol.
“We won’t need those. These are our friends.” I nearly sneered at Lev’s sentiments. The old man bent more than a snake, manipulative. My eyes drilled the Russian at Lachlan’s side. “Watch him.”
He retrieved his pistol, placing it at Lachlan’s head.
The rest of us climbed out of the vehicle. Guns beneath suits, faces tight. The picture of happiness and joy.
Two of Lev Mikhailov’s men approached, the semiautomatic SKS rifles slung over their shoulders. “Welcome.”
Da, this should be a friendly meeting. Slight frowns instead of the stench of animosity. I strolled behind two men, Simeon at my side. Just three of our men followed us.
Though I’d told Simeon we didn’t need guns, make no mistake, I would never trust the Mikhailovs or their men.
Halfway up the stone pathway, a crack pierced the air.
The sound was sharp, vicious. The skull of Mikhailov’s guard in front of me burst. Blood sprayed along the pathway.
The man at his side spun around, snapping his SKS rifle upward.
“Chyort!” Simeon cursed, yanking his gun free as we rushed behind a nearby Range Rover, shooting at the guard.
Chaos erupted. Mikhailov’s soldiers scattered, shouting. Shots cracked from every angle and ricocheted off stone. The garden shredded under fire, petals scattering. My men hit the ground and shot toward the house. Bullets punched holes and windows, splintering the front door.
“Hold position!” I roared from behind the Rover. Why had that shot been fired from behind us and at an upward angle? Another Mikhailov enforcer fell, his chest torn apart by a bullet, far bigger than ours.
Simeon slammed against the car door, firing over the roof. “They think we started this!” he shouted.
As we picked off the guards outside, the Mikhailovs held more than my child. They gained an advantage, shooting from an elevated path.
My gut twisted cold. Nyet. Someone else had lit the fuse. Someone wanted us and the Mikhailovs at each other’s throats.
Rage smothered my breath. Did the MacKenzies know we took Lachlan? Were they shooting from the rear? Nyet. I could not be at war with two families at once! Unless a third more discreet enemy sat in the shadows. Someone who wanted chaos. This Lorenzo?
53
SIMONA
Two hours ago
Bone-deep warmth wrapped around me. What is this?
I cracked open my eyes. The world blurred for a second before focusing—Jake’s face inches from mine, his dark lashes low, the faint pensive crease between his brows even in sleep. As we lay skin to skin in the cramped backseat of the rental, I sighed, a smile forming. His muscular body seemed to lift mine with every exhale.
The sedan smelled of damp fabric, heater-blown air, and him.
My chest squeezed.
Last night broke through in pieces—the scream, falling, water sharper than knives slicing my skin … a frantic, desperate search for Natasha. Jake hauling me out before my muscles seized from negative temperatures. His body solid against mine as I shook so hard my teeth clacked together and stabbed my bottom lip.