Page 14 of Twisted Prince
“Leave me!” he snarls, the command ending in a choked cough. He rolls onto his side, his face twisting in agony as he spits blood onto the forest floor.
“Efrem…”
“I’m not going to make it,” Efrem states, his voice flat and definitive. “And if you get shot trying to save me, then my sacrifice will be for nothing. I don’t want to die in vain.”
Defeat crumples Pyotr’s shoulders, and as he nods, I grip his shoulder, ready to drag him away. We’ve already fallen too far behind. And Mikhail’s men are closing in.
“Tell… tell Dani I’m sorry. That I love her,” Efrem rasps.
The sentiment feels so out of place amidst the bloody chaos. And though I’ve spent far too many hours of my life scrutinizing the motives behind the relationship between Efrem and Dani, I can suddenly see the purity of his love for her. He’s not in nearly as much agony from his wound as he is about the thought of leaving her. It puts a cold lump of lead in my stomach.
“Of course,” Pyotr promises, gripping Efrem’s shoulder, then he slowly rises.
As much as I would like to allow them a proper goodbye, we don’t have time. We’re nearly surrounded and going to get cut off from our escape unless we leave now. So, I haul Pyotr forward and low, forcing him into a crouched sprint as we make our way through the forest. With Efrem down and the rest of the men carving a path ahead of us, we just might make it if we move fast.
I can see several of my men darting through the trees, Lev and Denka among them.
Keeping a grueling pace, and pausing every few moments to stave off one of the Zhivoder men, we finally make it across the boundary line. The chaotic pile of men scrambling into the Range Rovers is a stark contrast to the confident, deadly army that came here not an hour ago.
It’s a desperate plea for survival, and I can’t begin to count how many we lost in that slaughter. Following Pyotr into his Range Rover, I slam the door and command the driver to go. The two men who made it into our car with us slump against the backs of their seats as we all breathe heavily. And the SUV bumps and jolts as the tires cover rough ground indiscriminately.
Pyotr’s expression is beyond remorse as he peers out the window to the land behind us. I’ve never seen him look so devastated. And I know that’s in large part due to the friend he just lost. My stomach knots as my thoughts turn to the horrible, suffocating pain Pyotr’s bodyguard endured. It’s a terrible way to die.
Efrem didn’t deserve to go like that. None of the men did, trapped like rats and slaughtered like animals. What happened out there in the woods has made one thing abundantly clear.
Efrem isn’t the man passing information to Mikhail. No traitor would have sacrificed his life for Pyotr like that. And that means the bastard feeding us false information is still among us. My eyes flick to the two soldiers still panting as they lean their heads back against the headrests. It could be anyone.
But the frustration that roils inside me now, as the Land Rover carries us away from the Zhivoder estate, isn’t about the snake in our midst. We failed to get inside the house, which means we didn’t find the girls. And my greatest fear is that Mel’s time is running out. I couldn’t live with myself if I found her beaten, raped, and murdered like the seven girls I failed to protect before.
I’ll have to try infiltrating Mikhail’s estate again. Only this time, I’ll do it my way, slipping silently inside the property line under the cover of darkness with a few good men.
The car is silent, the atmosphere grave and solemn, and when we finally pull up to the front doors of the Veles estate, Pyotr seems to have regained his command.
“Take an account of who survived,” he orders Lev as soon as we step out of the Land Rover. “Set up a triage spot, where we can handle the worst of the wounds, and get the plane ready for takeoff. We need to get everyone back to the house. Silvia can help us patch up the wounded.”
“Gospodin,” Lev acknowledges before jumping into action.
Then he jerks his chin, gesturing me inside the mansion. I follow him down the hall into the cigar room. And as soon as we’re alone, Pyotr turns to me with a furious gaze. “Mikhail was waiting for us. He knew what we had planned.”
I watch him carefully, reading the emotion rolling off Pyotr in waves.
“We have a traitor in our midst,” I state confidently. “I’ve suspected it for a while now. But this confirms it.”
“You better not try and tell me again that it was Efrem,” he snarls.
I remain silent, acknowledging his anger with stoic patience. Misreading Pyotr’s bodyguard caused as much damage as Pyotr’s hesitation to believe me when I told him we have a turncoat. And I know how dearly that has cost my pakhan.
“Weed out the snake, Gleb. And when you do, I intend to make his death slow and painful.”
“Yes, gospodin,” I agree stiffly.
“Good.”
Pyotr turns to leave, but I clear my throat, stiffening to indicate I have something more to discuss. Pausing, Pyotr faces me, his gray eyes penetrating.
“I think there’s a good likelihood the girls were taken to Mikhail’s estate, sir. I would like permission to stay behind with Lev and Denka to find them.” I try to keep my voice even as I say it, but the tension of knowing I might already be too late is ripping me up inside.
Pyotr studies me for a moment, then simply nods. “Whatever resources we have left are at your disposal. I’ll send the jet back up to collect you when it’s done.”
