“We should go.” Anya checks her watch. “The longer we stay here, the more likely someone will?—”
A metallic click echoes through the warehouse, drawing my attention back to Pavel. He’s dragged himself across the concrete to where a small pistol was hidden beneath a stack of shippingpallets. Blood streams down his face, but his gun hand stays steady as he raises the weapon.
“Nobody’s going anywhere.”
32
Dmitri
Three hours since she walked out. The vodka isn’t helping.
The glass sweats in my hand, and my desk is littered with ash and bottles. Her face won’t leave me. The way her voice turned to ice when she called me a kidnapper. When she stopped looking at me like I was hers.
I should’ve stopped her.
Instead, I let her go. Now I’m sitting here with nothing but liquor and the thought of the FSB knocking down my door.
The bottle’s half-empty, but it’s not enough to forget. Just enough to make the edges blur. I pour some more. The sound fills the silence she left behind.
I lean back, stare at the ceiling, and wonder which comes first—her hatred or my arrest.
Either way, it’s over.
Then, the pounding starts. Not in my head, but at the front door. Hard. Like someone’s trying to break their way inside.
Boris bursts into the office, out of breath.
“Boss, you need to come now. It’s Dr. Sokolova, and she’s got?—”
“Tell her to make an appointment like everyone else.”
“She’s got Mrs. Kozlov with her, and there’s blood.”
The glass slips from my hand and shatters on the floor.
I’m moving before the sound fades, pushing past Boris and racing toward the front door where I can hear Anya’s voice through the wood.
“Open the door, Dmitri! She needs medical attention!”
I wrench the door open, and the sight that greets me makes something primal and violent roar to life in my chest.
Katya is slumped against Anya’s shoulder, with blood soaking through her shirt and her face pale as snow. Her eyes are closed, and she’s barely conscious.
All thoughts of our fight evaporate. She’s hurt. Someone hurt her while I sat here feeling sorry for myself.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Pavel shot her,” Anya pants as she helps Katya through the doorway. “We need to get her to a doctor immediately.”
“Pavel?” I stare at Anya like she’s lost her mind. “What the fuck are you talking about? Pavel’s my security consultant.”
“He’s dead now. I’ll explain everything, but right now, we need to move fast.”
My world skids to a halt. And I swear to God my heart stops beating.
The man I hired to improve our security, the one I entrusted with access to my home and my business, is a government operative who tried to murder Katya.
I scoop Katya into my arms without thinking, and she makes a small sound of pain that nearly drives me to my knees. Her blood seeps through my shirt where I’m holding her against my chest, and the feeling makes my stomach lurch with rage.
