I glared at the closest Russian as Peter grunted in pain. Blood coated my fingers as I tried to stanch Peter’s wound.

The big Russian fucker aimed his pistol at me, a smirk on his face. “Dosvidaniya ublyudok.”

“Fuck you too, cunt.”

I expected a bullet to the face. It never came. The hangar lights went out, the entire place plunged into darkness. I threw myself on top of Peter as the Russian fired.

Then the roar of the rotary gun met my ears as bullets riddled the planes, the equipment, and the squad of Russians who stood in a group nearby. Pained groans and cries rose amidst the ongoing carnage from the bruiser with the modern Gatling gun. It had to be the Butcher. No one else would have bothered to come to our aid.

A smattering of return fire erupted nearby, but David quickly destroyed the shooters with another round of slugs from the rotary gun. When the hangar quieted again, only the groans of the injured remained.

“Boss?” David’s voice bounced off the metal sides of the hangar.

“Back here! Peter’s hurt bad.”

“I’m coming.” David ended the groaning men with a handful of shots as he picked his way to us. When he rounded the Cessna, his gaze fixed on his brother, and a particularly vicious rage fell over his face like a black cloud.

Leaning down, he easily lifted his brother—not a small man—into his arms. “Your neck.” He hitched his chin at me.

“It’s fine.” I didn’t know if it was or not, but I wasn’t in as bad of shape as Peter. “Let’s get him to the hospital. Then I’ll worry about me.”

David set off toward the airstrip, moving quickly as he stepped over the dead. I followed and helped him load Peter into the back of a black SUV.

I pulled myself into the passenger seat as David screeched tires out of there. Digging my phone from my pocket, I dialed Angus.

He picked up right away. “We’re almost there.” His voice was strained tight.

“Too late.” I pressed my palm to my neck and glanced back at Peter, who lay pale and silent in the back seat. “It’s over. But I’ll need my guys to clean up, get our dead and see if we have any wounded, then take the shipment to our warehouse.”

David tore down the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“I’ll see to it.” Angus wasn’t one of my guys, but I’d quickly grown to trust him and depend on him—perhaps more than I should have.

I ended the call and immediately dialed Sabrina. It went straight to voicemail. A prickling of worry flashed across my mind. I dialed again. Voicemail.

“Did Sabrina have her phone when you left?” I asked David.

“Yeah, she was in your room.”

I was about to dial her again when my phone lit up with an incoming call. “Yeah?”

“Boss, it’s Morris, from the house.” The guard’s voice was wheezy.

“What is it?” I gripped the phone hard. “Is Sabrina okay?”

“They burned it down.” He coughed, a gurgling sound that didn’t bode well. “Took her. The Russians took her. They just left.” Another violent cough. “It was Opal. She let them in.”

“Opal.” I slammed my hand on the dash. “What the fuck?”

He coughed and tried to speak again, but it was garbled.

“I’m sending an ambulance. Hang on, Morris.” I ended the call and dialed 911, reporting a shooting and fire at the house.

I dialed one more number.

“Yeah?” Con’s sleepy voice hit me on the second ring.

“How fast can you get here?”

“What’s wrong?” The sleep cleared from his voice in a heartbeat.

“The Russians took Sabrina.”

“Fuck.” A rustling sound and Charlie’s murmured voice in the background. “I’ll call in a favor at the small airport out here. Jump a plane, be there in two hours, tops.”

“I don’t have that long.” Desperation leaked into my voice. “Dmitri took her. He could be hurting her right no—”

“I’m leaving the house. I’ve got to make some calls. Hang on till I get there.” The line went silent, and I wanted to throw it against the windshield.

David pulled into the emergency room of Taylor Hospital, a rundown joint south of Philly. At least they’d have lots of experience with gunshots. We jumped from the car, and David gingerly pulled Peter into his arms and carried him inside.

A nurse rushed out from behind the front desk. “Sir, you can’t just—”

“He’s dying.” David’s cold voice shut her right up. “Save him. If you don’t, you’re next.”

The nurse blanched and reached for the phone.

“If you aren’t calling a doctor, you’re dead.” David strode forward, his brother limp in his arms.

She swallowed hard, her dark eyes wide. “I-I’m calling our emergency surgeon to the OR up on three. Take the elevator”—she pointed to it—“to the third floor. There will be a nurse waiting to start triage.”

“David, I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“Go get her.” He headed toward the elevator, his broad back blocking my view of Peter. “Keys are in the ignition. Once he’s out of the woods, I’ll come help.”

I didn’t have time for any reassuring words or to worry about Peter. My thoughts turned to Sabrina, to what sort of hell she was going through. Dashing from the ER, I jumped into the SUV and raced out of the parking lot as an ambulance rolled up, its lights flashing.

A few more phone calls, and I was on my way to Sam’s to pick up some heavy-duty firepower. I would save Sabrina or die trying.