Nuclear Winter
A huge chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling, and Vladimir used the diversion to strike Maksim in the groin, causing him to stumble back and drop the knife. Vladimir hopped to his feet and grabbed the broken chair leg to use as a weapon. I skittered across the room and searched for another way out, hoping that once the pakhan drove a stake through the bloodsucker’s heart, we could make a run for it.
As he lunged toward Maksim, that wiry weasel bent his knees, turned his shoulders, and raised his hands in the martial arts ready position. He let out a primal battle cry and karate chopped the chair leg out of Vladimir’s hands and jump-kicked him in the chest so hard, he knocked Vladimir off his feet.
Oh, shit. Maksim was a runt compared to my husband, but had the moves of skilled fighter. I wanted to do something to help, but Maksim had proved to be twisted enough to use our baby as a weapon against my husband. My job was to protect George, and I had no choice but to stand back and let the pakhan fight for our freedom. I didn’t care if the odds were stacked a billion to one against us, the bond Vladimir and I shared would prove more durable than power, revenge, and the entire Russian Bratva crammed together.
Never fuck with an Ivanov.
“Get up, Vladimir. Fight!” I launched a fireball charged with positive energy and kick-ass vibes to my husband to amplify his strength. Vladimir bounced back to his feet and charged toward his enemy. Maksim spun around and kicked him in the jaw, but Vladimir recovered and rammed his elbow into Maksim’s collarbone. The two traded jabs, kicks, and Russian expletives fueled with primal rage. The viciousness of their blows wasn’t going to end until one of them stopped breathing.
Vladimir’s strength and resolve matched Maksim’s lightning fast hands and calculated moves. I desperately wanted to come to my husband’s aid, but my string of bad decisions had put our baby in the path of destruction, and I had to do what was best for George and stay out of the line of fire.
“Come on, Vladimir. Take him down!”
Both guys were beaten and bloody, but the battle raged on. Maksim wrestled Vladimir to the floor and pinned him flat on his back—directly underneath the swaying chandelier.
“Vladimir, get out of the way!”
During the cursing and crashing of the pakhan vs. pakhan death match, the rest of warehouse had fallen silent. The noisy gunfire and the raucous banter from the Ovechkin crew had subsided and been replaced with the sound of birds chirping outside the window and car doors opening and closing outside. Was it over? Yuri eliminated the entire crew? Dmitri reached Boris and they came back with reinforcements?
My hopes shattered when a damnable figure strutted into the room from the hallway—Alexander. He bared his golden, canine grill and growled, igniting my fight or flight instincts. I paced the room desperately searching for an escape route.
“Grab her,” Maksim ordered. “Mrs. Ivanov doesn’t leave this room.” He was on top of Vladimir with the knife aimed at his throat. Vladimir was holding him off, and I had faith my impending capture would give him the adrenaline boost he needed to struggle free.
Alexander charged toward me, and I evaded him by weaving through the dining tables. When he went one way to snatch me, I faked and bolted in the other direction. I panted with exhaustion as the chase ensued, but my life depended on my ability to dodge the greasy-haired predator who would inflict irreversible damage on me if I let him catch me.
More bits of plaster and insulation sprinkled down, and the light fixture swayed dangerously above the tables. At any moment, it was going to break free and crash to the ground, demolishing everything in its path. Alexander mirrored my every move—which gave me cause to re-write my game plan. I maneuvered through the tables, across the room, and positioned myself so I was outside the perimeter of the chandelier, and Alexander was directly beneath it. I had him where I wanted him, but I wouldn’t be able to keep him there for long. My creative juices had dried up, and instead of coming up with some elaborate scheme, I simply held up my hand and shouted, “Stop!”
Alexander was winded from the chase and tired of playing games. He picked up the vase on the table between us and fired it at me. I ducked and covered my head to avoid a deadly blow and screamed when the crystal slammed against the chair inches away from me. The glass broke into large pieces on impact, spilling the water across the floor and destroying the delicate flowers it once held.
I sidestepped around the broken glass and cried out to Vladimir for help as Alexander closed in. My husband’s eyes sharpened when he realized I was in mortal danger. His protective nature kicked in and summoned the strength necessary to defeat his enemy. He out-muscled Maksim and wrestled the weapon away from him. Then he stood, took aim, and hurled the knife at Alexander’s back.
Vladimir hit his mark, and a nasty thud sounded when the blade sank into his flesh. Alexander winced from the pain, but instead of letting the stab wound deter him, that feisty devil yanked the weapon out of his shoulder and grinned as he watched his own blood ooze down the handle. His eyes were wild with rage, and his opportunity for revenge against my husband was at last within reach. Alexander grasped the lip of the table that stood between us and flipped it over with such power, the force of the crash reverberated off the walls. As I backed away, Alexander held up the knife, squared his shoulders, and aimed the tip of the knife at my chest. “Do svidaniya. Goodbye, Carter Ivanov.” He drew back his arm, ready to hurl the knife, but he froze when a thunderous roar boomed above our heads.
The chandelier finally broke free from the ceiling.
I watched in horror as the enormous fixture fell as if it were a nightmare playing out in slow motion. As it came crashing down, I dove out of the way and covered my head. The walls shook and the wooden floor planks buckled as the impact rocked the room so violently, it was like an earthquake had hit.
I lay on the floor and blinked in disbelief and surveyed the aftermath as drywall dust sprinkled over the room like a nuclear winter. I stared at the heaping pile of mangled metal and shards of broken crystals that encompassed the spot where Alexander stood. As my mind raced and I considered he could’ve survived the impact, a steady stream of blood pooled from beneath the rubble, giving me the confirmation I needed that Alexander was dead.
“Get out of here now, Carter!” Vladimir yelled. “Find a way out and hide until Boris arrives with backup.” He had a chair aimed at Maksim and stood between him and the archway, blocking him to give me an opportunity to slide past and escape that hellhole.
I did as Vladimir instructed and ran through the archway. On shaky legs, I padded cautiously down the hallway but stopped when I heard voices murmuring around the corner. I was trapped between the dining room and whoever was closing in on me. I had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. I prayed Dmitri had reached Boris and they had returned with backup. As the footsteps closed in, I held my hands up high to avoid a misunderstanding with whomever I was about to encounter.
My heart pounded as I faced a pack of armed enforcers in slick black suits. My gaze darted from one menacing face to the next as they circled me with weapons drawn. A deep, menacing voice spoke in Russian, and then the sea of dangerous men parted and a squat, potbellied man emerged as the alpha leader of their wolf pack.
He had a withered face that carried the sinister expression of a rotting jack-o-lantern, and his pasty skin was so pale, it was obvious he didn’t spend much time in the light of day. The man was standing so close to me, I could smell the odor of stale tobacco on his breath. I kept still and submissive as the boss’s gaze moved up and down my body, surveying my disheveled condition. His eyes narrowed as he regarded my panic-stricken face, and then he gave his crew orders to search me.
I inhaled a shaky breath as an enforcer in a slick gray suit approached me and patted down my legs and backside. When he was satisfied I wasn’t packing a machine gun up my dress, he lowered my arms. I yelped from the pain of my injuries and instinctively wrapped my arms across my waist. Who the hell are these men in suits?
They appeared way too high-ranking to be a part of Maksim’s sketchy crew, and judging by their callous reaction to me, they weren’t brethren of the Ivanov family either. I stood cemented in place, terrified to move or even breathe too hard. The boss man approached me, ran his fingers along my battered arm, and fingered my blood red wedding ring. An unnerving smile lightened his ominous expression, and it appeared as though my one-of-a-kind solitaire outed my identity.
“Dobryy den. Good evening, Mrs. Ivanov. What brings you to London?” His creepy accent gave me chills.
He picked up my hand, lifted it to his fat lips, and kissed my swollen knuckles. He stared into my eyes and waited for me to respond, but I was so nervous, I lost my composure and blurted out, “Who are you?”
“Semyon Volkov—from Moscow.”
Holy, shit. Moscow is in the house. Our worst-case scenario had just multiplied and hatched into an army of flaming, soul-sucking demons. When I couldn’t take the heat of Semyon’s murderous glare, I squeaked, “Privet, Mr. Volkov.”
The enforcer barked at me in Russian and ordered me to answer the pakhan, but Semyon lifted his prison-tatted hand to silence his guard dog. I didn’t know what all the ink on his hand represented, but I did recognize the symbol of supreme leadership—a ring tattoo of a royal crown. Vladimir earned his in Siberia, and Maksim had an artsy one inked on his pinky. But Semyon’s ring featured a row of bulbous Russian cathedrals topped with crosses and a Bratva star in the center. If he was from Moscow, that meant he was The Pakhan—as in the boss of the whole organization.
My pulse quickened and it felt like my heart was in my throat. I had come face-to-face with my share of ruthless men and women since Vladimir and I had gotten married, but Semyon’s aura emitted the chilling presence of pure evil.
“Who is responsible for your injuries?” He motioned to my battered arms.
I wanted to answer him, but I feared he was setting me up to see if I was a rat. Honesty and loyalty were cornerstones in their world, but I wasn’t sure which one trumped the other.
“The pakhan asked you question.” An enforcer with a thin moustache sneered like a ticked-off predator, reminding me to show respect to his boss. As I wrestled with my thoughts, the raucous sound of heavy furniture falling over and china crashing to the ground alerted the Muscovites that trouble was brewing around the corner.
“Who is in that room?” Semyon asked.
“Maksim and Vladimir. Can you please stop them from beating the life out of each other?”
Semyon motioned to the gun-toting pack leader in the gray suit and ordered him to end the fight. Maksim and Vladimir were both going to answer to Semyon for all the trouble they caused, but I prayed Vladimir’s technical skills were important enough to Moscow for them to deem him too valuable to kill. If Project K was as vital as it seemed, it would give Semyon pause before delivering a fatal blow to the men who earned billions for their organization and gathered invaluable information for the Bratva through their cybercrimes.
One way or another, the war playing out between Maksim and Vladimir was coming to an end. Our situation was either looking up now that Moscow took control, or all of us would be floating face-down in the Thames before the night was over. Our collective fate rested in the hands of a pair of wickedly smart, bullheaded rivals—Vladimir and Maksim.