63. Andrey

63

ANDREY

I used to think it was just a horror story for the men in this city to scare children with— The Slaughterhouse.

But it's real.

The Slaughterhouse is Nikolai's playroom. The place where human flesh is traded for money and the highest bidder always wins.

I'm in the middle of destroying the furniture in my office when Shura, Efrem, Vaska and Yuri thunder in. "Jesus Christ, Andrey!" Shura exclaims when he sees the carnage. "What the fuck is going on?"

I shove my phone in his face. I know Natalia's picture is still there, but I can't bring myself to look at it again.

Not that I need to. Her red, raw wrists and pale face will be in the back of my mind until the day I die.

The texts, too, are imprinted in my mind. I repeat them to myself as Shura's eyes scan the thread, horror leaching his face of color.

NIKOLAI: I have your pretty little lamb.

NIKOLAI : You have one hour to show your face. Otherwise I'll have to take the little lamb to The Slaughterhouse.

"Nikolai has her," Shura breathes.

My men stand to attention. The men I have left, anyway. Anatoly is dead. Olaf is fighting, but the doctors don't know if he'll make it through the night.

They died trying to save Natalia.

To honor them, I'll finish what they started.

"We don't have time to waste," I growl. Truth be told, the ten seconds I just used to destroy my office were ten seconds I could have used to close the distance between Natalia and me.

Every second counts. Every move matters.

"We head out in five," I snarl, rushing down the hall.

As I get ready, I order some men to stay behind to protect Misha, Katya, and Mila. The rest of us speed out of the manor, arrowing toward the location Nikolai sent.

"He sent you the location, brother." Shura's face is tight and doleful as I speed through the streets. "This is a trick."

"You think I don't fucking know that?"

His jaw drops indignantly. "Then why?—"

"Because he has my woman!" I roar. "What would you do?"

Shura's jaw snaps shut, and he doesn't breathe another word until we're standing outside the deserted-looking house on the far edge of the city.

"What's the game plan?" Shura rasps, loading his weapon.

"The game plan is to get in there, find Natalia, and get her the fuck out."

"He knows we're here," he reminds me. "This house is a ticking time bomb. You really think it's gonna be that easy?"

"No," I say grimly as I load a second gun and stuff it in the back of my pants. "I don't."

But I don't have another choice.

Before, I had only my life to lose. Now, I'd gladly trade that if it meant Natalia and my daughter could be safe. And I will, if it comes to it. Without a second thought.

Which is why, with my men at my back and flanking the house, I charge in.

The house is dark and musty. Dust fills the air after I kick the door in. Before it can settle, gunshots ring out. I spot the shooter behind a rotted-out sofa, and he drops with a single shot to the head. Shura takes out another near the fireplace. A third fires, but falls back with a hole the size of my fist in his chest.

Sheetrock dust and gunpowder combine into a haze so thick no one can see, but we don't stop moving, don't stop shooting. Men on both sides drop and scream as bullets wail through the air, but we press on.

I turn a corner and a shot screams past close enough to singe the skin of my scalp. But close enough isn't close enough.

I fire and drop the man like the waste of space he is. Anyone working for Nikolai after what he's done isn't worth my mercy.

I duck behind a rotting half-wall and check my watch. How much time do I have left? Twenty minutes? Fifteen?

My men clear the sitting room, and I spot the staircase.

I race towards it, launching myself at two Rostov soldiers blocking my path. I tackle them both to the ground, killing one with a bullet to the face and breaking the other one's neck with my knee.

"Andrey!" Shura roars from the bottom of the staircase. "Wait!"

But I don't wait. Fuck waiting.

More men are posted at the top, but my body is moving faster than my brain can keep up with. Maybe it's why it takes me half a flight of stairs to notice the pain in my side.

I've been hit, it seems.

Irrelevant.

I charge down the hallway, pouring blood from the wound in my ribs. A door looms at the end, and I crash through it like holy fucking lightning.

Then I grind to a halt.

Nikolai is in front of me. I can still hear gunfire downstairs, but Nikolai is calm.

Unbelievably calm, given he's unarmed and I have every intention of ripping his head from his body.

He half-turns to me, nodding to the gun I have aimed at his chest. "I'd put that away if I were you," he says. "Shooting me might set her off."

A whimper to my right draws my attention, and my knees nearly buckle.

Natalia is sitting in a chair—alive, whole, perfect. Except…

"No."

"Oh, yes," Nikolai hisses, his eyes narrowing with triumph. "Time to make a choice, Andrey Kuznetsov."

Shura was wrong: the house isn't the ticking time bomb.

Natalia is—by virtue of the explosive strapped to her chest, counting down the time remaining to detonation.

"You have thirteen minutes left."