Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

V adisk glared up at his husband as Montana lifted the towel covering Vadisk's head and snapped a picture.

"Asshole," he muttered.

"Absolutely," Montana agreed with a wide grin, before dropping the towel back into place. Vadisk shoved the towel aside, creating a gap so he could watch as Montana climbed back into his laundry cart. Montana nearly fell as he tried to bring his second leg over. But the universe wasn't playing fair, and despite the van—which had shit suspension—bouncing and rocking down the road, Montana didn't fall on his ass.

The two of them were in the back of the white-paneled van they'd liberated from Crimean Sky an hour ago. Vadisk had noticed the dusty vehicle with a laundry company logo on the side during the tour of the resort.

It had taken them longer than he'd liked to make their way back up to the resort, given that they'd had to go uphill without a golf cart and watch for members of Sinaver's militia. It had taken them a half hour to get down to the beach, but nearly two hours to hike back to the resort.

On their way, they'd been able to peak over a small rise and see their villa, which was swarming with militia.

Dahlia had winced as a man tossed her hard-sided equipment case onto the hood of a truck and opened it. "My poor camera."

"I have it," Vadisk told her.

"What?" They'd both looked at him in surprise.

"Your footage was good, Dahlia. I'll admit I didn't get your job at the beginning, but I do now. You've been working hard since we got here and despite this place being dangerous as fuck, you found genuine beauty. I understand the appeal of your show. You offer people an inside look at a world they'll never see. I didn't want what you'd done here to go to waste. Besides, that's the only footage we have of our honeymoon."

Despite the danger surrounding him, Vadisk had gotten one hell of a kiss from their wife for saving her camera…and their memories.

After the recon of their villa, they'd made their way up to the main resort and split up, each of them taking a slightly different route to the forgotten utility parking area where Vadisk had spotted the van. Montana was the most at risk of drawing attention, between his distinctive red hair and still-damp clothes that clung to his chest and shoulders.

Vadisk knew he wasn't exactly inconspicuous, given his size, but he hunched his shoulders, bent forward a little, and walked like he knew where he was going.

Dahlia had beaten him to the van, and by the time he got there, she'd found the key, old-school tucked in the sun visor. There were two seats up front, while the large back compartment held a couple of massive canvas laundry carts and shelving units bolted to the walls.

By the time Montana joined them, Dahlia had snuck into a storage room adjacent to the small parking area and grabbed supplies they'd need to sell this charade, including stacks of clean towels.

Vadisk had wanted to take the carts out so he and Montana could sit in the back with towels thrown over them. Neither of his spouses had liked that plan and had proven it wouldn't work when Montana climbed in and sat, Dahlia threw a towel over him, and he just looked like a man with a towel over his head.

That was how Vadisk had ended up wedged into this fucking laundry cart.

The carts were large, but Vadisk was larger. His legs were jammed up against his chest, his shoulders wedged painfully against the metal rails of the cart structure, and his ass had gone numb.

Every time Dahlia hit a bump in the road, he got another bruise on his butt.

Montana was squished into his own cart, but unlike Vadisk, he wasn't stuck, as evidenced by his climbing out to take a picture. If this whole mission went to shit, Vadisk wasn't going to be much help because it would take him five minutes to get out of this fucking thing.

"Get back in your cart," Dahlia scolded from the driver's seat.

"I am," Montana assured her. "But I felt we needed a picture of Vadisk."

He growled and tried to get one arm out so he could reach over and smack Montana. His fucking arm was stuck.

Montana laughed. "Remember that time you made my claustrophobic ass walk through a cave?"

Vadisk snorted. "We're joking about that already?"

"I'm just saying…karma, baby."

"Quiet," Dahlia said, voice serious. "I think…yes, we're almost there."

Vadisk snapped into security officer mode. "Remember, if it feels like it's going wrong, you are armed. This vehicle is a weapon. Don't be afraid to use it." He'd given Nikolett the same coaching more than once. He had no doubt Nik would run someone over if she felt the need, but despite Dahlia's amusingly bloodthirsty hostage suggestion earlier, he was worried she'd try to talk her way out of trouble if things went wrong rather than gunning it.

"I know," she said, but this time in Russian. "I can do this." She normally spoke Russian with a faint American accent that marked her as a foreigner, but now that was gone. She sounded like she was from Moscow.

They'd worked out this part of the plan as they walked, and while Vadisk wanted to box both of them up and keep them safe, his partners were too fucking brave and wonderful to ever let him do this alone. Knowing they would always have his back felt incredible.

And frustrating.

But there was no arguing because this was a good plan. And it would take all of them.

Towels weren't the only thing she'd grabbed from resort storage. She also found a plain white uniform that looked almost like scrubs. The resort's in-house spa logo was embroidered on the chest, but she'd covered it with a black chef's apron. The makeshift uniform was a bit odd looking but clearly belonged to a service worker. She had ripped up a sheet to fashion it as a scarf to hide her hair. They were banking on situational blindness in anyone they encountered because no one would expect Dahlia to walk into Sinaver's house.

He and Montana adjusted their towels to make sure they were fully covered as the van slowed and turned. If the gate guard opened the back, he'd see two carts heaped with towels. If they dug into the towels…

Montana would have to take care of it, at least until Vadisk could get out.

A second later, the van came to a stop and Dahlia rolled down the window.

"Who are you?" a male voice said in Russian.

"Laundry." Dahlia's voice was irritated and a little aloof.

"No. The cleaner brings the laundry."

"You think I don't know that, goat?"

Vadisk winced as she called the guard a goat, which was roughly equivalent to calling someone an asshole, but the pissed-off, insult-filled way she was speaking was in character for a certain type of Russian.

"I already cleaned," Dahlia continued. "I brought plenty of towels, but it's not enough. They told me I have to re-clean two rooms, and every bathroom needs new towels. What are you doing with the towels, huh?"

"Give me the towels, I'll take them up."

"You? You'll leave dirt on the nice white towels. And you're going to clean for me?"

"No, but you're not getting?—"

"You want to make my life harder? You think I need more bullshit? I married a soldier, thinking he would be an officer. We would live a nice life. Instead, he brings me here. There's nowhere to live, so we have to rent an expensive tourist house, which means I have to work. No flowers, no jewelry. Instead, I clean houses and wash other people's shit-stained underwear and towels you probably jerked off into."

Under the mountain of towels, Vadisk was grinning.

"And if that's not enough, look at this."

Vadisk was pretty sure he knew what she was pointing at. The uniform Dahlia found had been a little too big on her, so she'd stuffed hand towels into a pillowcase and tucked it under her shirt, then wrapped the apron strings around herself before tying them below her breasts, emphasizing the newly created baby bump.

Given the height of the van, it was possible the guard hadn't noticed her supposedly pregnant belly until she pointed to it.

"I should be at home resting. I should be taken care of, instead of having to work. You don't want to let me in? You want me to park here and walk the towels up?" She made a dismissive noise.

"Fuck, lady, calm down," the guard mumbled. "Fine. Go."

"I'm glad you aren't stupid."

"I'm glad my wife isn't a bitch like you."

With those parting insults, the gates swung open with a mechanical grind, and the van started forward.

"Did it work?" Montana whispered, voice barely audible.

"She was fucking amazing," Vadisk replied.

They stayed quiet until Dahlia stopped. "I'm going to get out and see if anyone approaches me," she murmured. "Stay here. I'll scream if I need help."

Jesus. Christ. Vadisk started flexing, attempting to put pressure on his feet. He was wedged in too tight. Fuck it. If she started screaming, he was going to show them just how much he was like that Incredible Hulk they kept comparing him to. He'd break the fucking cart to pieces to get to her.

The van's back door opened.

"We're good." The vehicle rocked a little as Dahlia climbed in. "I parked us on the grass under some trees at the back of the house, near what I assume is the rear entrance. There weren't as many cars parked in the front as there were when we visited before. Most of the militia must still be out looking for us."

Vadisk started throwing off towels, taking a deep breath of cool air. Well, not that deep, since he was cramped in the damn cart.

Montana snapped another picture, this time far enough back he got the whole cart in frame.

Vadisk bared his teeth. "Dahlia, hit him for me."

Dahlia smacked Montana's ass.

He wiggled his brows. "Please, ma'am, may I have another?"

Dahlia started snort-laughing as Montana grinned. Vadisk hid his own smile and twisted, managing to yank one arm free. Montana clasped his hand while Dahlia held the cart steady as Vadisk pulled himself up and out.

"I'll deal with you two later," he vowed, growling a little.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Montana added, apparently on a roll with the comebacks. Vadisk suspected that nothing they did from this point on—and they were going to do some dangerous shit—would frighten Montana as much as that cave had.

Vadisk hopped out of the van and looked around, hating to break up the lighthearted moment they'd been having. Brief flashes of levity were necessary in tense situations, as it took the edge off the adrenaline.

Dahlia had parked the van at the back corner of the massive building. While the front had a paved, circular drive, back here was an area of packed dirt. There was only one other car, so this clearly wasn't the designated parking area for militia members or household staff.

Hopefully if anyone took note of the van, they'd talk to the gate guard, who would tell them to avoid the pissed-off pregnant woman and just let her do her job.

"I'll go first," Dahlia said, "and figure out how many people are in there and the best way to go in."

"Wait." Montana pointed toward the back door. "Is that a laundry bag?"

Vadisk followed his finger to the tan sack sitting on the ground by the rear door. At first glance, he had assumed it was an odd-colored garbage bag, but now that he was really looking, he saw it was canvas.

Dahlia walked swiftly from the van to the bag, peeked inside, and then hauled it back, having to drag it part of the way.

"If we put that in the back of the van now, and leave the doors open, it will help sell that we're the laundry people," Montana said as he went to help Dahlia with the bag once she was under the trees.

"Check what's inside," she panted.

Montana hauled the bag into the van and Vadisk opened it.

Militia uniforms.

"Fuck yes," Montana said with a grin, yanking out a pair of pants.

Ten minutes later, Montana was in uniform, and Vadisk was as close as he could get. The pants were too short, but luckily his boots came up high enough that he wasn't showing off ankle. The shirt was on, the buttons straining to hold it closed across the chest.

"If you take a deep breath, you're going to burst out of that thing like the Hulk," Montana said.

Vadisk started to round his cramped shoulders but stopped when he heard something tear. "It will work," he said. "I'm going to go get us some weapons."

Dahlia looked worried, but Montana nodded. "We'll go?—"

"Just me. You don't speak Russian or Ukrainian."

Montana's mouth flattened, and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Montana, you go to Sinaver's office and check it for bugs and cameras," Vadisk said.

"You're sure he's not here?" Dahlia asked. "Maybe just check again."

Montana took out his phone, which was luckily waterproof and had survived his leap overboard. "GPS puts him, or at least his phone, in Sevastopol."

"Dahlia, do a quick sweep of the house, count any non-militia people you see."

She nodded, adjusting the stack of towels she'd just neatly folded and tucked under her arm.

"We meet in twenty minutes outside Sinaver's office."

One by one, they went in, and this time Vadisk was in the lead.

The rear door opened to a dark hallway with paneled wooden walls and a tile floor. A partially open door led to a closet full of cleaning supplies. Vadisk left the door pushed open so Dahlia would see it in case she needed more props.

The back hall met a longer, perpendicular hall that traversed the building. He followed the sound of voices to the left, stepping through an opening into the back of the foyer, just under the stairs. Three men in militia uniforms stood near the open door to the room they'd seen last time they were here.

Vadisk strode forward, swaggering a little even though it made him feel like an ass.

One of the men looked up as he approached, eyes widening a little as he took in Vadisk's size.

Vadisk nodded at him and turned into the room. Half a dozen men were inside, all of them just standing around and talking.

The ugly utilitarian office furniture looked almost obscene when contrasted with the delicate wood carving of the crown molding and windowsills. Just inside the door was a long metal table that had been haphazardly draped with felt cloth, which in turn was piled with guns, gun parts, knives, and two rocket launchers.

Fuck.

After a quick look at the weapons, Vadisk walked across the room to study a map that was spread out on one of the desks, bending to brace his hands. He straightened at the sound of footsteps.

"You're new. I haven't seen you before."

Turning, Vadisk studied the speaker. Young, confident, a little aggressive. A boy who thought he was grown. The man beside him, probably a father or uncle, given the similar facial features, put a hand on his shoulder.

"You just joined?" the older man asked in a more friendly tone.

"Yes. Just moved here. I came down looking for work." Vadisk shrugged. "There's nothing in Krasnoperekopsk."

"You're from Krym?" the younger man demanded, clearly suspicious Vadisk might be a Crimean Tartar.

"You're not? Are you a tourist?" Vadisk shot back. "We need men who will fight because they care about what happens here."

The younger man opened his mouth, but again, the father or uncle squeezed his shoulder. "Krasnoperekopsk is a hard place to live. I'm Dimitri," the man said. "And this is my son, Ivan."

"Lev," Vadisk replied, holding out a hand.

"We have family here," Dimitri said. "We came from Voronezh to help them defend their home."

Vadisk nodded in acknowledgement as Dimitri looked him up and down. "You're a big one, aren't you?"

He shrugged, the uniform shirt groaned, and he froze.

Dimitri smiled. "They don't make it in your size?"

Vadisk shook his head. "This was the biggest."

"I help us stay organized," Dimitri said with pride. "Make sure we have bullets, tea."

Because bullets and tea were of equal importance.

"I'll see if I can get you something bigger." Dimitri turned, heading for a desktop computer with a cracked monitor that was set up in a corner.

Ivan was still eyeing Vadisk. "You know how to fire a gun?"

"Yes."

"You know how to blow up a boat?"

Vadisk raised his eyebrows and shook his head, his stomach tight.

"Come on." Now seeming even younger than Vadisk had thought, Ivan motioned him over to the table of weapons with an inappropriate amount of enthusiasm. He pointed at the rocket launcher. "See this? Used one to blow up a boat this morning."

"You did?"

Ivan's expression soured. "No, but I was right there. They're still looking for the bodies."

"Bodies?"

"Yeah, some foreigners who were trying to escape. They were on the boat—well, at least one of them was, I saw him myself—when it went up." Ivan made explosion sounds.

Sinaver thought Montana was dead. But in his call with the Spaniard, he'd promised to turn over all three of them.

"Easier, cleaner ways to kill a man than that." Vadisk picked up a handgun and tapped the center of his forehead with the muzzle. "Shoot them right here."

"I think we were supposed to capture them, but they were going to get away, and we stopped them." Ivan sounded defiant and defensive.

How surprising that an untrained militia hadn't followed orders.

"So did they find the bodies?"

"Not yet. Someone said they saw footprints going into a cave, so maybe the other two survived."

"We can always kill them later," Vadisk said with a shrug.

Ivan nodded. "One of them is a woman. An American who's supposed to be famous. I hope she is alive so we can get her."

Cold rage slid down Vadisk's back. "Famous…" he said slowly, as if thinking it through. "She has money? Ransom?"

Ivan shrugged. "I don't know." The possibility of ransom clearly wasn't what excited Ivan about capturing Dahlia. "But maybe when Minister Abduramanov is done with her, we can have her."

Vadisk forced himself to laugh when Ivan did, though he felt sick. He should have found somewhere safe to hide Dahlia. Except nowhere was safe. At least if they were together, there was a chance they could protect one another. He'd move heaven and earth to keep these men away from her.

Ivan showed Vadisk his other favorite weapons. The boy's opinion seemed to be based on the size of the gun, not the actual capability or accuracy of any of them. Vadisk casually tucked the first gun he'd picked up into his pocket. By the time Ivan was done waxing poetic about firearms, Vadisk had three guns, three extra clips, a stun grenade, and a pocket Taser tucked into his waistbands and pockets.

No one was paying any attention to him as he strode out of the room, heading up the stairs with the air of a man who knew where he was going.

That had taken longer than he wanted. Had it been more than half an hour? Hopefully his husband and wife weren't panicked.

The hall outside Sinaver's office was empty, and Vadisk froze. What if they'd been identified and taken? Surely if they'd been discovered, there would have been some sort of alarm he would have heard.

The office door opened, and a slim hand appeared in the gap, fingers curling in a rapid "come here" gesture.

Relief made his knees bend, but Vadisk started forward, slipping into the office. The instant the door was closed, he wrapped his arms around Dahlia, hugging her tight and kissing the top of her head.

She returned the embrace but then looked up at him, worried. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, exhaling, then handed her a gun.

"Uh… Thank you?"

"Do you know how to fire a gun?"

"Pull the trigger? It can't be that hard."

Sadly, it wasn't, and the gun he'd given her was an old model with no safety.

Vadisk looked around. "Wait, where's Montana?"

"In here," came a muffled response.

Dahlia let him over to a section of wall that swung out when she tugged. "We found a secret room."

Vadisk stepped in. The windowless room was about the size of a bedroom and lined with shelves and storage lockers. There was a bank of monitors above a computer terminal. One monitor showed the hallway he'd just been in. He grinned, scanning the other monitors.

Montana was at the computer, and when Vadisk leaned in, his husband tipped his cheek up without looking away from the screen or stopping his typing.

A bit bemused, Vadisk kissed his cheek. "I have a gun for you," he said, setting a weapon down by Montana's elbow.

"Who needs a gun when we have code?"

"We do. We need a gun." Vadisk shook his head and turned to Dahlia.

She plopped down to sit on a heavy weapons trunk, the apron and fake baby bump gone, leaving her in the all-white spa worker ensemble. "I stopped trying to talk to him about ten minutes ago. Everything okay?"

"Yes. They think they killed Montana. They're looking for his body. We left footprints on the sand, so they know we weren't all on the boat." Ivan hadn't seemed certain, but he was sure that had more to do with the boy being bloodthirsty than anything. Anyone with more sense than a teenage boy with a weapon—so, most of the population—would probably take the footprints as a sign that at least one person was still alive.

"Does that help us? Hurt us?" she asked.

"Might give us an advantage if they think it's just you and me. He's a surprise." Vadisk tipped his head toward Montana.

"I'm a surprise and the fucking god of code," Montana said without looking over.

Vadisk looked at Dahlia. "Nerd?" He wanted to make sure he used the right word.

"Nerd," she agreed.

"Nerd," Vadisk called out.

"Husband of a nerd," Montana shot back.

Vadisk shook his head, sitting beside Dahlia. She put a hand on his thigh, rubbing gently. "We're safe for now," she said softly. "Montana has taken over the entire security system and already wiped all the recordings of us."

"That's good."

Her hand lifted to his face, thumb sliding along the tight muscle in his jaw. "What's wrong? What else happened?"

He faced her, surprised that she knew him this well after so little time together. He hadn't expected to feel this way. Being assigned spouses had felt a bit like another mission he'd be tasked with. One he would follow through on to the best of his ability, while continuing to serve his territory and Nikolett.

Vadisk hadn't anticipated the overwhelming affection, the heart-racing desire, the soul-crushing need to keep them safe and with him…always.

Forever had just been another word until he met them. Now, it was as vital to him as the air he breathed.

"What if I can't protect you?" he asked, showing her something he was careful to always keep locked inside. Vulnerability.

"It's not your job to protect me."

"Yes it is, I'm your husband."

"Exactly. My husband. Not my bodyguard." She smiled. "I'm not saying you can't protect me, just that it isn't your job . I know you've been your admiral's bodyguard for a long time, so maybe it's hard to stop thinking like that."

Vadisk was surprised by her words. He was about to deny and insist that his job was to protect her, but she put her finger on his lips.

"Your job is to love me," she said softly. "To love us."

He considered those feelings he'd just been analyzing.

Affection. Desire. Forever.

Love.

If her words were true, then he was already doing his job.

"Dee, get the door," Montana said urgently, interrupting them.

Vadisk's gaze jumped to the cameras even as Dahlia pulled the hidden door all the way closed until there was a faint click.

Two men were mounting the stairs. One was Sinaver. The other was…huge.

Vadisk rose, stepping close to the monitor. The Spaniard was a full head taller than Sinaver, which made him about Vadisk's height or maybe even taller. He was tall but not gangly, his shoulders wide, his legs thick with muscle inside the black tactical pants he wore. His long-sleeve shirt hugged heavily muscled arms, and black gloves covered his hands.

"Is he wearing a mask?" Dahlia whispered, switching her attention to the screen that showed the hallway.

"Looks like it," Montana said in the same low voice.

Now they had a frontal view of the Spaniard as they walked toward the office. A full tactical balaclava that covered his head and face except for the eyes. The video was too grainy to see fine details, but Vadisk would have bet money that it wasn't some knit ski mask, but the kind of head covering and face mask he'd had in the army, with specialty fabric and a panel of breathable cloth over the mouth.

"Are we going to be able to hear them?" Vadisk asked, hating that he hadn't thought to ask before now, when it was too late to do anything.

"We tested it out, and I could hear Dahlia talking if I pressed my ear to the door crack," Montana said quickly. "Okay shhh, here they come."

Dahlia and Vadisk raced to the door. She dropped to her knees, while he braced his palms and leaned in above her, both of them with their ears against the narrow space through which a thin band of daylight shone.

Vadisk could still see the monitor, and he watched as Sinaver opened the door and led the Spaniard into the office.