Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

D ahlia winced as Vadisk applied pressure to her wound.

"I got shot." She'd said the same words in her head close to a dozen times already, trying to make them sink in. Shit like this didn't happen to her. While she lived a fairly adventurous life, she always took precautions, and with the exception of the last week in Crimea, she'd never gone anyplace where she would get shot.

Vadisk looked up at her, sheer anguish in his eyes and she cursed her wayward tongue.

"Not your fault," she hastened to say, knowing it was wasted breath. There was no way Vadisk wouldn't blame himself for this.

"Dahlia—" he started.

She waved him off, wincing when Montana gunned the engine, Vadisk's hand slipping and rubbing her wound. There was a lot of blood. Or at least, it looked like a lot to her.

Vadisk had found a first aid kit tucked inside a bench seat, the one she was now sitting on. He knelt on the floor in front of her, rifling through the kit looking for something.

She felt a bit lightheaded, though she wasn't sure if she should blame blood loss, shock, carsickness—because holy fuck, Vadisk was never driving her anywhere again—or panic.

"Who the hell taught you how to drive?" she muttered.

Vadisk gave her a quick grin in reply, then turned his attention back to the kit.

On the bright side, her eyesight was clearing up—thank God—the big gray spots hindering ninety percent of her vision right after the flash now only clouded about thirty percent. She blinked a few times, hoping it would continue to improve.

Funny how being shot changed a person's priorities. She'd been terrified after that flash grenade that she had lost her vision for good. Then she heard that gunshot, felt the sting of pain, and realized death was a hell of a lot worse than darkness.

"The bleeding is slowing down," Vadisk assured her.

"Are you going to dig the bullet out with a knife?" she asked, suppressing a whimper.

"What? No." Vadisk's lips twitched. "First, the bullet went through your leg, that's why you have a hole on each side. Second, you never remove a bullet with a knife except in an operating room."

"Why do you know that?" she demanded.

Vadisk was shaking his head as he looked at her leg. "You're going to need stitches, but for now we're going to have to make do with this."

That was when she realized he'd found gauze pads and tape. He worked quickly and efficiently, with steadier hands than she would have if the shoe was on the other foot and he'd been the one injured.

She was thankful it had been her. The pain was bearable and they still weren't out of the woods. That meant, she needed her men to be in top fighting shape. Dahlia had no illusions about the fact she was the weaker link. That wasn't to say she wouldn't pull the trigger if it came to that, but…well, she knew she would think about it for a second, and that pause would be the problem. Vadisk and Montana would act without hesitation.

Once the wound was wrapped up tightly, Vadisk leaned back on his haunches and looked up at her face.

"I'm fine," she tried to reassure him. "Do you think it's safe for us to go up?"

Vadisk frowned. "I don't suppose I can convince you to stay?—"

"You can't," she interjected.

Vadisk sighed, but his lack of arguing told him he'd already known what her reply would be. "The gunshots stopped a couple of minutes ago. I'm hoping that means we're too far from shore. At this point, I assume the police or militia or whoever the fuck is coming after us is regrouping, preparing for a water or perhaps air chase. That should give us a bit of time. Come on." He offered his hand, helping her stand.

She could tell the moment he leaned forward that he was intent on carrying her up the half dozen steps back to the cockpit. She held her hand up, palm out. "I can walk."

Vadisk growled in response. Dahlia grinned, certain he meant that sound to be threatening. Poor man had no idea how much it turned her on.

She patted his cheek. "You can kiss my boo-boo all better later. For now…we need to be with Montana."

The mention of their husband's name did the trick. Vadisk wrapped his arm around her from behind, half guiding, half lifting her up the stairs.

So much for not carrying her.He seemed intent that she not put weight on her injured leg. Now that he'd wrapped it and the bleeding had stopped, the pain was minimal.

Back in the cockpit, she and Vadisk claimed the last two captain's seats, Sinaver fastened to a third with the seat belt. Vadisk reached over and fastened hers, tightening it when the boat skimmed along a particularly large wave.

Montana drove the boat like Vadisk drove the van. Full speed ahead.

She made a mental note to keep Dramamine in her purse from now on.

Vadisk crossed his arms, staring Sinaver down.

Sinaver sneered, his upper lip curled. "Fuck you."

Vadisk scowled, leaning forward, and for a moment, Dahlia wondered if he intended to torture the information out of him.

She'd never felt a second of fear around Vadisk, but she could see why his enemies might tremble. Between his large size, thick muscles, and dark expression, he was terrifyingly intimidating.

"Hey, hey, hey. I might not speak Russian, but even I can tell that's not a very nice thing to say," Montana said in an affable voice.

"My men will capture you," Sinaver said hoarsely, still suffering from the effects of the Spaniard's strangulation, "and I will make sure your deaths are slow and painful." He turned his attention to Dahlia with a malevolent glare. "She'll be first. My men will enjoy taking turns with your whore."

Vadisk's hand shot out so quickly, Dahlia missed the movement completely, only realizing her husband had slapped Sinaver when she heard the sharp sound.

"Don't talk about her," he warned, darkly. "Don't even think about her."

Sinaver rubbed his red cheek on his shoulder, staining his shirt with the blood welling from his freshly cut lip. "You will pay for that as well."

Montana twisted slightly, glancing at Dahlia. "Do I want to know what he said?"

She lifted one shoulder. "He plans to make you watch while all his men rape me, blah, blah, blah. Why do assholes always lead with that? It's like they can't come up with anything new or original."

Montana's hands clenched the steering wheel of the boat tight enough that she suspected that was the only thing keeping him from backhanding Sinaver as well.

"Dahlia," Vadisk said, in a steady voice. Only someone who knew him would recognize the tightness around his eyes and mouth that told her Sinaver's threat had hit its mark.

"All I'm saying is, would it kill them to be a little creative from time to time?" she said, hoping to distract him with humor. "It's hardly the first time I've been threatened with rape, and it probably won't be the last."

"Yes, it fucking is. No one is threatening you ever again," Vadisk snarled.

"What he said," Montana added.

Sinaver watched their exchange curiously, his expression just blank enough that Dahlia was certain he didn't have a clue what they were saying.

"Who was that man in your office?" Vadisk asked. Dahlia realized he was being careful not to reveal how much they knew.

Sinaver refused to answer the question, choosing instead to rage at them, using the same insults she'd heard while hiding in the secret room. "You are immoral. Sinners. There is a special place in hell for freaks like you."

Dahlia quickly translated for Montana, who snorted. "Freaks, huh? Anyone else tempted to break out into a little Usher? Yeah yeah yeah," he sang.

She couldn't resist giggling as Vadisk shook his head, amused.

Vadisk's phone chimed, and he looked at it, then passed it to Montana. "That's our rendezvous point."

Montana scanned the map, glanced at the compass, and spun the wheel, the catamaran turning in a slow arch that made Dahlia's stomach heave.

Sinaver continued to rail. "Laugh while you can. I've discovered your secret and now you'll all pay."

"Pay? As in blackmail?" Vadisk chuckled, brushing off the threat. "Isn't that what the man said back in your office? You were blackmailing guests at the resort, causing it to shut down. Your whole village was left to live in poverty, right? Bet that was a proud moment for you."

Sinaver's eyes darted away briefly. He didn't like having his own sins thrust in his face. Unfortunately, the guilt was short-lived as he cast the blame on them. "It wasn't my fault. It was the people like you , sick fucking bastards, so rich they thought they were above following any moral code."

"Remind me again," Vadisk taunted. "Which moral code does blackmailing fall under?"

Spittle flew from Sinaver's mouth as he shouted, "The world will see how disgusting, how vile you are! I have proof. Proof of your sick desires."

Vadisk leaned back in his seat, looking casual—and sexy—as fuck. "Why do you assume the three of us would give a shit about our relationship going public? We have nothing to hide."

"You are an affront to good people, faithful people," Sinaver insisted.

"Like you?"

Dahlia was fairly certain if Sinaver's hands were free, he would pound them on his chest as he proclaimed, "Like me."

Vadisk crossed his arms, unimpressed. "The world is different from when you were young. When you started that little blackmailing scheme of yours, you preyed on people with different lifestyles, like us, didn't you?" he asked, pretending he'd only learned of the blackmail through the Spaniard.

Vadisk was attempting to do damage control, to make Sinaver question whether or not the Spaniard's information regarding the Masters' Admiralty was accurate. She had overheard him telling Nikolett that he wouldn't kill Sinaver. That was safer for them—murder charges would be a potentially deadly complication, not just for them but for their governments. But keeping him alive meant their societies would still be at risk. However, given what they'd heard from Sinaver and the Spaniard's conversation, the minister had very limited information.

The Spaniard now felt like the more pressing threat.

"It's not a lifestyle. It's an abomination. A…a crime. Don't think I don't know about you two." Sinaver nodded his head from Vadisk to Montana. "Everyone will know you for what you are. Pedik ," he spat.

Dahlia felt her temper rise, angry at this man's continual insults.

Montana raised one eyebrow. "Translate."

Dahlia didn't want to.

"Faggot," Vadisk replied.

Montana scowled, then turned his attention back to the compass, adjusting their direction slightly.

Vadisk ignored Sinaver's outburst. "Even if you do have this so-called proof, it is very easy to doctor photos these days. We will only claim your photos, your videos, are fake. We have nothing to fear from you."

"And how do you plan to protect the others like you?" Sinaver asked. "I know all about your secret society. I will expose all of you."

"Society?" Vadisk asked, feigning confusion. "What the fuck are you rambling about, old man?"

Sinaver took objection to Vadisk's insult, his chest puffing out indignantly. Dahlia suspected Vadisk was goading him on purpose because while he wouldn't answer their questions outright, he was just arrogant enough to still want them to know how clever he thought himself to be.

"I know that you are part of a society, one that embraces immorality, encourages people to engage in twisted sex acts. I saw you!" Sinaver said again, speaking in circles.

Vadisk looked the man dead in the eye, planting the seeds of doubt about their societies. "I have no idea what you're talking about. The three of us are in a polyamorous relationship because we care about each other. We came to Crimean Sky, on vacation, because we heard stories that in the past, the resort was accepting of people like us, and Dahlia wanted to film there for her show."

Vadisk spoke the lie so calmly and casually, Dahlia almost believed him. A quick glance in Sinaver's direction proved he was starting to question what he knew as well.

"No!" Sinaver insisted, even though he sounded less convinced. "You're immoral, disgusting…"

Dahlia mentally checked out because it was obvious Sinaver had exhausted his list of insults so that all he could do was repeat himself.

"Someone catch me up," Montana said, so Dahlia gave him a quick summary of everything that had just been said.

"I vote we shoot the asshole. We'd be doing the world a favor," Montana suggested. He'd been unable to eavesdrop on Nikolett and Vadisk's phone call, so he'd missed the memo that they had to let the man go.

"We can't," Vadisk said, though it was apparent sparing the man was going against the grain. "We don't know what that would cause."

Montana didn't look happy with that decision, but he was distracted before he could put up any counterargument. "We're almost to the rendezvous point. If you hope to get something more from him, now would be the time."

But Sinaver was beginning to sound like a broken record, repeating the same insults without offering anything of value.

Vadisk ran his fingers over his beard. "I think we've gotten as much as we can."

"There's not much you can ask without revealing how much we already know, or confirming the existence of the societies," Dahlia said quietly.

Vadisk nodded. "And I don't have the time or tools to torture information regarding our new enemy out of him." He was careful not to use the Spaniard's name because there was always a possibility Sinaver might recognize an English word or two.

Dahlia studied Vadisk's expression, searching for some glimpse of humor, something that might let her know he was just joking about the torture.

One look told her he was deadly serious.

"Time's up." Montana pointed to the horizon, a ship appearing.

Sinaver began to fight against the cuffs, a pointless endeavor. He'd obviously come to the realization that help wasn't going to arrive for him before they made good on their escape.

If he did speak English, he would have known he wasn't in danger of being killed. His panic proved he thought they were planning to dispose of him.

Given all the pain this man had caused over the years, in his blackmailing victims, in his village, Dahlia felt no guilt in letting the man suffer, thinking he was about to die.

As the ship grew larger, Dahlia noticed the Turkish flag, several people standing on the deck. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath, too afraid to believe their rescue was truly imminent, until one of the people waved and called out Vadisk's name.

Montana slowed the boat, carefully maneuvering them alongside the Turkish vessel, people on the other boat holding bumpers in place to protect both vessels. Montana caught the rope someone tossed over and tied it off on the catamaran, leashing them together.

Then he dug into his pocket. It took her a second before she realized he'd retrieved the keys to the handcuffs.

Sinaver was still fighting to get out of the chair, tossing one insult after another at them, calling them everything from scum to garbage to mudaks .

Vadisk withdrew a gun from the waistband of his pants, pointing it at Sinaver as Montana unfastened his seat belt, pulling the man to his feet as he hurled a handful more epithets before changing direction, attempting to cut a deal.

When Montana unlocked the cuffs, Sinaver froze for a moment, clearly shocked by his freedom.

That was all the time Montana gave him before he pushed the man overboard into the sea.

Dahlia, Montana, and Vadisk leaned over the side, watching Sinaver thrash in the water.

"He'll be fine," Montana said, tossing the rope ladder over so he could easily climb aboard. "Let's go."

Sailors on the Turkish ship slid a walkway over, spanning the gap, and held out their hands, encouraging them to come aboard.

Dahlia went first, Vadisk supporting her with a strong hand, then Vadisk boarded the other boat. Montana crossed over last, untying the rope and bringing it with him. He left the catamaran idling, key in the ignition.

"Once we pull away, Sinaver can climb the ladder and sail back to Crimea."

"That option is too kind," she said. "You could have taken the key. That way he could float, adrift for days until someone finds him."

"My bloodthirsty wife," Montana said, his eyes alight with delight. He gave her a quick, hard kiss.

Vadisk scooped Dahlia into his arms and started walking.

"Vadisk, we talked about this," she said, chastising him.

"We need to elevate your leg…and I bet they have painkillers."

She sighed happily at the idea of taking something to dull the stabbing, burning pain in her calf.

It took a full twenty minutes, and two pain pills, before Dahlia could make herself believe that they were nearly back to Turkey.

They'd completed their mission. They were free.

Now the true adventure began, she thought, as she looked at her husbands and smiled.