Nikolai: Mine to Protect (Russian Mob Chronicles #4)

Nerves take flight in my stomach the further our fleet of SUVs travel down a dusty, bumpy road. The airstrip Maddox discovered is a few miles from the location Carmichael suggested we search, but deeper intel discovered there is an off-road track that weaves throughout dense woodlands separating the dome-like building and the airstrip.

I’m not nervous we’re heading to battle unprepared. I’m petrified about what we may unearth. Things are still hazy, but the snippets of information I uncovered the past seven hours haven’t filled me with hope. If anything, they’ve had the opposite effect.

Preliminary findings on the blood pool located near the myth only known as “killer” confirms it was Nikolai’s blood. It had shards of muscle and bone mixed in, meaning his injury shredded through his muscle and quite possibly nicked his bone. That can only mean one thing. He was shot.

With no bullet located with his DNA, either it’s still lodged in Nikolai’s body, or Maxsim’s crew combed hundreds of bullet casings to locate his.

The latter is highly unlikely.

With how heavily they came in, it would have only been a matter of minutes before stunned bystanders called the authorities. They would have left in a hurry, having no time to seek one bullet in a sea of many.

Just knowing Nikolai is injured has me twisted up in knots, but adding that to recalling Maxsim’s claim he killed Rico in front of Eli, and you have the perfect recipe for a swirling stomach.

And don’t even get me started on what damage Sansi’s hit could have caused our baby. I just wish I could wake from this nightmare. I’d give anything to discover that the pelmeni we consumed at lunch caused my delusions, and this is all just a long, recurring nightmare.

Before my head can burrow into the sand, I shift my eyes to Trey. “If this is Vladimir, what are we walking into?”

With our SUV brimming with the footguards Trey ordered to track my every move, my question instigates a collective gasp. Vladimir’s name is never spoken by Nikolai’s men. It is as if he never existed. But my use of his name isn’t the only reason they’re gasping; it is my assumption that Vladimir is alive.

“The fact Maxsim orchestrated a takeover bid on soil not commanded by the Popov entity shows he’s scared.”

Maddox adds to Trey’s reply. “That’s why he came in hard. Even with Nikolai traveling light, he knew the odds were stacked against him.”

Trey nods, agreeing with him.

I’m not as eager to side with either of them. “That wasn’t what I asked. I want to know the repercussions if Vladimir is alive. What does it mean for Nikolai and the rules he’s forced to abide by?” My words choke at the end. “Forced” is too kind of a word to describe how Nikolai was coerced to toe to line. “Tortured” is more suitable.

Trey’s chest rises and falls three times before he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

It isn’t the answer I’m hoping for, but it is better than the theories running through my head. Vladimir believes in the rules Anatoly enforced when founding their dynasty, but only because they were created in favor of the ruler. If that man is no longer him, I have no doubt he’ll skirt them just as he has prosecution the past fifty-plus years.

Any chance for more chit-chat is lost when our SUV comes to a stop behind a dense layer of trees. Although the airstrip on our right is battered, there are signs it has been recently used, most notably: the twelve-seater front propel aircraft tucked into a hangar concealed with camouflage tarps and tree limbs. The poor condition of the plane proves the Vasilievs have fallen far from the power Alexei once commanded, but it’s more than some crews have.

My eyes drift from the plane to Trey when he updates the men. “Infrared sensors indicate there are a dozen and a half men in a room at the back of the hangar.” He points to the far right corner of the hand-drawn map he’s holding. “There are another half-dozen circling the premise. They need to be taken down first—in silence.”

Two men strapped with high-caliber weapons and face paint dip their chins before disappearing into the forest flanking our SUVs. For the direction they’re heading, I can only assume they’re going to take out the men with long-range rifles.

“The dome on the main property appears to be a bunker, but no visible signs of life have been noticed. But just in case, we’ll keep three men on the main road and another two on this little side track. We all know how fond Nikolai is of going over a mountain instead of around it, so we need to keep our minds open.”

I smile, grateful he said how fond he “is” not “was.”

“What is this?” I point to a clump of red in the middle of a green and yellow space.

Trey breathes out deeply. “From their lack of movement the past hour, we’re assuming they are hostages.”

“They? As in more than one?” Maddox asks, beating me to the punch.

Trey nods, then screws up his face. “That or someone with a large body mass.”

“Could it be Nikolai?” The hope in my voice can’t be denied.

My eyes burn when Trey replies, “How about we find out?”

I nod so hard, tears roll down my cheeks. The tension teeming from the men flanking me will quickly dry them, but just in case they don’t, I drag my hand down my face. They’re already annoyed at Trey’s request to babysit me; I don’t want to give them more reasons to hate me.

“Not a scratch, Justine,” Trey warns for the final time.

He waits for me to nod before signaling for his men to move. As we race across waist-high grass, I brace my gun high as I’ve been taught. My determination to protect myself is utterly pointless. The amount of men surrounding me means the only people at threat are the ones sworn to protect me. Even Maddox can’t see past their guard.

It’s probably for the best. The noise is nearly deafening when we reach the hangar. Bullets whizz in all directions as the smell of death amplifies.

I want to say my heart is sitting in my throat because I’m mortified by the pained cries shrilling through my ears, but that would be a lie. It’s our approach toward the room I pointed out minutes ago—the one Trey believes may have hostages inside.

Please let Nikolai be alive and safe in there.

“Drop!”

A man named Zoran grips my head, pulls me into his chest, then fires a shot over my right shoulder. He then spins me like a ballerina until I land into Maddox’s chest before executing a man charging toward our huddle with a machete in his hand. Clearly, he’s insane. Who in their right mind goes against men brandishing guns with a hand-held weapon?

Zoran’s break from the circle allows me to catch a glimpse of the carnage occurring outside of my safety bubble. Nikolai’s men have a clear advantage over the dozen or so men ambushed without warning. Half lay slayed on the ground, whereas the other half are in the process of surrendering—their fight over before it truly began.

“Wait,” Maddox warns when I attempt to break free from his hold to move toward the padlocked door on my right. “Let Trey clear the room first.”

I glare at him in stunned horror when he gestures silently to Trey. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he’s participated in mob ambushes before.

Although I have a million thoughts streaming through my head, none of them matter when Trey and three men make their way to the locked room. With all threats neutralized, Maddox and I can trace their footsteps.

The swirls of my stomach ramp up with every inch of ground we cover. I don’t pay any attention to the deceased men lying lifeless on the blood-stained concrete, or hear a word Trey is saying as he directs his men to swarm the room after a bullet buckles the padlock. The only thing I can hear is my raging heart and the prayer I’ve said on repeat since I woke up dazed and confused over seven hours ago.

Please let Nikolai be alive.

Some of my prayers are answered when I enter the room on the heels of Maddox, but they aren’t my greatest wish. With the eyes of a murderer and a clutch on Trey’s throat that reveals he’s minutes from killing him, Rico pins Trey to the inner wall of his room. His hold is so firm, Trey’s feet dangle midair, and the life drains from his eyes in under a second.

“Stop!” I demand, shocked I’m the only one acting on instincts.

There are several armed men in the room, but not one attempts to stop Rico’s wrath. I understand their objection; Nikolai gave Rico a full pardon, which means no one can touch him, but that doesn’t mean they can sit by and watch Trey be attacked—does it?

“He’s one of us!” My endeavor to pry Rico’s hand from Trey’s neck has my nails piercing his skin, but I don’t back down.

As blood trickles down Rico’s wrist, his almost-black eyes drift to me. I swallow numerous times in a row, shocked by the intensity bursting from his eyes. He appears as though he’s been swallowed by a giant black hole.

“It’s me, Justine.” My words are separated by big breaths. I’m truly panicked. “We’re here to help you. Where are Blaire and Eli?”

When Rico blinks at the mention of his wife, I know I am getting through to him. “Where is your Kitten, Rico?”

Trey’s windpipe squeaks when Rico suddenly releases him from his grip. He falls to the ground in a heap, torn between breathing and ending Rico’s ability to breathe. The tension brimming between them is so intense, it’s even hard for me to breathe.

“It’s okay,” I assure both men, although I’m truly unsure if it is.

The width of Rico’s eyes reveals his actions aren’t his own, much less the puncture wounds in his arm. He’s injured, drugged, and fighting the urge to go on a rampage. He’s the most dangerous he’s ever been.

My brows furrow when my scan of his body reveals a snapped chain on his left wrist. The width of the chain should have made it impossible for a human to snap, but I’ll never underestimate the determination of a man trying to protect his family. Nikolai could be on his death bed, and he’d still fight to keep me safe.

When Rico moves to the side of the room, his steps sloth-like and pained, I signal for the men surrounding him to stand down. He could have snapped Trey’s neck, but he didn’t. That proves the man inside him is stronger than his outer shell.

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur under my breath when Rico tosses a king-size mattress across the room as if it is a feather.

His strength isn’t what has me choking back tears; it is the image of his wife and son huddled together causing my sobbing response. From the way the dirt around them is swirling, it is obvious Rico used his body to shelter them.

“Get the SUVs,” I demand before racing across the room. Blaire and Eli aren’t moving, but they both have a pulse. It’s faint but there all the same. “We need to get them medical treatment ASAP.”

Recognizing we’re here to help them, Rico lifts an unconscious Blaire into his arms. In comparison to his wide, heavily panting chest, she looks like a tiny, fragile doll.

“It’s okay,” I assure Rico when he tries to pick up Eli as well. “We’ve got him.”

I’m sure he can handle both of them, but with his shredded shirt incapable of hiding the large knife wound in his stomach, I’d rather he didn’t.

I signal for Maddox to help me with Eli. He’s not heavy. My body is just shaking so much, I don’t trust myself not to drop him.

As we make our way to the SUVs Trey ordered to the front of the hangar, Rico eyes the man kneeling at the feet of their captors. His glare warns them their surrender will not be the end of their fight. He’s out for blood; he’s just putting his family first—for now.

I’ve only just closed the car door with a safe Rico, Blaire, and Eli inside when someone darting past me captures my attention. I should demand for Trey to come with me, but with my instincts in overdrive, I take off after the person breaking through thick scrub at the side of the hangar.

“Maya?” My voice is weak, as unsure of my question as my hazy mind’s assumption it is her.

Why would Maya be here? It makes no sense at all.

Seconds before a thick tree trunk hides her from my view, Maya cranks her neck back to peer at me. I chase after her, certain no amount of haze would make me mistake her face. I’ve interacted with her numerous times the past twelve months and see her more as a friend than a member of Nikolai’s staff.

My mad dash through the heavily treed property stops when the sound of accented voices captures my attention. They’re not French like Maya. They’re Russian.

“Whoa there, little lady. Slow down.”

A man with a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth grips Maya’s shoulders, stopping her endeavor to reach a group of all-terrain vehicles in the far back corner. They’re grouped behind half a dozen tents.

“Why are you in such a hurry? Anyone would swear you’re outrunning a ghost.”

When his eyes stray in the direction Maya just came from, I take a step back. A thousand belligerent rants run through my head when a tree limb snaps under my boot. In a normal setting, the crack of a branch wouldn’t be a concern. But here, surrounded by members of the crew we’ve just taken down, it is the equivalent of a death sentence.

“What was that?” The same man holding Maya hostage wiggles his fingers at two men slouched in lawn chairs who have seen better days.

“It’s probably a squirrel,” Maya suggests, her tone panicked. “You know how rampant they are around these parts.”

Her reply reveals that they’ve been camped out here for a while. I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing.

The man’s lips purse. “Probably, but there’s no harm checking. We don’t want your toes getting nibbled while you’re sleeping.” He taps Maya’s nose with his index finger. It isn’t a flirty gesture, but it isn’t how a captor would treat a hostage either.

Panic sets in when he releases Maya from his hold before nudging his head my way. “Sweep the area.”

“If we find anything?”

The man asking the question smiles a slick grin when the commander replies, “Kill it, skin it, then bring it back here for me to marvel at.”

A dark-haired man cleans a butcher knife on his jeans while muttering, “It’ll be my pleasure.”

Even with a thick layer of bush between us, Maya’s eyes lock with mine. She gives me a warning look, one that advises they’ll follow through with their threat if they catch me. It has my feet moving faster than my heart, concern about snapping branches the last thing on my mind.

Hearing my brisk departure, more than a dozen men chase me down on foot while another three fire up their all-terrain vehicles. The gun I tucked into the back of my pants feels heavy, but I can’t summon the courage to pull it out and fire it. I need to keep running, to reach Trey and Nikolai’s men before they’re ambushed without notice.

“Trey!” I scream at the top of my lungs, his short name coming out as if it is ten times longer. “They’re coming!”

My last word is sliced in half when I’m suddenly clutched from the side. I’m thrown against a tree trunk so forcefully, any air left in my lungs evacuates in a sharp breath.

Pop. Pop.

The man about to grab me falls to the ground with blood trickling between his eyes.

I’m grabbed, dropped to the ground, then squished by a firm body before another three bangs sets my hearing back a decade.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

My heart rate skyrockets when the man lying on top of me snarls, “Ubey ikh vsekh, no sokhrani yeye.”

He rolls us three times, our tumble looking like a couple rolling down a meadow field on a cloudless, romantic day.

Pop. Pop. Roll. Pop. Pop.

And so the pattern continues until the man’s raging heart is replaced with the panicked shrill of my brother calling my name.

“I’m over here. I’m okay.” Although I’m on the verge of being squashed to death.

As if he heard my private thoughts, the man sheltering me with his body tilts back. My brows furrow when I take in his features. His shaggy dark hair, icy eyes, and chiseled jawline aren’t registering as familiar, but I swear I’ve seen him before.

“Are you okay?”

I grimace, hating that his deep timbre was felt on a region of my body that shouldn’t be attached to his.

Worry we look intimate flies out the window when I shift my head to the side. There is a deceased body directly beside us. How do I know the man is dead if his green eyes are open? The perfect circle singed between his blond brows.

“Not a bad shot for a limp-dicked balding bastard, hey?”

My eyes snap forward as my heart stops beating. “Asher?”

With a cocky wink, the man lying on top of me nods.

“Is Nikolai with you?”

The smug expression on Asher’s face fades before he shakes his head. “But we’re clearly on the right path.”

He rolls off me before standing to his feet. Leaves fall from my back when he hoists me off the ground without seeking permission.

While Trey and Maddox silently reprimand me from leaving their post, Trey requests an update from his crew. My interests pique when he asks, “Any signs of Maxsim?”

A ginger-haired man with pasty white skin shakes his head. “No, but I bet she knows where he is.” He yanks Maya forward, his shove so aggressive, she falls to her knees.

“I don’t know anything—” Maya’s words are cut off by the butt of the ginger’s gun skating across her temple.

“Don’t!”

The man’s furious growl at my demand simpers to a purr when Asher growls at him in Russian that he’ll slice his tendons if he so much as looks at me in the wrong manner.

“Nikolai may not be here to punish you, but that does not mean I won’t,” Asher continues to warn, unaware I am bilingual.

After swallowing harshly, the unnamed man asks, “Nikolai’s?”

“Yes,” numerous men reply in sync.

When the man steps back in fear, I approach Maya. The blood streaming down the left side of her face makes me squeamish, but I push aside my annoying neurosis. I don’t have time for childish responses.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Maya whispers in French when I raise her head via her chin. “He said he loved me, and that he was going to give me what I deserved.” She hiccups numerous times in a row. “No one was meant to die. It wasn’t meant to be like this.”

“Who promised you, Maya? Maxsim?”

Salty water mingles with blood when Maya nods.

I take in a relieved breath. This explains how Maxsim knew so much about Nikolai’s private life. Maya’s presence at the Popov compound is so ghost-like, everyone talks freely around her. It isn’t that they trust her; they just never saw her as a threat. Enslaved women aren’t known for their gusto.

Not wanting our conversation overheard, Maya communicates with me in French. “I tried to help. I-I promise. When I heard what was happening, I tried to stop it.” Her stuttering makes it hard for me to decipher what she’s saying, but I get the gist of it.

I squeeze her hand, believing the honesty in her eyes. “This was too big for you, Maya. You should have reached out to Trey or me.”

Her lip quivers as she replies, “I was going to, but when you and Nikolai escaped, I thought you’d come back for Rico.”

My heart rate jumps. “Nikolai? He was here?” In my excitement, I express my question in English.

When Maya nods, Trey steps forward. “When?”

“Il y a trois jours.”

“Three days ago?” I double-check.

Maya nods again.

“Was he okay?” Nothing but hope rings in my tone.

Color drains from Maya’s face before she shakes her head. “He wasn’t well.” Confusion crosses her features before she asks, “How do you not know that? You were with him. You were the last person to see him alive.”

The confused suspicion in her voice makes the wooziness clouding my head double. What she is saying can’t be true. I’d remember. Nikolai isn’t a man you easily forget. She must be mistaken. If Nikolai was with me three days ago, he would have been found with me. I wouldn’t just abandon him—especially if he’s injured.

Maya isn’t the one peering at me in skepticism. Several pairs of eyes are glaring at me, some more angry than wary.

“If I knew where he was, I’d tell you,” I half-sob/half-shout to the men glaring at me through lowered lashes. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t remember anything!”

Recognizing that I’m struggling to keep it together, Maddox aids me to my feet before guiding me back to our idling SUVs. I hear a handful of men snicker about this being the first time a king has been beheaded by a queen, but they’re too cowardly to say it loud enough for Trey or Asher to hear.

I’d retaliate, but I’m too tired, hungry, and heartbroken to deal with their stupidity. They’ll suffer for their idiocy when I return their king to his throne. Their punishment will be as ugly as the blood-stained soil squishing beneath my feet.

They’ll pay for their stupidity with their lives, and I’ll be their executioner.