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“Emmy!” Ivan’s voice boomed through the hangar.
Without thinking, I jumped up and ran toward his voice. Before I got more than a few steps, Anya grabbed my arm and jerked me back.
“What are you crazy? Yell to him, don’t run out there,” Anya chastised.
Right. Bullets, gunfire, gang warfare.
“Ivan!” I called to him and heard footsteps sprint toward us. Within seconds I was jerked from Anya and into his arms.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmured into my neck as his strong arms clamped around me. “I’m having a GPS tracker surgically implanted on you, I fucking mean it, Emmy.”
I smiled, tears of relief and exhaustion, joy and sadness rolling down my cheeks. Another crisis ended in Ivan’s arms. It was becoming a disturbing trend in my life. The sensation of utter safety blanketed me as I was crushed by the ferocity of his embrace.
Ivan was here. I was safe.
Chapter 55
Ivan
“Oh, Thomas? Pereday privet Yuri, kogda uvidish' yego.” Give my regards to Yuri when you see him.
That was the signal.
The minute we heard Mikhail speak Russian we knew it was go time. I looked over at Drago and he was looking down at his watch. He told us that we had sixty seconds after Mikhail told Armstrong that we were going to send his demented ass to hell with Yuri.
Thomas’s confused response indicated his uneasiness. A smarter man would listen to his gut, respond to that uneasiness with suspicion and self-preservation. Unfortunately for Armstrong, he also had an overinflated ego and misguided sense of invincibility.
That was going to be his downfall.
Sixty seconds later, at Drago’s signal, we swarmed into the hangar through the cracked door. We’d long since taken out four men they’d had guarding the hangar entrance. We filed in, creating a tight circle around the remaining men that Martinez and Armstrong had brought.
I spared a quick look at Emmy, my heart pounding heavily in my chest as I gazed at her beautiful face and then forced myself to focus on the motherfucker that dragged her into all of this.
I had his forehead targeted in my scope, my finger itching to pull the trigger. I knew it was possible Emmy might feel something about me killing her father, but there was nothing that could keep me from annihilating Thomas Armstrong and wiping him from the face of this fucking earth.
A moment later, we saw Anya dive for Emmy and her mom and drag them from the line of fire. That was all I needed to start unloading bullets into Armstrong’s skull. I had the satisfaction of seeing his shocked, furious expression before his brain matter exploded onto the hangar floor.
I didn’t pause to enjoy my kill but continued aiming and shooting like a machine. They were sitting ducks, so it didn’t take long. We had bullet proof vests, but I doubted they were even needed considering how outmatched Martinez’s and Armstrong’s crews were.
We were momentarily taken aback when shots started coming from Martinez's plane on the tarmac. Martinez's remaining men must have heard the gunshots and came to provide reinforcements.
“Maxim, take some guys and handle the plane,” Drago barked as he shot at some of Armstrong’s men who were pinned behind Armstrong’s car.
“Got it,” Maxim replied and gestured for five guys to follow him. It wouldn’t take long for Maxim to handle it. Martinez’s men didn’t have anywhere to go, and they knew it. Their boss was nothing but a carcass full of bullet holes laying on the cement floor right now.
Now that things were mostly under control, I focused on eliminating any possible threat left in the hangar. The need to see Emmy, to touch her was like a constant itch under my skin and it had me taking out the remaining men in the hangar at an almost manic pace.
“Jesus Christ, Petrov. This isn’t a fucking carnival. Do you think they’re going to give you a fucking stuffed animal for the most kills?” Will remarked.
“Just want this shit over,” I said, meaning it to the core of my being.
I paused shooting, careful to make sure anyone who got in my scope was actually the enemy. The shooting had died down considerably, and I noticed our men were cautiously walking toward the limited places Martinez’s or Armstrong’s soldiers had tried to defend themselves.
There didn’t seem to be anyone left that wasn’t wounded or dead. I shot a quick look at the airplane and saw that Maxim and his men had taken control of that and were pulling the pilot off the plane. I wasn’t sure what his role was and had no interest in investigating it.
My only interest was in finding Emmy.
“Emmy!” I hollered as I marched toward the area where Anya had pulled Emmy and her mom when the shooting started. The closer I got to the wall of boxes, the more desperate I was to see her, touch her, to make sure she was safe.