Page 23 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

NIKOLAI

T he dead man's phone buzzes in my hand. A message. Location coordinates. These idiots think they're still talking to their guy.

Don't realize he's cooling on Rosa's lawn with a broken neck. Their mistake. My advantage.

The phone buzzes again.

ETA with package?

They’re talking about Chleo. My fucking son. Like he’s cargo. I’ll pound these guys to fucking death.

I type back: Got delayed. On my way. Where are we taking her?

They give away their location immediately. Bloody idiots. Warehouse up North. Boss wants updates.

Perfect.

I know the place—I know all the places around here because it’s my business to know. Old logging facility at the edge of the county. Abandoned years ago. Remote. Isolated. The kind of spot where screams don't travel.

My hands tighten on the wheel. My feet hit the accelerator.

I think of Chleo. Wonder if he’s doing okay. I had no choice. I had to leave him somewhere safe. Couldn’t bring him with me.

I called Maksim. Told him I needed him.

“Name it.”

“I need you to watch my son.”

Silence. Then: “Your what ?”

“Long story. Need your help now. The Kozlovs have Lilly.”

“Text me your location.”

I hung up. Texted him where to meet us. Maksim's the only one who'd die protecting him the same as I would.

Ten minutes later, we pulled up where we needed to. Maksim was already there, leaning against his car. Watching. Waiting. Ready.

He looked at Chleo in the backseat. Eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Christ,” he muttered. “He's yours, isn't he? I never noticed…”

I nodded. Explained.

“Won’t let anything happen to him,” he promised.

And now? I’m counting on that. If shit goes south tonight, he’ll be the one to watch over our son. Lilly’s and mine.

I check the dead man's phone again. Follow to where she is.

I drive. Fast but controlled. Can't draw attention. Can't get pulled over. Not with blood on my clothes and weapons in the car.

The GPS leads me deep into the woods. Gravel roads. Then dirt tracks. Then nothing but tire marks cutting through underbrush.

I park a mile out. Move on foot.

Quiet.

Patient.

This isn't my first hunt.

The warehouse looms ahead. Concrete and steel. Broken windows like eye sockets in a skull. Two cars parked outside. Plus the white van they probably used to take her.

Three men visible. One smoking by the entrance. Two more patrolling the perimeter. Sloppy. Overconfident.

I watch their patterns. Time their rotations. Find the gaps.

The smoker finishes his cigarette. Tosses it. Heads back inside.

Move.

I keep to the tree line. Low and fast. Shadow to shadow. The guard on the east side won't circle back for a few minutes.

The west guard passes. Doesn't see me.

His mistake.

I'm behind him before he registers movement. My arm locks around his throat. He struggles. Claws at my forearm. Useless.

I squeeze. Tighter. His struggles weaken. Stop.

I ease him to the ground. Take his gun. His radio. Check his pockets.

Nothing useful. No phone. No keys.

I drag him into the bushes. Cover him with branches.

One down.

The east guard will be rounding the corner soon. I position myself behind a rusted barrel. Wait.

Footsteps.

Getting closer.

He passes.

Doesn't see me.

I follow. Silent. Close enough to smell his aftershave. To see the sweat beading on his neck.

He stops suddenly. Turns.

Too late.

My fist connects with his throat. Crushes his windpipe before he can shout. He drops to his knees. Hands clutching his neck. Eyes bulging.

I finish him with a twist of his head. Quick. Clean. Almost merciful.

Two down.

The main entrance is too obvious. I circle the building. Find a loading dock at the back. Door hanging off its hinges.

Perfect.

I slip inside. The warehouse is cavernous. Half-collapsed roof lets in strips of moonlight. Crates and machinery create a maze of shadows.

Voices echo from somewhere ahead. Three, maybe four men.

I move from cover to cover. Staying low. Using the darkness.

Then I see her.

Lilly.

Tied to a chair in the center of the room. Head lolling forward. Hair hanging in her face. Unconscious but breathing.

Four men around her. Armed. Laughing about something.

One of them slaps her face. Not hard. Just trying to wake her.

My vision narrows. Goes red at the edges.

The radio I took crackles. “Perimeter check. Report.”

The men look at each other.

“Perimeter, report.”

One of them—tall, scarred face—grabs his radio. “Ivanov, Petrov, report in.”

Silence.

“Something's wrong,” one says. “Check it out.”

Two men head toward the exits. One east, one west.

Good. Splitting up makes this easier.

I wait until they're out of sight. Then I move.

The first one doesn't see me coming. He rounds a stack of crates, gun drawn.

I grab his wrist. Twist until something snaps. He opens his mouth to scream.

My hand clamps over it. Muffles the sound to a whimper.

The knife slides between his ribs. In. Out. He goes limp.

Three down.

The second one is more cautious. Checking corners. Moving slowly.

I throw a piece of metal. It clatters across the floor.

He turns toward the sound. “Who's there?”

Huge fucking mistake. Hasn’t he heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

I come at him from behind. He hears me at the last second. Starts to turn.

My knife finds the base of his skull. Severs his spine. He drops without a sound.

Four down.

Back to the main floor. Two men left with Lilly.

The leader paces, nervous. “Something's wrong. They should have reported back.”

The other one—squat, bald—shrugs. “Probably smoking.”

“Check outside. Now.”

Baldy sighs. Heads toward the front entrance.

I let him pass. Let him get halfway across the floor.

Then I step out of the shadows directly in front of him.

His eyes widen. “You?—”

My gun comes up. One shot. Center mass.

The sound echoes through the warehouse. No more stealth.

The leader spins. Sees me. Sees his man falling.

He grabs Lilly by the hair. Puts his gun to her temple.

“Stop right there, Vetrov!”

I stop. Lower my gun slightly. Not dropping it.

“Let her go,” I say. Voice calm. Cold. “You might walk out of here.”

He laughs. It sounds desperate. “You killed Viktor. You really think I'm walking away?”

“Your choice.”

His hand trembles. The gun barrel presses harder against Lilly's skin.

She's waking up. Eyelids fluttering. Murmuring something.

“Drop the gun,” he demands. “Kick it away.”

I do. Slowly. It skitters across the concrete.

The leader relaxes slightly. Mistake.

“The boss is going to enjoy this,” he says. “Breaking you piece by piece.”

“Where is he?”

“On his way. Should be here any minute.”

Good to know.

“You can still walk away,” I tell him. “Take your chances with the cops.”

“Fuck you.”

I shrug. Start walking toward him. Slow. Measured steps.

“Stop!” His voice rises. Panic edging in. “I'll shoot her!”

“No, you won't.”

“I swear to God?—”

“You shoot her, you lose your leverage. Then I'll take you apart, joint by joint.”

I keep walking. Ten feet away now.

“I'm not bluffing,” he says.

“Neither am I.”

Five feet.

His nerve breaks. He swings the gun toward me.

I'm already moving. Ducking low. Driving forward.

The gun fires. Bullet whistles past my ear.

I crash into him. We hit the ground hard. The gun skitters away.

He's strong. Trained. A professional.

But I'm fighting for my family.

My fists connect with his face. Again. Again. Blood sprays. Bone cracks.

He gets a knee up. Drives it into my ribs. Pain explodes along my side.

I roll. He follows. Gets on top. Hands going for my throat.

I grab his wrists. Hold him off. But he's heavy. Determined.

His thumbs press into my windpipe. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

No. Not like this.

I buck.

Twist.

Get a leg free.

My boot connects with his groin. He howls. Grip loosens.

I surge upward. Reverse our positions. Now I'm on top.

My hands find his throat. Squeeze.

He thrashes. Claws at my face. Rakes bloody furrows down my cheek.

I squeeze harder.

Something hard hits the back of my head. Stars explode behind my eyes.

I roll away. Dazed. The leader gasps for air, crawling away.

Another man stands behind me. Must have come in during the fight. Holding a metal pipe.

He swings again.

I block with my forearm. Pain radiates up to my shoulder.

The pipe comes down again. I grab it. Yank.

He stumbles forward. Into my rising knee.

His nose shatters. Blood fountains.

I wrench the pipe from his hands. Swing it like a baseball bat.

It connects with the side of his head. The sound is wet. Final.

He crumples.

Where's the leader?

Movement by the door. He's running. Limping. One hand at his throat.

I start after him, then stop.

Lilly.

She's more important.

I turn back. Run to her. She's half-conscious now. Mumbling. Trying to lift her head.

“Lilly.” I cup her face. Check her pupils. Dilated. Drugged. “Lilly, it's me.”

Her eyes try to focus. “Nik...?”

“I'm here.” I cut the ropes binding her wrists. Her ankles. “I've got you.”

“Chleo,” she whispers. “They said... they were going to?—”

“He's safe.” I gather her against my chest. “He's with Maksim. No one will touch him.”

She sags against me. Relief making her boneless.

“Can you walk?”

She tries to stand. Wobbles. Falls back into my arms.

“S'okay,” I say. “I've got you.”

I scoop her up. Carry her like she weighs nothing. Her head rests against my shoulder. Arms around my neck.

“You came,” she murmurs. “You found me.”

“Always.”

I carry her out of that hell.