Page 20 of Ruinous Need

VIKTOR

MARKOV’S EYES ARE panicked as he bursts into the room.

“Viktor. Sir. The Irish. At the warehouse. I called for backup, but they were… They were asking about her.” He’s breathless and barely coherent. I take in the blood flowing from his shoulder. He’s been shot.

Fuck. I pull off my shirt and wrap it tightly into a tourniquet. He’ll need more than that, but right now, finding the Irish has to be the priority.

“Did you drive here?” He nods. It’s amazing he’s stayed conscious this long with this amount of blood loss, but he’s fading now.

He’s going to need someone to keep him awake. And to stop the blood loss from killing him before I get back.

“Lisette.” I wake her gently. Her pain has eased a little the last few days, but I wouldn’t disturb her rest unless it was urgent.

This could be life-or-death, looking at Markov’s pale face.

I think Markov’s lost so much blood that he’s drowsy and he doesn’t really process the fact that he’s walked in on us sleeping in the same bedroom. Lisette looks disoriented, wincing a little as she sits up.

I point at Markov and his bloody shoulder, as he sits heavily on the bed.

“The first aid kit is in the bathroom. Bandage his shoulder. Tight. And place a tourniquet here.” I indicate the spot on Markov’s arm, just above the gunshot.

“Can you do that?” I’m already at the door, strapping my handgun to me.

She nods, her eyes wide. I swallow and drag my eyes away. Lisette is fast becoming a weakness.

I thought Markov could handle things alone at the warehouse… obviously I was wrong.

I speed to the warehouse.

The back-up team are arriving far too late. Long after Markov got shot. Long after the Irish took the shipment right out of our hands.

A gunshot pings off the car right when I pull up outside.

I open the door and use it to shield myself as the Irish advance.

They’re good, I’ll give them that. They know how to fight.

But they’re not prepared for me.

I burst out of the car, spraying bullets in a row. Mowing them down.

One body hits the ground. Another.

I can see the back-up closing in from the position I told them to hold in. They’ll clean things up behind me while I lead the charge.

This is the role I play. The monster lurking in the shadows. The enforcer who makes sure everyone knows the Bratva means fear. The most fundamental kind of fear, too: fear for your life.

The Irish have clearly recognized me.

The attacks are increasing in force, the bullets becoming a regular rhythm.

But with ten men as back-up, a few Irish soldiers should not be able to get within touching distance. And yet one of them does.

I take the knife from my sleeve to slit his throat silently.

As he drops to the floor, I notice another advancing from the other side. I don’t let him know I’ve seen him until he lunges and I trip him to the ground. Then, I kneel on his back and slit his throat too.

The whole thing distracts me from what’s right in front of me: the truck where the Irish are loading a Bratva shipment. I direct five men to stop them, then I whirl around to figure out which of the front line let those bastards through.

Semyon’s soldiers should be on my side. But that was more than a fuck-up. That was negligence.

“What the fuck was that?” I grab the nearest man from the back-up squad by his collar. “Are you blind or just a snail? Maybe my cousin told you to react slowly when it comes to me, huh?”

He starts to speak, but I don’t care to hear a word from his mouth. His eyes go blank after the gunshot and I drop him to the ground.

His friends look horrified, backing away from me. We’ve cleared the area, and there’s no risk from the Irish anymore.

These are Semyon’s soldiers, not mine. Their lives mean nothing to me.

Which is why I let myself loose, sending a spray of bullets in the air when I yell after them: “Send your message back to your men that when they’re on a job with me, they don’t answer to Semyon. They answer to me. And an order is a fucking order.”

I may be a maverick, but I’m part of the Bratva. If I’m going to do Semyon’s dirty work for him, he needs to send me men I can trust.

The five men I sent ahead catch the Irish soldiers by surprise, forcing them out of the car and onto their knees for an execution.

I don’t stick around to watch the plan end in success. I have other things on my mind.

I start searching the blood-stained corpses for information. It doesn’t take long.

In the second man’s wallet I find it. The photo of Lisette, the same one that Manuel had.

Goddamn it.

There is some kind of manhunt going on, and Lisette is the subject of it.

We should have left one of the Irish alive so I could interrogate them and find out what’s happening.

I head back to the SUV, sending Markov a text to check he’s still conscious. He replies immediately. “Alive. Gunshot wound hurts like a bitch.” I’ll have to take him to the Bratva hospital as soon as I’m back.