Page 4 of Scarlet Promise (Yegorov Bratva #4)

Chapter Four

ILYA

Time moves both fast and slow as we work.

Demyan’s on the phone, making calls and pulling favors, just as I am. If we can get the locations where Simonov may go to ground or places he favors for more clandestine operations, then we’ll be closer to finding Alina.

Albert finally left with Svetlana and Erin. It seems he likes children, but he occasionally pokes his nose in, like he’s trying to find out if we have his mistress back yet. He makes my heart ache harder when I need it to be fucking stone.

I’m not Demyan, and I know his heart isn’t that, but in most circumstances, he can shut down and put up shields.

Unless it involves Erin and his kids.

That’s what I’m struggling with, keeping the hardness, the ice, the stone, the coldest anger in place so I can do what needs to be done to get her back, when all I want to do is panic.

Any other situation, I’d quietly ask him if this is what he went through with Erin and Sasha when they were taken.

But I can’t.

Because Alina’s his fucking baby sister.

I hang up the phone, staring at the device on my desk.

“Any luck?” I ask Demyan in Russian as he disconnects his call.

“I’m not sure. There are a number of businesses that would be closed right now where he could hide her around Chicago.” A muscle tics in his jaw. “Including some under layers of names in other territories.”

“I can’t see him going into other people’s territories and hiding out, even if he owned the place incognito. It’s just…risky.”

“And?” The belligerence brews just below the surface of my best friend.

I think about what my PI told me seconds ago. He doesn’t have much—a possible sighting of a car in Melor’s name along with a van that is registered to Simonov’s cousin’s wife.

I tell Demyan what I told the PI—to follow, report in, get the fuck out of Dodge if he thinks he’s compromised, and don’t get too close.

“The van’s interesting,” I say. “It’s a good way to transport a kidnapped girl around.”

“We find them, crush them that way.”

“It’s not that easy, Demyan and you know it.” I shake my head. “Besides, the PI’s team lost sight of them. They’d have switched by now.”

“What good is a fucking PI if they don’t do their job?” he says, voice a raw snarl.

“It isn’t the PI’s job to stop anyone. The PI’s job is to give us information. He did,” I mutter. “They’ll be long gone, either under cover or switched vehicles, but Melor’s not going to gallivanting around.”

“So, what do we do?” Demyan asks.

I’m being choked as my throat closes tight. I’m too aware time is limited. My imagination works overtime on horrifying scenarios I can’t bear.

Demyan thumps his hand on the bar. “I asked you something, Ilya.”

I narrow my eyes. “I don’t think he’d go somewhere that would put himself at risk.

An arrogant man who sees his own as disposable isn’t going to put himself in the line of fire, so places he owns seem like good options but aren’t.

They’ll be somewhere he thinks is clever. Somewhere he thinks is safe.”

That muscle tics harder.

“You think it’d be somewhere quiet, understated. Away from prying eyes and screams?” Demyan frames it as a question, but I know him.

He’s thinking along the same lines I am, but from the look of him, his anger is biting through to the bone.

He likes to poke and prod me. He likes to see what theories I have to measure his against. Sometimes we’re on the same page, and the pieces fall into place. Other times, Demyan hears something different from where he is, and a vital nugget of information clicks into place.

It’s why he’s a brilliant, dangerous—and very respected and feared—pakhan, and I’m not.

But for Alina, I’ll be whatever it fucking takes.

“I have two other locations. There’s an old warehouse he uses. I have a general location, but?—”

“Oleg called me a little while back. Said he once worked a crew years ago unpacking crates for Simonov in West Englewood.”

“Fuck, that’s the area.”

“He gave me the address.” I push a piece of paper to him.

He crosses to pick it up.

“The other place,” he says, “is a fishing cabin he probably brings his latest fucks to in Charles Mound woods.”

“So we need to decide which to check out first.”

Shit.

Demyan eyes me. “They’ll have guards. No pakhan worth anything would leave even a warehouse he no longer currently uses completely abandoned. He might not bring in product, but those places are always useful. Choose the wrong one, and it’s the difference between life and death for Alina.”

I know that. I go to the bar, pour a bourbon, and swallow it down.

“Which do you think we should check out first? What are your thoughts, Ilya?”

I clench the glass and desperately want to pour another to calm my spiking nerves. Instead, I put the glass down. He’s testing me. I feel that in my bones.

It’s almost like he wants me to be wrong so he can have someone to take all his fury, fear and frustration out on. He’s done it before, but not to this extent. Not so personally.

But it’s also a fair question. Which place is best?

“The warehouse is more convenient since it’s in Chicago city limits, and the cabin’s quite a drive.”

“So the warehouse is your thought?”

I shoot him a look. “No. The cabin’s much farther, but it’s also secluded. I’ll bet they can see or hear someone coming if we were to drive up.”

“So we leave the warehouse and go to the cabin? Do we hike?”

I go to the computer and pull up Google Maps. “What’s the location?”

He tosses his phone down, and I locate the area, then I zoom in and turn the laptop so he can see.

“We go in from this way here, park, and go by foot. It’s the back way, and not from the town at the bottom or the highway. They’d never expect us.”

He nods slowly. “And if she’s not there? This is my sister, Ilya.”

“She’ll be there. It’s the smarter choice.”

“You could be wrong,” he says softly.

I look at him. “I could be. So we send Pavel to the warehouse. Pavel can handpick a crew who’ll pick off anyone before they see us coming. If she’s there, we’ll know before we’ve even left Chicago, and we can turn back.”

Demyan doesn’t answer for a few beats. Then he nods. “Okay. Let’s get everything in place and get the show on the road.”

We’re in position, our eyes on the cabin. The cars are a distance back, and Demyan, six men, and I are hiding, weapons ready, taking in the scene just below.

Pavel called as we were leaving Chicago. The warehouse was clear.

During the whole drive, my nerves thrummed and spiked, and the scenarios running through my head both terrified and debilitated me. Because if she’s not here, then…

Even now, looking down, I pray she’s there somewhere.

And alive.

Untouched.

Two men are outside, smoking. They’re armed, but they’re not alert. They don’t expect us.

It doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous. It just means they’re not on high alert.

I scan the area.

There are three others farther down at the edge of the trees, their eyes on the road, watching for us. For someone.

As I listen, laughter drifts up from the cabin.

My blood starts to boil.

I move close to Demyan. “Melor.”

Another voice says something about how fine the day is in Russian.

“And I bet that’s Simonov,” mutters Demyan. “My men and I will be the distraction. You can sneak in through the back and see if Alina’s there.”

I nod.

There’s only one chance at this.

On the count of three, we go our separate ways. I force myself to take my time, treading carefully, so as not to alert anyone.

There’s no back door, but there is a big, partially open window that leads into the bathroom. I carefully pull it open more, and as a shout rises and gunfire starts, I climb in.

I don’t worry about Demyan. He does this shit all the fucking time. It’s like life blood to him.

Besides, my mind only has room for one person: Alina.

I land on the floor as softly as I can, catching the metal toilet paper stand before it crashes to the ground.

After setting it back carefully, I pull my Kimber 2K11 pistol and check it before making my way to the door.

No voices, but someone’s here. I feel them in the air. I want it to be Alina. It feels like her, that sweet tension, but I refuse to let myself go there in case a nasty surprise awaits.

Outside, the shootout continues. I know it’s a matter of time before it ends, before someone decides to duck inside for cover. If Demyan lets them. But there are all sorts of variables in a gunfight, and I’m not waiting for them.

Silently, I pass a room in the short, narrow hall. The room is empty, with nothing more than fishing shit inside and other bits and pieces.

I move down and into the living room and kitchen. A loaf of bread lies on the counter with the muzzle of a gun poking out of it. On the coffee table sits a bottle of vodka, lid off.

But there’s no one here.

Up ahead is a shut door. I silently cross the room, speeding past the opened front door. I listen. A soft sound emanates from the other side of the door and catches at my heart.

“Please don’t be locked,” I say under my breath.

I turn the handle.

For a moment, the world stops.

Alina.

Bruised, battered, her eyes locked on me.

They go from hopeless to bright gold, rimmed with emotions just for me.

I rush to her.

My malyshka is tied tight to the chair by her ankles and wrists. I untie her as quickly as I can, trying not to shake. Relief and love flood me, but I push it all down. I don’t have time for it.

“Thank fuck, Alina.” I want to hold her, kiss her, kill every fuck who touched her and hurt her.

“Ilya, are you real? Albert? My head…”

“ Malyshka , he’s fine. And I’m real. Can you walk?”

She nods very carefully.

Outside, the guns continue blazing. We’re not out of the woods yet.

I race back to the living room then to the kitchen. My gaze catches on the pantry door. I think it’s a pantry. I didn’t see it coming in, but I don’t have time to bother with it. If someone’s hiding, I’ll shoot them dead if they show their face.