Page 34

As I continued to wait for my team to track the first man from the list who had arrived in Moscow, I managed to calm myself down.

I’d be no use to Mila in a state of rage and panic, and after I was certain everything was being done to find her, I could once again feel more like myself. I wasn’t used to not being in control.

Even when I decided to retreat from the Fokins, that wasn’t done in haste or out of fear. It was simply time to step back for a while. The battle may have been lost, but the war was far from over in my eyes. I’d lost men and property, but none of it held a candle to possibly losing Mila for good.

When I walked into the command center that was set up in one of the offices of my home, the man who was in charge of going through the city camera footage flinched and went pale.

I had been yelling at them to hurry up and find the man who’d arrived more than an hour ago, ever since I’d been told he landed.

I held up my hand for him to go back to work. I was done yelling for the moment. The color didn’t return to his face, and it looked like he might need to throw up as he approached me.

“Someone else from the list you gave us has arrived,” he said, leading me back to his computer.

On the screen was a still image of a man I had never met but knew well enough by reputation.

He owned a good chunk of the oil drills in the Middle East, and just as many of the local politicians in that region.

He had no royal blood but considered himself a prince and lived a lavish, debauched lifestyle.

The tight rein I had on my panic was slipping out of my grasp again. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Put a tail on him,” I said, my eyes glued to the screen as my fists clenched.

“We already had a team at the airport.” He tapped some keys, and the screen cycled through several images of the city. “It looks like this is his destination, though we can’t confirm yet.”

It was one of the most upscale hotels in Moscow, and once again, I paced the hall outside the office, sick of waiting for updates, sick of not being able to act.

The last thing I needed was to end up on a wild goose chase, only to find out that I was miles away from Mila once she was finally found.

Because she would be. I had to believe that or lose my mind.

“Live updates,” an eager voice called. I was at his side in a second.

The pseudo-prince had indeed checked into the best hotel in town and was almost immediately leaving it again. I leaned across the technician to watch the new arrival get into a sports car that he drove himself, and speed off.

“We’re still following him,” the tech assured me before I could ask.

“Keep me updated by phone,” I said, heading out.

I was done. It was time to act. If nothing else, I could catch up with the princeling and beat the shit out of him for information. If he had none, it would still be worth it since he’d been at the first auction. If he told me something that led to Mila, all the better.

It turned out I didn’t have to beat anyone yet, because, after miles of lonely roads winding to the farthest outskirts of the city, he ended up at a seedy club.

I had been keeping a distance, staying far enough back to be out of his sight, but there weren’t many other places he could have gone; the area was so desolate.

Sure enough, once I caught up and pulled in, I found his car, amongst many others, already parked in the small lot.

The place was little more than a squat, cement building with a sad, half-dead neon sign over the rusted metal door where a stern security guard waited with guns on both hips.

The only thing surrounding it was the solitary road and trees.

Why on earth would one of the wealthiest men on the planet be so eager to get into a place like this?

And why did it need armed security?

Parked behind a copse of trees, I kept watch with binoculars, my jaw nearly hitting the steering wheel a few minutes later when my uncle rolled up. When did he get back to Moscow, and why wasn’t I instantly informed of it?

He hopped out of his car with a spring in his old, arthritic hips and breezed right past the bouncer as if he belonged. As if he were in charge.

If I thought I was angry before, I was wrong. Rage like I’d never known boiled up in me, but also relief. I just found Mila. There was no other explanation. The son of a bitch was trying to sell her again.

Once I alerted the team that was a short distance behind me, I grabbed my gun and hurried out to go through the trunk.

The driveway at my house had been packed with cars from all the people there trying to locate Mila, and I grabbed the first one I could get out. Hopefully, there was something useful.

Pay dirt. Not just useful, but fun.

I loaded up on smoke grenades, another gun, and strapped a flame thrower onto my back, reminding myself to give whoever stocked this car a raise. I should have probably waited for backup, but time was ticking, and I’d already been away from Mila for too long. My woman needed me.

Keeping out of the sight of the bouncer, I ran around back and set fire to a window frame, then smashed through the door with a gun raised in one hand and the flame thrower aimed in front of me in the other. Anyone who dared stand in my way was going to feel the heat of my wrath.

There was no one, just a long, empty hallway with several closed doors.

Music drifted back to me from the far end.

I pulled out my phone, ready to move ahead, whether the backup had arrived yet or not.

Fortunately, they were outside. The place was surrounded, and the front door guard was neutralized.

It was all I needed to hear to launch myself toward the source of the music.

At the end of the hall, I busted through the only door.

I found myself in a dark, smoky room, with nothing but a view of the end of a bar.

Strobe lights flashed, and the music was deafening now.

Even louder were the shouts of the men crowding around the stage as I advanced further into the space.

And there was Mila. My wife was huddled at the back of the raised platform, trying to hide her barely covered body with her hands.

At the sight of tears streaming down her face, I began shooting wildly into the crowd, not giving a single shit who went down.

Advancing toward the stage, I blazed the flame thrower back and forth, making a path as men who hadn’t been shot caught on fire and ran out of my way, flailing their arms. The music cut out abruptly, and there was only the sound of screaming. My kind of music.

A hand jutted out from a moth-eaten curtain behind Mila, dragging her off the stage and out of my sight. An explosion that had nothing to do with the flamethrower sounded, and my guys poured in from the front. I left it to them and jumped onto the stage, following the person who had my wife.

On the other side, I crashed through a small dressing room and back into the hallway to find it was Eldar, ruthlessly dragging her by her hair and digging a gun into her side. This went beyond some silly lies and foolish mistakes. My uncle had truly betrayed me.

“Mila,” I shouted over the din coming from the bar.

She turned, and our eyes locked. I nodded, and without hesitation, she turned and sank her teeth into Eldar’s arm.

Yelping in surprise at the sudden pain and the shock of seeing me, he let go of her hair.

She instantly dropped to the ground, sweeping my old uncle’s legs out from under him, then scrambling as far away as she could get.

Falling against the wall, Eldar managed to brace himself and aim his gun at her, his finger moving toward the trigger.

But he wasn’t faster than me. I was already on him, smashing the butt of my gun into his skull, again and again until he went down.

I kept my hand locked around his throat as he glared at me, blood streaming into his angry eyes. A second later, he was out.

My finger itched to pull the trigger and end this now, but I wanted to hear from my father’s only brother’s own mouth why he chose to do this. Then I would end him.

Right now, I only cared about Mila. I whirled around to find she had risen on shaking legs.

One of my men ran past her to help me with Eldar, and, seeing he was already neutralized, dragged him away for later.

I brushed past him, holding out my arms as I raced toward Mila.

With the door leading to the front of the bar open, smoke poured into the hallway, choking me and nearly blotting her from my view.

I wasn’t going to lose her again.

Scooping her up, I hauled her outside, not stopping until we were a safe distance from the burning building.

I slid her down my body, feeling her reassuring warmth.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, I wrapped her up in a hug.

She could fight me all she wanted, but I just had to know that she was okay.

She didn’t fight at all, only held on tight, breathing hard against my chest, her whole body still trembling. Fucking hell, she was half naked and a stiff breeze raised goosebumps down her back. I whipped off my jacket and pulled it around her, wanting to bring her close again.

She shook her head, pushing away to look at the carnage behind us.

I turned to see that the old building was now ablaze, the flames rising to light up the night sky.

Sirens wailed in the distance, but there was no saving the place.

It would be nothing more than a husk by the time the firefighters got it under control, along with anyone trapped in there, and I was fine with that.

By the ruthless look on Mila’s face, so was she.

I grinned down at her, wiping away the remnants of her tears.

“Ready to get the hell out of here?” I asked.

She only nodded, a hint of a smile curling her lips at the sound of agonized screams rising over the noise of the roof collapsing.

That was my girl.