Page 8 of The Enemy’s Defector (Ivanov Syndicate #3)

NIKOLAI

T he gasp didn’t belong here. I opened my eyes, instantly alerted to the change in this room. No one was ever shocked to be down in these torture rooms. No soldiers would be so delicate as to gasp or react in horror.

It was the first clue that someone else was down here. Another person—not another independent contractor—was nearby.

After the commotion of a masked contractor removing Hayden from the room, I was relieved that he wouldn’t make good on his independent and rogue idea to simply kill me. He’d bucked the orders he had been given. He’d disobeyed, seeming too impatient and taking matters into his own hands.

With too many hits and kicks, he’d nearly succeeded, too. That beating was brutal and lethal, pushing me to my limits.

He had been taken out, though, reinforcing my belief that whoever was in charge of this operation wanted me alive, not dead.

Limp and focusing on doing nothing but breathing, I lay there and willed the aches, stings, and pains to recede so I could fucking think straight.

Hearing that gasp jarred me out of the shock of such a beating.

It didn’t belong.

As I rolled over, riding this adrenaline rush of hearing something different down here, I opened my eyes wide.

This wasn’t the time to pretend I was asleep or unconscious, like usual.

Because nothing was unusual about a woman being down here. She wasn’t just any guest.

Katerina!

I had just been coaching myself to disregard being with her again. I had told myself I couldn’t be with her—to avoid letting her be in more danger.

And here she was.

Dressed all in black, a backpack strapped over her shoulders as she wrestled to get free of the masked man trying to take her down.

My energy spiked, and an instant streak of possessive need to kill that fucker pushed me to rise.

This red-hot draw to protect her had me moving, or trying to.

Aches made my arms feel heavier than usual.

Stabbing pains in my sides and legs weighed me down like my entire body was leaden with fatigue and agony.

I had no clue why she was here. How she was here. Or where the fuck I even was.

But I couldn’t stand by or lie back while I witnessed her struggling with a tall thug trying to strangle her with his bare hands.

“No!” Grunts, more than words, came from her lips pressed into a thin line of anger.

Despite her slender form and shorter height, she fought back hard, bucking, elbowing, and kicking her attacker to be free.

“Get off—” She paired her demand with a more forceful action of firing the gun in her hands.

Panting from the wrestle to breathe while he latched his fingers around her neck, she glowered at the man as she raised the gun again and fired.

The first shot had missed, but it had distracted him.

So close together, she was guaranteed a hit, though. This second bullet sank into his side.

“You’re dead, bitch.” He shrugged off the impact of the hit, barely pausing long enough to wince.

She raised the gun again as he stood straight from staggering back a bit.

But he was faster, lifting his gun.

No!

I curled, bending to buck like a fish out of water.

My feet, bound with rope, hit the small stool that Hayden had used to beat me with at times when his fists and feet weren’t good enough.

He’d picked it up and rained hit after hit on my back and side.

When he was done, he’d tossed it to the floor, and it was fortunately close enough for me to reach it, even with my bound feet.

One arch toward it was all I needed. Hooking my toes around one short leg of the fallen stool, I had the leverage to buck again and send the small chair flying. It was a kick, yet not. All that mattered was that the item went through the air to smack into the man’s knees.

It surprised him, but he didn’t lose his focus. Still keeping his gun trained on Katerina, I tensed and prayed that she’d shoot him first. His only reaction to seeing me alive was to circle and pivot so he’d block her from reaching me.

“They want me alive,” I told her, my voice croaky and hoarse from the lack of use.

Narrowing her eyes, she seemed to pick up on how she could have leverage over this man. In a flash, she shifted her arm and trained her gun on me.

I doubted she wanted me dead, but she’d gotten the point. So long as she threatened to shoot me, it would spare her from this man killing her.

Instead of going through a stand-off like this, the man lowered his gun and charged at her instead.

She tensed, flinching back, and she braced for him to reach her.

Dodging him didn’t do much good. He was bigger and faster, grabbing hold of her too easily.

It happened in a blur, so quickly that I couldn’t track all the details, but it gritted my teeth at her inability to shoot the man again.

She was snagged again, fighting in as much combat as she seemed able to attempt.

While she stopped him from choking her again, I fought the rope at my wrists and ankles.

Watching her be harmed was hell. Seeing her in pain was torment. No matter how many times I told him to leave her alone and release her, the thug kept at it, hitting her or straining to choke her.

Helpless but raging to be free, I clenched my teeth and gave it my all to get out of these bindings and get up. To fight and protect.

With one hand on the thug’s fingers squeezing her neck, she reached her other hand lower toward her pocket. She fought to breathe, to stay alive, but she also made her motive clear. She wasn’t just stumbling upon me down here. She had come to break me out.

In a jerky throw, she tossed me a folded-up knife that she’d carried in her pocket.

Yes!

Wiggling to reach it, I slid and scooted over the floor. My heart raced and my skin tingled. On top of the exhaustion and pain of being beaten, I was in anguish from this panic attack to rush and focus, to save her and myself.

Using the knife on my ankles so I could stand, I sawed back and forth with a rabid haste. Sweat dripped into my eyes at the tension that revved me to move as quickly as possible. My fingers felt stiff and awkward, too tense and trembling from the anger to kill this man who’d hurt her.

As soon as my feet were free, the nasty rope severed and on the floor, I rolled. Leaning with the momentum of the roll, I gripped the knife in my bound hands and climbed to my feet.

Then I ran up and kicked. Holding my hands out, not losing the knife, I relied on my legs and feet to kick at him and get him down. Then once he turned on me, I barreled my shoulder against him and grunted at the fury that he wasn’t all the way to the floor.

I had gotten him further back, though. Katerina had the space to shoot him now, but she shook her head. “I’m out!”

She held the gun but proved she was out of ammo.

The masked man growled, getting up to a squatting position to charge at her again, not me.

Before he could reach her, I spun and drove the knife into his back, near his kidneys.

Stopping him with that impalement bought me more time.

She grabbed his head, her fingers gripping his hair, as she pulled his face down at the same time she brought her knee up swiftly.

Bones crunched. His nose was broken. With the precision of her hit, she had probably killed him with the impact driving straight to his brain.

I wasn’t taking chances, though.

“His gun. Get his gun,” I ordered roughly.

She didn’t balk. She didn’t hesitate. Reaching around him as he slumped lower from the knife I’d driven into his back and her knee hit to his nose, she got his gun then pressed it to his head.

Turning slightly with a wince, she pulled the trigger and ensured he was dead.

Lights turned on, nearly blinding me. Footsteps pounded overhead. More men were coming, and this rescue wasn’t going to end well if we didn’t bolt.

“Let’s go,” she said, grimacing with what seemed like a great effort to talk with a dry throat.

As I let the man drop, I held onto her knife. Handing it to her, I stared into those soulful blue eyes that I worried I’d never see again. Those dark, oceanic azure eyes I wanted to gaze at and know she was the other half of my soul.

Trusting her with this complete shock and surprise at seeing her here , of all places, I willed her to cut the ropes on my wrists so I could finish protecting her.

With a guarded, worried frown, she took the blade and sawed at the rope with fear shining in her eyes as the sounds of footsteps increased.

“We’re trapped,” she said.

“No.” I watched as she worked on cutting the rope.

“I came down the only stairs,” she argued.

“But there’s a ramp, too. That’s how I was brought in.”

“But—”

I lifted my face to glare at her. Arguing had always come way too fucking easily for us. But now was not the time for it. Thrusting my hands apart, I pushed the limits of the rope. The last threads snapped, and my arms were free.

Without another word, without a chance to ask a single question from the barrage of them that filled my head, I grabbed her hand and turned to run.