The second floor is empty. It’s the same sprawling, open space as below, but with no production equipment. The walls and roof have caved in, leaving massive piles of debris, and snow forms ghostly drifts in the dark. There’s no one in sight.
“I don’t like this,” growls Sacha, as we move deeper into the space. “Something is wrong.”
Something crunches under my boot. I step back, look down. Annika’s necklace, chain and all, lies shattered in the dust.
No.
I hear the gunshot too late, after the bullet has already struck. I’ve been shot before, but experience doesn’t lessen the visceral explosion of pain in my shoulder and chest. The force of the blow hurls me backward. I land hard on the concrete floor, gun skittering out of my reach, wind blown from my lungs.
I take a few empty, ragged breaths before I manage to get oxygen. Hot blood is already pumping freely over my chest and neck, a burning, copper flood. My ears are ringing, head spinning. But I don’t hear any other shots—only voices, low and quick and harried.
My fingers find the bullet hole, between my shoulder and my left clavicle.A good shot.A purposeful shot—one that tells me the person who fired the bullet could have killed me, and didn’t.Why?
I force myself to sit up, dizzy and shaking with pain and blood loss, and understand, immediately. A group of people is trickling into the room. Already, guards line one wall, rifles raised and glinting dully in the dim. My men have their hands raised, guns already lowered. We’re surrounded.
There’s a woman among the guards, pale hair and pale eyes. And a massive man, suit straining over his shoulders, expression cool and diamond-hard. And then, there is a black-eyed, black-haired beauty, pistol raised and still smoking.
Annika. No.
“Well, well, well,” purrs the deep, velvet voice of Viktor Desyatov. “The mighty Maxim Volkov, brought to his knees. Though it is not the first time my Annika has done that—is it?” He places a massive, ringed hand on Annika’s shoulder. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. In fact, her face is amazingly blank; cold and hard as marble. “When I found out about you two, I admit, I was angry. Here I thought you were a brute from the street, but no, you had a brain too. Fucking my daughter, impregnating her with your pathetic seed…yes, I was angry.”
Annika stiffly lowers the pistol. Still, her face gives away nothing. She’s still bloody and filthy, still dressed in the same clothes she wore when she took the truck and left the house. They’ve shown her no kindness or hospitality, I realize. They’ve felt empowered since her arrival—and whatever they’ve said or done to her, it’s worked.
“But now that my daughter and her children are back, safe with their family,” Viktor continues, eyes glittering with amusement, “I see it quite differently. My granddaughters are my heirs; but they are also yours.”
My heart clenches. I’m on my knees, hand clutching the bloody gunshot wound in my shoulder. I think it went straight through, luckily, but I’m still losing a lot of blood.Not good.I don’t chance a look at Sacha or my other men. They all knew this was a risk of attacking Viktor’s compound.
But still—I can’t believe it. Idon’tbelieve it. I search Annika’s face for any hint of the girl I found myself trusting, the girl I found myself falling in love with. The girl who told me she loved me.
And I swear, beneath that cold, hateful mask—she is still there.
“Annika,” I say softly. “Don’t do this.”
There is no change in her expression. Absolutely nothing. But Viktor throws back his head and laughs. “Nowthatis a sight I never thought I’d be treated to. Maxim Volkov not only on his knees, but begging. Like a fucking dog.”
Viktor slides his arm over Annika’s shoulders and pulls her close. She’s dwarfed by his immensity, made slight and hapless as a child. Her eyes are cool black ice; no fire, no heat, nothing. Just numb, vacant, cold.
“Annika was never going to be loyal to you,” Viktor says. He runs a hand over Annika’s black curls possessively. “Not even if she meant to be. She is simply not programmed to give her loyalty, as much as she might have wanted or needed to. She is a snake, like her father; she cannot be loved. Only feared.”
Please, Annika, I beg, but don’t say. I search her eyes again. I know her. I do—I have to. All these days we’ve spent together, I know they started shrouded in lies and deceit and manipulation…but it became something else.Webecame something else, I know we did. When she told me she loved me, it wasn’t a trick. It was true. I could see it in her, sense it.
“That isn’t true,” I say, not looking at Viktor, but at her. She seems to be gazing straight through me. “She is nothing like you.”
“No? Then what is she doing here, Maxim? She led you right to me. Do you think any of these plans were really yours? Do you think she didn’t manipulate you every step of the way, until you were delivered, like a gift, into my hands?”
No.No. It isn’t possible. And even if it was—Annika changed sides. She chose me. She chose a better life. “You’re wrong.”
“You do not know her like I do, Volkov. She is my flesh and blood. My princess. My heir. In the end, blood is blood; all else is water. Tell him, my darling.” This Viktor growls softly into Annika’s hair. “Tell him which side you are on.”
“His,” Annika says simply. “I have always been on my father’s side.”
Viktor chuckles. “Put some life into it, Annika. Sell it.”
She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.
“No,” Viktor says, straightening, as if a brilliant thought has just occurred to him. “Better yet. Sell him your love.”
My stomach clenches hard, but again, Annika’s expression, her body language, tell me absolutely nothing.
