As if he weren’t holding a woman prisoner mere feet away.
The door cracked open again, and another figure appeared.He was taller, his head shaved, his arms also covered in ink.He said something in Russian, his voice authoritative.They went back and forth for a few seconds before the bald man vanished inside, leaving the smoker behind.
He took another long drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes as he pushed out a long exhale, smoke floating away in the darkness.
I remained still, mentally reviewing the little information I had.
I knew these men were Bratva.Knew they’d been paid to acquire Ariana as a high-ticket item.Knew there were at least two men.How many more could there be?Based on their choice of aircraft, probably not many.
They flew in on a Pilatus from Miami.It wasn’t a plane with a long range.If they wanted to get in and out under the radar, they’d travel as light as possible.
I could have been wrong, but I doubted there would be more than three or four men, especially when I factored in that they were counting on returning with Ariana.
Four against one wasn’t great odds.
Three against one was better.
The smoker turned toward the building and widened his stance.When I heard the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting the pavement, I made my move, every muscle tight, every step calculated as I approached, carefully pulling my knife from my pocket.He didn’t have a chance to tuck himself back into his pants before I struck.
I hooked my arm around his throat, dragging him away from the building and into the darkness.He thrashed against me, a muffled grunt tearing from him as my blade punctured his side.Blood poured from the wound, coating my knuckles.He clawed at my forearm, his nails breaking skin, but it didn’t matter.I tightened my chokehold until his frantic movements stuttered, faltered, then stilled.
I let him drop to the ground with a satisfying thud, his blank eyes wide.
I crept toward the back door, exchanging my knife for my pistol.I had no way of knowing what might be waiting on the other side of the door.Had no idea of the layout.I needed to be ready for whatever I might face.
Taking one deep breath, I reached for the handle and slowly opened the door.The sound of low voices speaking Russian filtered outside, and I paused, listening for several protracted moments to determine how many.I could make out two distinct voices, one that sounded like the shaved-headed man from before, as well as one I didn’t recognize.And they didn’t sound like they were right by the door, either.They sounded distant.
Distant was good.
Distant gave me room to work with.
I pushed the door wider and slipped behind a stack of crates, peeking between them.One man paced in front of the open bay door, a cell phone pressed to his ear.The other stood in front of what was probably an office, his back toward me.As if watching something.
Or someone.
It took everything I had to remain still as I waited to see if there were any more people.But after a few minutes, no one else appeared.
Even if I was wrong, I couldn’t wait.I had to act.Before they loaded Ariana onto that plane and took off into the night.
Needing to be as stealthy as possible, I exchanged my gun for my knife once more, then moved toward the man guarding the office.
He turned just as I reached him, his eyes widening, mouth parting to shout.But he was too late.In one swift move, I sliced his throat.Blood gushed from the wound, staining the hangar floor, his gurgle echoing off steel walls.He dropped, twitching, clawing at the crimson river spilling down his chest.
A string of Russian echoed around me, and I spun as the other man advanced toward me, his gun raised.
He fired but missed, his shot tearing through a crate behind me.I quickly pulled my own gun, hitting him in the hip.He cursed as he fell to the floor, still shooting at me until he was out of rounds.
With a satisfied smirk, I moved toward him.But as I did, he managed to pull himself upright and charge at me, driving us both to the floor.My gun slipped out of my grip, sliding halfway across the hangar.
We fought dirty.Teeth.Nails.Fists.He slammed his forehead into mine, rattling my skull.I answered with a brutal hook to his jaw, the crack of bone sharp and satisfying.He snarled, wrapping his hands around my throat, cutting off the oxygen.
I was fighting for my life, but at this moment, I couldn’t help but think about Ariana.About the bruises she’d had on her throat when I first stole her away to my cabin.How the marks I thought were evidence of rough play in the bedroom were actually proof of her husband’s brutality.How he’d done this same thing to her.
My rage returned, and I used every ounce of strength to push him off me and pin him to the cement floor.Then I wrapped my hands around his neck, watching with sick satisfaction as he fought for air before his body went completely still.
I climbed off him, taking a moment to catch my breath, feeling lightheaded.But I pushed myself to my feet and frantically searched for Ariana, finding a limp figure tied up and thrown into the corner of the office.
She was crumpled against the wall, her face smeared with blood, skin too pale, too fragile.
