“No,” Mikhail said. “I expect you to trust me. And I expect them”—he nodded toward the director and her men—“to honor the terms of our agreement. Because if they don’t, this entire partnership is going to blow up in their faces.”
“Partnership,” Katya repeated, almost like it tasted bitter in her mouth.
The director cleared her throat. “Revenant has become more trouble than they’re worth,” she began. “We have an alignment of interests. For now.”
I didn’t like that ‘for now.’
“And the others?” I asked. “The Markovs and Kara. They got clear. ARCHEON isn’t going after them?”
“For the moment,” the director said, “we have no intention of interfering with the Markovs or our rogue agent.”
“For the moment,” Viktor mimicked under his breath.
“Drop the guns,” Mikhail said to the ARCHEON team. “You don’t need any bullets for this.”
The director nodded once. The muzzles dipped and pointed to the ground.
The tension in the air loosened by a degree.
Mikhail’s shoulders dropped slightly, showing the faintest sign of relief. “How are you?” he asked, eyes flicking between me and Viktor.
“Been better,” I answered honestly.
“Been worse,” Viktor added.
He looked at Katya last. “And you?”
She held his gaze, jaw set, eyes bright. “I broke out of Revenant.” Her lips slid up into a slow smirk. “I broke back into Revenant. I destroyed their servers. I blew up a few things with their own drones. Maybe a few people, too.”
He smiled in her direction. “You did well,malyshka. I’m proud of you.”
CHAPTER 15
Dubai, two weeks ago…
Katya
I’d never been to Dubai before, and I was trying not to let it show.
It was like some billionaire’s fever dream. Towers glittered in the sun like they were competing with each other, each building taller and shinier than the last. Even the air smelled expensive. It was laced with perfume, salt, and the faint tang of cold air conditioning spilling out of every doorway.
The Dragunov brothers walked through it like they owned the place.
Which, to be fair, they kind of did.
And they had decided to take me shopping.
Right now, we weren’t in a normal mall. We weren’t even in the ‘rich people’ section of a normal mall. They’d taken me toa private, invitation-only gallery of boutiques linked together by a quiet, marble-floored corridor high above the main shopping district. No crowds. No noise. Just soft music, discreet staff, and the kind of quiet that made my combat-honed instincts uneasy.
“You know,” I began, as we entered a Louis Vuitton showroom so empty it might as well have been a museum, “there’s something deeply suspicious about rich men who drag a woman into a shopping gallery with no witnesses.”
“It’s called being gentlemen,” Mikhail said. “Plus, you need more clothes.”
“I have clothes,” I objected.
“You have one go-bag,” he corrected. “You showed up with a duffel bag and three knives, Katerina. That’s not a wardrobe.”
I smirked. “The knives are versatile. They go with everything.”
