I got my hands around his throat and squeezed.
"You touched her." The words came from somewhere deep, somewhere primal. "You threatened my family."
He clawed at my hands, gasping, his face turning purple. His eyes bulged, veins standing out on his temples. He tried to speak, but nothing came out except a wet gurgling.
"You wanted to know what happens when you target Chernov's weakness?" I leaned closer, letting him see the monster he'd awakened. "This. This is what happens."
I could have choked him to death. Could have watched the light fade from his eyes slowly, savoring every second. But that wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly enough for what he'd done.
I released his throat and drove my fist into his face.
Once. Twice. Three times. I felt bones crunch beneath my knuckles, felt blood spray across my hands, felt the satisfyinggive of flesh and cartilage. He stopped fighting after the fourth blow. Stopped moving after the sixth.
I didn't stop.
I beat him until my arms ached, until my fists were slick with blood, until what remained of his face was unrecognizable. All the fear, all the rage, all the helpless terror of those hours on the plane not knowing if she was alive—I poured it into every blow.
When I finally stopped, I was shaking. Covered in blood that wasn't mine. Kneeling over the ruined corpse of a man who would never threaten anyone again.
Behind me, I heard Gabrielle's voice.
"Vasily."
I turned.
She'd managed to tip her chair onto its side, but she was still bound, still helpless on the floor. Her eyes were fixed on me—on the blood, the carnage, the monster she'd always known I was.
I crossed to her in seconds, pulling my knife, cutting the zip ties from her wrists. The moment her hands were free, she reached for me, and I pulled her into my arms.
She was shaking. Or I was. Maybe both of us.
"I've got you," I breathed against her hair. "I've got you. You're safe now. You're safe."
"I knew you'd come." Her voice cracked. "I knew you'd find me."
I pulled back just enough to look at her face. The bruise on her cheek, the thin cut on her throat, the tears streaming down her cheeks. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
"Are you hurt?" My hands moved over her, checking for injuries. "The baby—"
"I'm okay. We're okay." She pressed her hand to her stomach. "They didn't—he wanted me as leverage. Kept me alive. Unharmed, mostly."
I touched the bruise on her face, and my vision went red again. "Who did this?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"He's dead. You killed him." She caught my hand, held it against her cheek despite the blood. "It's over, Vasily. It's over."
She was right. Pankratov was dead. His men were dead or scattered. The threat that had hung over us since before I'd taken her—finally, truly over.
But I couldn't stop shaking.
"I thought I'd lost you." The confession tore out of me, raw and broken. "When the feeds went dark—when I couldn't reach you—I thought—"
"I know." She pulled me closer, her arms wrapping around my neck. "I know. But you didn't. You found me. You brought me back."
I held her on the floor of that ruined control room, surrounded by bodies and broken glass, and let myself believe it was true.
