The piece of human garbage who took my mother’s life, tried to cripple my empire, and tortured my pregnant woman. The things I want to do to him would earn me a special place in hell.
Mudak!
It’s been a while since I’ve seen Ronan Aslanov in the flesh. He’s definitely aged, his features look weathered, more angular. Except for his eyes. He has the same cold, predatory eyes that I’d recognize anywhere.
I meet those gray, lifeless eyes that have haunted my nights since the day he took my mother from me, and hate him even more than I thought I did already. First, he took mymother’s life, and now he thinks he can do the same with Lauren and my daughter?
Yebanyy mudak!
He remains still, the ends of his expensive suit jacket blowing in the wind when a cold breeze passes through. He looks smart in full black, his suit perfectly tailored to fit his body. The bastard’s power doesn’t come from his frame— it comes from the fear he inspires, the chess game he’s always playing, always three moves ahead of his enemies.
Just like he is now.
I willingly walked into his trap to save my pregnant woman’s life. He has me by the balls and he knows it.
“You’re predictable, Niko.”
I flex my fists, extending my gaze past him to see if anybody else is here. I wonder where Timur’s at. Surely, he would have been right behind me, following in my direction. He’s a smart guy. I would like to think that he’s figured out where I am… unless he got held up.
Blyad.
I keep my features relaxed, but on the inside, feel white hot rage coursing through me.
“Don’t worry.” I can feel Ronan staring into my fucking soul. “Your friend will join us in a second.”
I lock my jaw. My friend?
Blyad.
The bastard has Timur too?
My blood turns to ice, but my resolve hardens to steel. Whatever happens next, there are two things I’m certain of.
One, we’re colossally fucked.
Two, I won’t rest until I get Lauren out of here alive.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lauren
I want Nikolai to be here, but he can’t be.
My relief is short-lived, quickly turning to terror. I look up at his face, drinking him in like it’s the last time.
This is the first time I have seen him working. I must say, he puts on an impressive show. How he managed to get past the heavy security that guards this building is beyond me.
He must have abandoned his trademark black jacket on his way over here. A white linen shirt drapes from his shoulders, the material half-unbuttoned. The sleeves have been rolled back to the elbows, exposing his strong, tattooed forearms. His disheveled hair flies in the light breeze that keeps whistling through the gaps in the shipping container.
I see the pained look in his eyes as he meets my gaze, but right now, the pain is masked with something else—cold fury. Anger tenses every muscle in his face, his jaw set firm, his cheekbones popping even more than usual. I notice a droplet of sweat fall from his brow, his dark brows knitted together as he concentrates on his enemy. Aslanov is still standing at the edge of the shipping container, clearly taking satisfaction in all of this.
That’s when Nikolai lunges forward, pulls out the gun that has been hidden in the side pocket of his pants, and—
The weapon crashes to the floor. Two of Aslanov’s armed men step up behind their leader, fixing their weapons on Nikolai. Another two flank him from both sides and one of them manages to kick the weapon out of his grasp. The other one comes up behind him, pressing the muzzle of his gun against the back of his head.
No!
I also feel something cool and solid touch my skin. I chance a look, keeping my head still. In my peripheral vision, I see Aslanov come up behind me, the muzzle of his gun pressed against my head.
