Fedorov releases a howl of fury and gestures at Sharapova’s unconscious body with his cane.
“You think this means anything?” he snarls, his earlier amusement nowhere to be found. “I did not give all stipulations of this fight, you fools.Idecide who wins and who loses, and I say you still lose!”
“You lying piece of shit!” Lochlan erupts from where he is at gunpoint. “The deal was clear—Killian wins, you let the girl go!”
“You gave your word!” the man with Lochlan adds, glaring with his good eye, the other covered by an eyepatch. “Or does the word of the great sovietnik mean nothing anymore?”
“It does not surprise me you would feel that way, Aleksei,” Fedorov sneers. “You have always been the weak link among us. My word means what I say it does—and I have decided the Irishman loses!”
“As your great Russian is on the floor laid out!” Lochlan curls his fists and takes a step forward.
Fedorov’s men respond by cocking the hammers on theirguns, making it clear they have no qualms about using them. They’ll unload on us as soon as they’re given the order.
“Fedorov, you can’t do this!” I interject from beside him. The blond squeezes harder at my arms, obviously an attempt to shut me up. “You can’t change your mind now! He beat your fighter. He won. You can’t?—”
“Shut up, Myshka!” he barks. He lifts his cane as if about to strike me.
I flinch instinctively, eyes snapping shut.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Killian roars from the makeshift ring. He steps over Sharapova’s body and starts toward us, even as some guards redirect their guns to him.
“This is my game,” Fedorov says. “I can do whatever I like. None of you are in a position to make demands.”
It’s a grim reality that weighs down on us. We’re outnumbered, out gunned,andon enemy turf.
Fedorov and his men hold all the cards. We’re at their mercy.
…until for the second time tonight, the emergency alarms go off.
The loud blare fills the room, red lights flashing across the chamber. Even Fedorov’s soldiers seem thrown off, glancing around in confusion.
Fedorov grits his teeth and barks orders at his men in rapid Russian. Obviously something bad has happened elsewhere on the estate. The alarm has gone off for a reason.
Most of the men rush out of the chamber at his command. Presumably to go address whatever new threat has emerged.
Lochlan and Aleksei use the commotion to their advantage.
In one quick decisive motion, Lochlan grabs the barrel of the gun pointed at his face and wrenches it sideways, throwingthe guard off balance before slamming his elbow into the man’s throat.
Aleksei moves at the same time, his massive frame barreling into the guard nearest to him and taking him to the ground. As soon as he has him pinned, he’s snapping his neck.
More guards turn to engage them, but Lochlan’s in attack mode. He’s already opened fire, dropping two of them.
Aleksei grabs another guard and uses him as a human shield while he strips the man of his firearm then tosses the body aside and starts shooting.
Killian’s making his way over to me when he’s intercepted by a guard he’s forced to fight off.
The chamber descends into chaos as bullets fly and men scream. I’m frozen in place because the icy blond still has his hand clenched shut on my arm.
Fedorov snatches me away from him, seemingly deciding on a new strategy. He’s withdrawn his own gun and presses it to my temple.
“Stop fighting!” he yells. “Stop or I will kill her right now!”
It’s as if someone has pressed pause in the chamber.
Killian and the other two have frozen mid-fight. They watch us with dark, heavy glares. Looks of calculation.
Deciding whether there’s any possible move they can make to defy Fedorovandsave me.
