“This is the last fucking time I’ll repeat myself,” Killian growls slowly. “Let Jhene go. Now. It’s over.”
“It is over when I say it is over,” Fedorov hisses, pressing the gun harder against my temple. “And I say the girl comes with me.”
Killian starts toward us again as if to make good on his warning. He won’t be repeating himself again.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll go with him. Just… let him take me, okay?”
“Jhene—”
“Don’t fight him on it. Please.”
Fedorov flashes a cruel smile, then motions to the icy blond. We back toward the entrance and make it out into the hall.
As soon as we’re out of the chamber, the sounds of fighting erupt again. Killian and the others are back to battling the guards, likely to overtake them and come after us.
They’re not the only ones fighting—as we start down the hall and the loud alarm wails, I can pick up on other jarring sounds.
Guards sprint in the same direction as the house. They’re rushing off to deal with something… or someone. Could it be the Callahan clan that’s turned up?
The icy blond stays one stride ahead of us as we make it deeper down the hall.
Fedorov crushes my arm in his grip and barks at him in Russian. He’s sending him off with the other guards to deal with whatever chaos has been unleashed on the estate.
A second later, we pass an open walkway to our left that reveals why.
There’s a man fighting his way through a cluster of Fedorov’s guards in the same atrium where Killian and the others had gotten caught.
He’s tall and lean, with long dark hair and dozens of tattoos. It takes me another half second to realize he’s no Callahan—he’s Asian, and he’s handling the guards as if it’s light work.
He’s shot several of them and flexibly dodged and outmaneuvered others that try to get close. As we pass by, he’s currently leaping off one of the many pillars and delivering a sharp kick to a soldier’s chest, gun in hand as he shoots another.
The blond runs toward him to take him on next.
Fedorov wrenches me away before we can see more of the confrontation.
“Fools,” Fedorov spits. “All of you—disobey the Bratva and suffer for it. Koschei may not be here, and neither is my son, but do you think you can outmatch the rest of my men? They are more than equipped to handle you pests.”
I pull and tug at his hold. “Or maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew! You can’t beat all of us.”
He grunts in disagreement. “You are delusional, Myshka. You think you will ever be free? I am the reason you breathe. I can be the reason you no longer do so.”
“You made a deal and now you’re backing out of it! Killian beat your champion. You can’t stand to lose, can you?”
“I have lost nothing. There was never a scenario in which I would let you go, Myshka. You should know that by now.”
“Then why?” I demand. “Why all of this? The games, the fighting, all the effort you went through to turn me into a spy. If you were never going to let me go, why bother with any of it?”
He half drags me down more of the hall despite how I twist and turn in his hold.
“You were my spy for more reasons than you conceive, Myshka. You are already mine—you were never to be free. But I was letting you believe so. It was a means to an end.”
“Which is?” I grit out. My temper grows the farther he drags me and tighter his grip becomes.
“You were useful. A tool to gather information on the Callahans and their allies. But not for the reason you think. You were needed because you were to lead me to who Ireallywanted.”
“Will you stop being so cryptic?!” I scream, then stamp down on his foot. I’m finally able to break free of his hold, staggering back.
Fedorov immediately retaliates by using his cane. He clubsme over the head with it and sends me tumbling to the ground.
