Page 86 of The Russian's Bought Bride

Malenkov lowers the pistol calmly as if he didn’t just murder someone without hesitation, as if it meant absolutely nothing.

The room spins sickeningly around me as horror crashes through my body in violent waves, and my ears continue to ring even after the echo has long gone.

This man will do anything with no regard for human life. He’s the most rotten part of this whole organization.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, voice shaking as the image replays in my mind on repeat.

Malenkov looks down at Volodin’s body with visible annoyance rather than remorse, as if he removed an obstacle rather than eliminating the very doctor he needed for the operation. “Don’t look at me like that. He was becoming a liability, and weak men create more problems than they fix.”

I stare at him in shock. “He was your partner.”

“He was a means to getting what I wanted, then he became a loose end. I don’t like loose ends.”

The words settle over me like ice water, and I try so hard to keep it together, but that feels more impossible the longer this goes on.

Then his attention shifts back toward me, slipping into a more detached state again. He nudges Volodin’s arm out of the way with his shoe before he glances over at the various medical instruments nearby.

My entire body locks with terror as he approaches the table once more, realizing now that the man standing between me and death is gone.

“Fortunately,” he says calmly, reaching for the syringe, “removing organs isn’t especially complicated.”

Even as I squirm, he gestures toward two armed men near the door. “Congrats, you’re my assistants now. Get over here…we’re not delaying any longer.”

The men step forward immediately, forcing another wave of panic through me so violently I nearly choke on it.

I thrash harder against the restraints despite knowing it’s useless, all the while tears burn down the sides of my face as my survival instinct completely takes over.

“Please,” I gasp out. “Please don’t—”

Of course, nobody listens. One of the men reaches for my arm to hold me still, and that contact is enough to drain the color from my skin.

“Stay still or I’ll miss,” Malenkov utters as he brings the syringe closer. Then he huffs with sadistic amusement. “Or, I can just cut while you’re awake. Take your pick.”

Neither option settles anything in me, and I keep fighting as my heart threatens to burst through my chest.

Irritated now, he barks orders for them to keep me in place, but before anyone can begin, shouting erupts somewhere outside. Gunfire follows, and Malenkov freezes.

Another burst of rounds cracks through the building, closer this time, and the men around the table immediately grab weapons. Fear flashes across several faces at once, even if they’re supposed to be trained.

Then a voice roars somewhere beyond the room, commanding and full of authority. “Nikolai!”

Recognition registers in me instantly. I heard that voice at dinner only hours ago, and relief crashes through me so hard it’s almost painful.

It’s Roman.

Malenkov hears it too, and for the first time since I’ve seen him with my own eyes, he looks genuinely furious instead of composed.

“Move,” he snaps at his men, face red with tension.

One of the guards near the doorway stops and jerks backward before collapsing hard into the frame, blood spraying across the concrete beside him before he drops.

The remaining men scramble immediately, and chaos explodes through the room all at once. Somewhere beyond the violence and shouting, I hear him. Nikolai.

“Nobody touches her!”

The sheer fury in his voice sends chills through me, but not because of fear. I’ve never heard someone sound so absolutely murderous before in my life, and not over me.

Footsteps thunder closer and closer toward the room, and before Malenkov can move, the door bursts open fully.