Page 18 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

"She's mine," I say. "Nobody touches her."

I turn the corner into the grand foyer just as two hitmen in black gear break through the shattered glass of the side entrance. They aren't street thugs. They move in a tight, professional wedge, rifles raised.

I don't wait for them to see me. I drop to one knee, raising the Glock.

Pop. Pop.

The first man takes two rounds to the throat, his rifle clattering to the marble floor as he collapses like a sack of wet sand. The second man swings his barrel toward me, but I’m already moving. I slide across the polished stone, catching him at the knees.

He hits the floor hard, the air leaving him in a sharp grunt. I drive my elbow into his nose, feeling the bone shatter under my weight. He tries to reach for his sidearm, but I grab his head with both hands and twist.

Crack.

His body goes limp.

Two.

I stand up, grabbing his rifle, an HK416, and checking the magazine. Full. I swing the strap over my shoulder and head toward the main staircase.

Three more men appear at the top of the landing, their rifles spitting fire before I can even reach the first step. Bullets chew through the drywall, showering me in white dust. I dive behind a heavy marble pillar, the stone chipping next to my ear.

"He’s behind the pillar!" one of them shouts in Russian. "Flush him out!"

I don't give them the chance. I lean out from the left side, firing three short, controlled bursts.

The middle man takes a burst to the chest, his body tumbling down the marble stairs in a grotesque, bouncing roll. The other two dive for cover behind the oak balustrade.

I run up the stairs, firing as I go to keep their heads down. The wood is splintering, flying into my face and cutting my cheek. I don't feel the pain. I only feel the target.

As I reach the landing, one of the men charges me, his rifle empty, swinging it like a club. He’s massive, a wall of muscle in a flak jacket. He catches me in the ribs with the butt of the gun.

My breath leaves me in a hot rush, a sharp pain radiating through my left side. Cracked rib. He swings again, but I duck under the blow, driving my shoulder into his stomach. We hit the wall together, the plaster cracking behind him. I drop the empty rifle and pull my combat knife from my boot. I drive the blade straight upward, under his chin, through the soft palate, and into his brain.

His eyes go wide, his hands clawing at my sleeves for a desperate second before his fingers go slack.

Four.

The fifth man is behind me, his handgun raised. I don't have time to pull the knife out of the dead man’s skull. I grab the corpse by the vest and spin him around just as the fifth man fires.

Two rounds sink into the dead man’s back. I use the weight of the body to plow into the shooter, knocking him off his feet. We roll onto the landing, and I wrap my hands around his throat, driving my thumbs into his windpipe with everything I have. He’s scratching at my face, his nails tearing into my cheek, but I don't let go until his eyes bulge and his chest stops moving.

Five.

I stand up, my chest heaving, my shirt soaked in sweat and three different men’s blood. I can feel a warm, sticky trail running down my side from where a bullet grazed my ribs during the stair climb. My hand is shaking slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer volume of adrenaline pumping through my heart.

Via.

I run down the corridor of the north wing, my boots leaving bloody prints on the white carpet. The wail of the siren is a dull hum in my ears now. It’s quiet, but it’s a dangerous kind of quiet.

I reach the door of the north suite. It’s been breached. The biometric lock has been blown off with a small, high-explosive charge, the wood around the frame charred and splintered.

My heart drops into my stomach. A cold, heavy panic hits me, the kind of panic I haven't felt since I was seventeen years old, standing over my mother’s body.

"Via!" I roar, rushing through the threshold.

The room is in ruins. The velvet curtains are torn, the small table overturned, glass from the water pitcher scattered across the floor.

I sweep the room, my gun raised, my eyes scanning the shadows.