Dead, warns the part of me that knows better. But damn her. In that mocking hue of blue, I see a flashing hint of relief. And greed.
She wants to die. Because she did her job, leading me into whatever trap she and her boss have set?
Like hell, will I give her the satisfaction.
“You owe me answers,” I warn. After a glance around, the bloodstained seats reveal nothing else to use as a bandage; I strip my shirt and cover her wound, applying enough pressure to make her wince. “No dying until I say so.”
“Funny,” she rasps, chuckling in between panting breaths. “I think you have more pressing matters…”
She trails off without finishing that statement, but I can guess well enough.
And she’s right.
This is the parking lot Mischa’s men use. If it’s empty, that means only a fraction of the men must be inside. Ten? Five? Fewer?
“Come on.” I hook an arm beneath her waist, dragging her from the van. When she slumps, unable to stand on her own, I sling her over my shoulder and approach the hospital, heading for the back entrance near the Stepanov’s private wing.
I don’t even have to set a foot inside the building to sense that something’s off. There are no patrols on the outer perimeter. The door to the stairwell is unlocked.
“What the hell?”
I enter it, instantly on guard.
“He moves fast,” Briar murmurs into my ear. “I suggest you keep that gun of yours handy, soldier.”
“Like minds.” I’m already drawing the weapon from its holster.
As I mount the staircase, the stench of blood tinges the air, irritating my nostrils. Hers? Or someone else’s?
I’ve barely gone another flight, when I see the body slumped against the outer door. I recognize his face—one of Mischa’s. I don’t even have to feel for a pulse to know he’s dead, his throat slit.
The method sticks out to me. No gunshot, meaning the attacker prioritized stealth over speed. It’s sloppy. The work of one man?
A mole.
“Damn.” I readjust the woman, pressing my ear against the door to the ward. It’s quiet. No…
I hear shouting. A woman and child. And I hear a man’s voice answer them.
“Shit.” There isn’t time to regroup. I shrug the woman off and leave her on the bottom step. “Wait here.”
She’s too weak to argue, her blue eyes glued to the dead man slumped just paces from her.
Ignoring any emotion, I hold my gun aloft and kick the door open, steeling myself for whatever I might see beyond it.
Nothing.
Mrs. Stepanova isn’t in her room as I race down the wing. They’re just beyond it. I move entirely on reflex, rounding the hallway to find blood on the floor and a man, his arms around a woman I recognize instantly.
“Willow!” Without hesitation, I aim at her attacker. “Let her go.”
But he doesn’t, and when his eyes meet mine, I’m sure he never will.
The last time I saw this face was on a grainy video as he tortured a man to death—and yet I have no trouble identifying him. Donatello Vanici.
“Get the hell away from her!”
It’s like the bastard doesn’t even see me.
The man lying nearby is a Stepanov agent. I recognize him—the newest recruit. He’s still breathing, his face contorted in agony. The knife embedded in his chest, gives a clue as to why.
But when I see the handle of the blade, I stop short.
What the hell?
“Look at me,” Vanici demands, his hand on Willow’s cheek.
I lunge for them, my gun at the ready, but I never pull the trigger.
Willow’s expression has me paralyzed. I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way she is now. Like she’s drowning, and only his touch is keeping her afloat. Keeping her breathing.
My gaze cuts to the injured guard. Then I turn my attention to the rest of the ward. There’s no one else around. Where the hell is everyone?
“It’s over,” I hear Vanici tell Willow. “It happened. There’s no use dwelling on it.”
“What happened?”
“Evgeni?”
I swivel in the direction of the voice and sigh in relief. Further down the hallway, two figures lurk in shadow. Mrs. Stepanova and Eli. Both seem unharmed but wary.
“Something was wrong with him,” Eli says, pointing to the guard. “He tried to take me.”
“We need to get in contact with Mischa,” Mrs. Stepanova demands, her tone authoritative despite how frail she appears overall. Which reminds me.
“The baby?” I ask. Yet another potential member of the Stepanov family who could be targeted.
Mrs. Stepanova’s strained look of relief eases that worry. “She’s been discharged already. Mischa and Anna have been getting her settled.”
“Good. But we can’t stay here long,” I say, thinking fast. Until I know what the fuck is going on, even the traffic jam would be a safer place than the hospital. “We should leave. Come with me—”
“I’ll cover you,” Vanici says, lurching to his feet. Willow copies him, but her gaze is distant. I doubt she even realizes I’m here.
I take a step toward her. “What happened?”
“Go!” Vanici says, inclining his head toward the stairwell. “There isn’t time. We need to get them out of here.” He nods to Mrs. Stepanova. “Worry about them. I’ll get Willow clear.”
“Wait…” I grit my teeth, my fingers clenching the handle of my gun.
It’s hard to think clearly without a clearer view of just what the hell is going on. “We need to—”
A sudden noise from down the hall draws my notice. Reinforcements?
But Mischa’s or an enemy’s?
There isn’t time to question.
I look back at the Stepanovs. Ellen seems far too weak to move on her own. Picturing Briar, I’ll need all the help I can fucking get.
“Help me carry them,” I tell Vanici, weighing strategy over common sense. “I have a car. I know somewhere we can regroup.”
And yet I have a suspicion that, no matter where we go from here, we’ll still be ensnared by this twisted web.
24
Don
An injured woman, a
