King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

This might go more smoothly than we feared. I peer at the device in my hand. Mikhal and his woman stand at the head of the room, the rest standing around them in a circular group. Instead of being the ones in charge, they’re now on the spot, as it seems those in front of them are not as keen on following their plan as they thought.

But Taara is still in there. Abram isn’t allowed in the inner circle, though a few of the trusted slaves are there to serve their masters. As the tension in the room becomes more highly charged, my need to get her out of there builds.

“It’s enough. We have enough to go on. We know who wants to take down America, and it seems the majority don’t favor this move. It isn’t as insidious as we thought.”

“Maybe not,” Demyan says. “But be patient. It’s too dangerous to move her out just yet.” I disagree. I fucking disagree. Every second she’s near their greedy hands is too long. She’s served her purpose.

I start to move, but pause when Demyan speaks up again.

“Wait, Stefan,” Demyan insists. “We need to know more before you take her out.” But on the feed in front of me, I see Mikhal take a step toward her.

“Why is she here?” he asks.

My need to protect her takes a grip on me so vicious I can’t breathe.

Stay safe, Taara.

Mikhal’s woman reaches for Taara’s hair and yanks it so her head falls back.

I will kill her.

“Good question,” she says icily. “This one actually looks familiar, though I can’t quite place where I know her from.” She shoves her away, instantly dismissing her. I breathe again.

“In any event, I’m disappointed in your lack of support, Makar.”

While we watch, she draws a pistol from her hip, turns it on Makar, and with no warning, pulls the trigger. Taara screams, but no one moves. I watch in horror as the man’s body slumps to the floor. She shot him in the chest. He isn’t dead yet.

“Someone has to stop her,” Demyan grates into the phone. “She’s out of control and unpredictable.”

I make up my mind in an instant. “I’m going in.”

I’m running through the woods without a care now who sees me or what they’ll do if they catch me. “Call a medic!” I shout to Demyan. Makar may still make it. I’m banking on the fact that Mikhal and his cohorts are in the minority. Killing a fellow Bratva pakhan brings certain war and turmoil. We need to save his life. I need to get to Taara.

I rush through the doors of the compound, only to be instantly flanked by two large guards. I drop to the floor and roll, as they point their guns at me. I shoot one right between the eyeballs and the other in the chest. One falls dead instantly, the other falls to the floor, howling. I apparently missed anything too vital so I shoot the second man in the leg, certain to keep him from coming after me. He screams and swears at me in Russian, but I plow on. I’m not leaving until I have my Taara safely secured.

I burst into the room, rage nearly obscuring my vision. Men are on their feet, their guns trained on me. Taara’s eyes meet mine, wide and surprised.

“Stefan,” Mikhal says, unperturbed.

“I told you to kill him.” I look into his woman’s eyes. She looks straight at me, her gun pointed to me. No one moves. No one says anything while she shakes her head. “Who the hell do you think you are, storming in here?” She cocks her pistol, but I’m not giving her a chance. Taara lunges at her, pulling her down. Her shot ricochets somewhere off the ceiling, and I shoot her. I don’t hesitate when Mikhal points his gun at Taara. I pull the trigger. He, too, falls to the floor.

They obviously made more enemies than friends in this compound. No one, literally not a single one even tries to stop us. Within seconds, Demyan’s reinforcements who were stationed outside this warehouse arrive while I go to Makar. He’s breathing, still conscious.

“Moscow,” one of the men says. “It’s Moscow. Thank you.”

She didn’t kill Makar. It’s confusing and bloody, the bodies dragged away, but when Demyan comes into the room, they all fall to silence. He’s earned the respect of the Russian Bratva in all corners of the country.

“See to Makar’s immediate wellbeing,” he orders.

I pull Taara to me, but she stiffens, and she won’t allow me to embrace her. What the hell?

Demyan addresses the room while a medic rushes in to tend to Makar. “But the bigger question here is where this leaves us.” His voice rings out, loud and certain and deep. The others pay attention. “We’ve been told the insidious plan to overtake Stefan and the American Bratva ran deep.”