Page 35 of Bratva Beast

“We have two men outside the condo door and there are men in the elevator. A group of men in dark clothes just piled out of the stairwell. They just killed your men.” I swallow the bile in my throat. “They’re expecting me to be here with Thane.”

“Yes. They’ll come in quietly, hoping to catch my second oldest son asleep on the job. There are guns in the closet. The code is four, seven, three, six. Get one.”

I open the cabinet to find a handful of handguns, a half a dozen knives, a semi-automatic, and a fully automatic. I select the Makarov Pistol and a Glock 42.

“Did you find something you can shoot?”

“Yeah. Dad was thorough.”

“I would expect nothing less from your father. You should be good with knives.”

I smirk remembering my weekends with my father. “I think that’s why I love scalpels so much.” A loud thud echoes through the condo. “Oh.”

“What is it?”

“Three men hit the front door with some type of explosion.”

Papa blows out his breath. “Saxon, Thane, and Cynric have arrived in the garage. The rest of our men are handling the lower floors. They’ll be with you soon.”

Another explosion shakes the panic room. “They’re getting through the metal doors leading to the back of the penthouse.”

“Your panic room door will hold. You stay in that room. You carry the next generation in your belly.”

“Hello?” I stare at my phone. “No service. Well, great. Technology sucks.” The screens show more men have entered the penthouse. I finger the four knives I pulled from the cabinet. I guess the years of practice throwing knives as a child is going to come in handy. My father was a security nut with a healthy dose of paranoia being Papa’s lead enforcer.

Boom. The room shakes. Men squeeze through the broken steel door leading into the back of the condo. They’re in our bedroom. My tablet is sitting on my nightstand in the primary bedroom. It isn’t going to work either.

Pound, pound. I turn to the door and bring my focus back to the screen. Two men are banging on the door. I hope Papa is right, and they can’t get in. I catch movement on the far screen. Cynric’s here. He fights through five men as his brothers execute men on the way to me. He’s running through the living room, almost to the first blown through steel door. A loud gunshot coincides with a jerk to Cynric’s body. He turns as his body continues to move forward as though he was shoved. Pain is etched on his face as he falls out of view of the camera. More gunshots as Saxon and Thane shoot a man who’s running around the corner from the far view of the cameras. Saxon waves at the camera. His face is stricken. It’s bad whatever it is. My eyes scan the screens. No more intruders. I turn, expecting Cynric to be up on the next monitor.

“Oh God. Cynric’s down.” I run to the touch screen on the wall and light it up to turn it on. I put my palm on the screen. Please open. A loud click and the doors slam against the opposite walls, opening. I run out. Cynric needs me.

He’s lying on the ground with blood pooling around his torso. “Cynric!” I scream as I fall to my knees next to him. My breath catches. He’s bleeding heavily. I yell at Saxon. “Go to the bathroom and grab my box of maxi pads, under the sink.”

Thane argues. “What the fuck?”

I point to Saxon. “Do it.”

I rip off my t-shirt and press it to his wound. “Thane. In the hall closet is a large black bag. Bring it to me.”

He scoffs. “What? Now you need your luggage.”

I face him and bark in the clearest doctor voice I can find. “Get my fucking med bag now. Shut the fuck up with the comments so I can save your brother.” He doesn’t move and I scream. “Now.”

Movement at the blown door catches my attention as Papa marches in with a group of men. He barks in Russian to one of his men who runs to the closet. Saxon bounds back into the room with the feminine products, and I dump them out, opening a maxi-pad. I push it against the wound. “Saxon, open up a few more. Thane, get me towels.” I glance up. “I need that fucking bag.”

A man drops the bag next to me, and Papa unzips it. “What do you need?”

“I need an IV bag, and I have to clean my hands.”

Saxon places his hands over the cloth I’m holding, pressing it firmly against the maxi-pads on Cynric’s chest. Papa turns me, having grabbed a bottle of vodka from under the bar and pours the liquid on my hands. I flick them, spraying the cold drops, as I reach for a clean towel from the laundry basket Thane set down. Papa pulls gloves out of my bag, and I slip one on each hand. Cynric’s usual healthy skin tone has paled, sweat beads on his forehead. I go through the steps I need to take in my head. I kneel back down and select the forceps.

“Saxon pull off the material, I need to get the bullet.”

Using the forceps, I stick them in the bullet hole, feeling for the resistance of the bullet. Cynric moans as I dig. I grab the bullet and slide it out as I press gauze against the wound until I feel a pull. “Shit. It punctured the lung.”

Thane grumbles. “We need a real doctor.”

I can’t deal with him right now. I ignore him and focus on Cynric as he gasps. Reaching into my bag I pull out the sleeved needles from my bag. With one hand I flick through, finally finding a fourteen-gauge needle. I hand it to Saxon. “Peel it so I can grab it.”

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