Page 7 of Broken Embers

Lev gives me a pained look. “Clyde’s right about this trip not being comfortable—it’s like riding in one of those rides at a state fair that you know hasn’t been well looked after.”

He’s not wrong there. Our breath fogs the air like ghosts as the truck rattles through the back roads heading toward our destination. My mind is consumed with thoughts of Sabrina, leaving little room for the physical discomfort. Elena, once again strapped to me in her baby sling, only this time facing everyone in the truck, is the only one enjoying the ride. Giggling with glee every time the truck hits a bump, and I’m sure her little squeals are baby for, again, again.

The others in my team are huddled around on the hard benches, each hanging on to whatever they can find to stop them from being flung off their seats.

The road is endless, and the hours tick by agonizingly slowly. We don’t even stop to stretch our legs. As we draw nearer to our destination, my mind starts to tick over.

“Are we ready?” I look at Syd, Ivan, Lev, and Clyde. “We don’t know what we’re riding into here. It could very well be a trap.” My eyes fall on Clyde.

“My contact is solid, but you never know,” Clyde acknowledges.

“We’re ready, Oleksi,” Ivan assures him.

“Lev? Magda?” I look over them.

“I’ll stay back with Lev and Elena until it is safe,” Magda repeats the drill. “If there is any sign of trouble, I’m to follow Lev and head for Dmitri’s palace, where we will wait. If we don’t hear from you in a day, I’m going to get Dmitri to contact Sam Winters.”

“Good!” I nod and catch Lev’s attention. “I’m counting on you, Lev.”

“I won’t let you down, boss,” Lev assures me. “I’ll protect our little angel with my life.”

“I know you will,” I tell him.

Finally, after what feels like days, the truck grinds to a halt, and I hold my breath, anticipation tight as wire in my chest. The driver kills the engine, and voices cut through the cold, louder than they should be. My muscles coil, bracing for a fight, but not before one last thought cuts in like a blade:We could be heading straight into the hands of the RMSAD.

I hold my breath as the back doors swing open. Armed guards approach, and for a split second, the panic flares bright. But there’s something off. They don’t look hostile. The first guard nods when he sees us, steps back, closes the door, and I hear him tell the driver to proceed in Russian. The vehicle shakes as it starts up again, and we begin to move.

I exhale, the relief almost violent as Clyde clarifies, “They’re not RMSAD.”

Clyde opens the back of the truck so we can see where we’re going. The guards guide the truck through the gates into a massive compound. It has the look of a farm but the bones of a fucking fortress.

We reach the main building, and when the vehicle stops, this time the guard ushers us out of the vehicle. Stretching my legs, I look at the house in front of me. It looks like a traditional Russian dacha—a two-story, sprawling home crafted from rich, dark wood, with weathered stone foundations and a steeply pitched, green-tiled roof, built to withstand brutal winters.

A deep front porch runs the length of the house, adorned with sturdy carved columns and heavy rocking chairs. Ivy and thick climbing roses creep up the sides of the stone chimney and wrap around the porch rails, creating a peaceful, almost storybook illusion as it sits tucked into the rolling, forested lower foothills of the Caucasus Mountains.

But seeing the fortified entrance to the farm, I’m sure it is just that, an illusion, and that the inside of the house will tell an entirely different story. My senses go on instant alert when another heavily armed guard with calm, assessing eyes approaches us, speaking English with a pronounced Russian accent.

“Follow me,” the guard grunts, turning on his heel and leading us up the few stairs to the front door. “You are expected.”

Expected?That makes my senses go on even higher alert—no one was supposed to know we were coming. My head turns to Clyde, who catches my eye and obviously knows what I’m thinking and has had the same thought.

He steps closer to me. “I’m telling you, my contact who arranged this transport is solid,” he whispers and glances back toward the truck. “So is our driver.” His brow furrows worriedly.

“Or they’re not!” I point out. “This is Russia, after all. You never know who is an enemy or ally.” My eyes narrow, turning back to the front door. “Just be ready.”

“We all are, boss,” Ivan assures me.

My arms wrap protectively around Elena.

“Do you want me to take her and stay back?” Magda asks from behind me.

I turn to look at her and shake my head. “Stay with Lev,” I order. “Clyde, Ivan, and Syd will go in first.”

“We were going to anyway,” Clyde tells me, stepping protectively in front of me. Ivan and Syd do the same while Magda and Lev stay behind me. Lev is keeping an eye on anyone approaching us from behind.

The guard uses the large brass knocker, giving three heavy raps on the door. He waits for what feels like an eternity, but it’s about two minutes before his phone bleeps. He checks it, opens the door, pushes it wide, and steps back onto the porch, standing to one side so we can enter.

“You may go in,” the guard’s words come out like an order.

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