Page 180 of Wicked Savage

He’s speaking Russian. Oh God. Why is that so sexy?

“Ya idiot. Ya nakalenih budu prasit tvayo prasheniya telayu mayu jzin.”

A full-bodied laugh escapes me now, drawing curious glances from Tatiana and Gregory, but I can’t stop listening.

Cillian, my very Irish husband, has just declared himself an idiot and promised to beg for my forgiveness on his knees for the rest of his life. I like the sound of that, actually.

He continues, a little uncertain now. “I hope what I said was right. Konstantin told me that’s how you say, ‘I’m sorry I missed you before you got on your plane.’ I probably butchered that. Anyway, I love you. Call me when you land.”

The way he said all that—so serious, so utterly convinced he was saying something entirely different—only makes this funnier. Wait until he learns what he actually said.

Tatiana raises a brow, amused, as I lower the phone, intending on calling my husband and enlightening him.

“What was that about?”

I shake my head, still grinning. “Oh, you know…just Konstantin messing with Cillian. The usual.”

Tatiana chuckles. “Of course he was.”

As I’m about to press Cillian’s name on my phone, the SUV jerks to a sudden stop.

My body slams forward, a cold wave of panic rushing through me as a wall of black vehicles surrounds us—four SUVs in front, two behind.

“Oh my God!” Tatiana cries while my stomach plummets.

Oh God. No, no, no!

“I’m scared,” Gregory breathes out.

Me too.

“It’s okay. Everything is gonna be okay.”

But I don’t even believe it myself.

The first shot rings out as a masked man in a backseat takes aim at us from the front. At the same moment, our bodyguards draw their weapons. This SUV is armored, but there are just too many cars out there.

Another shot fires, and my body jerks with absolute fear. Then?—

Chaos.

Gunfire erupts from everywhere, bullets hammering against the SUV, the relentless ping of metal on metal filling the air.

“Get down!” Vlad shouts as he pops open the window just enough to fire into one of the vehicles.

I don’t hesitate. I shove Gregory and Tatiana to the floor, shielding their bodies with mine.

“Stay low! Don’t move!” I command despite the terror racing through me.

Through the window, I find masked men pouring out of the attacking SUVs, their weapons raised—guns, bats, crowbars.

They’re coming for us.

“I’m texting Konstantin!” I tell them.

“He knows. He’s sending backup!” Anatoly shouts back, firing and killing another man.

But we’re outnumbered. How the hell do we survive this?

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