Page 9 of The Russian Retribution

I manage the gears with ease, weaving through traffic with practiced skill until I’m right behind the kidnappers. They try to throw me off by taking side streets and crashing through several dumpsters, but I’ve driven these roads more times than I care to count. I know everything there is to know. Hell, I’d feel at home on any road in New York, but especially here. We race toward the highway, but just before they take the ramp, they attempt a one-eighty to trick me. I’m ready for them and as they spin past me, I quickly wrench my car to the side and nudge their back bumper. Their car shakes and sways, taking the next turn much slower than before as their driver fights to remain in control.

I take the turn much smoother, and soon, we’re racing toward the river. I have to be careful. The last thing I need is Anastasia ending up in the drink. This close, I ease on the accelerator and use bursts of speed to nudge into them just enough to jolt them forward and make the car unstable. A few taps here, a shunt there, and then I jolt my car to lurch them forward.

Their driver loses control, and the car starts swaying dangerously from side to side. My victory is short-lived as the car hits an incline, clips a low wall, and flips up into the air.

“Shit!”

The car spins, wheels screaming and horn blaring as it does a complete three-sixty. Thankfully, it lands upright and then proceeds to roll onto its roof and smash into the front window of a barber shop, where it finally comes to rest.

Snatching my gun from the passenger seat, I wrench myself out of my car once it’s barely come to a stop and sprint toward the wreck. One door swings open, forcing me to slow down. A man slides out like he’s made of liquid. He’s groaning and coughing, and a large red gash streaks across his chest. As soon as he hits the ground, I aim and shoot him clean in the skull. Then I run to the car and skid to a stop on broken glass and crumbling stone. Inside, another man is fighting to get to his gun after it slipped from its holster during the crash. I kill him as cleanly as I kill the first. The third is twisted up in the driver’s seat, and his eyes are full of panic as our gazes meet.

I lift the gun, ready to aim, when something gushes down from above. The smell is crystal clear.

Gas.

Killing that man takes a backseat in my mind as I move to the back of the upturned car where I find Anastasia unconscious and sprawled across the roof. Holstering my weapon, I reach for her while praying that none of her injuries will be aggravated by my dragging her from the wreck. Using her arm for leverage, I pull her close to me and then scoop her limp form into my arms.

“Help me!” the driver gasps, slamming his hands against the steering wheel that traps him. “Help me!”

“No.”

I hurry away from the car and make it to my own just as sparks from the barber shop’s broken electrical sign rain down on the upturned car. One spark is all it takes to ignite the gas pouring from the car, and it immediately erupts into an explosive ball of fire. I cradle Anatasia against me, shielding her with my body as I huddle beside my vehicle. Several things impact my back, but the pain is an afterthought when fingers suddenly curl against my chest.

I glance down, panting heavily, and Anastasia’s gorgeous, gemstone-green eyes gaze blearily up at me.

“I’ve got you, Miss Remizova,” I pant. “You’re safe.”

“Erik?” she croaks weakly.

Holy shit.

She knows my name.

“Four broken ribs, severe internal bruising, but nothing that requires surgery… and a concerning headwound that I’d like tomonitor.” The doctor adjusts her glasses, then closes the file in her hands and fixes me with a stern look. “You have to understand that if she wants to leave, she has to sign this.” She thrusts a sheet of paper at me. “She will be leaving against medical advice and we will not be responsible for anything that happens. Although…” She pauses and sighs. “If anything does happen, make sure you bring her back.”

Eyeing the form, I nod slowly and offer my most sympathetic smile. “Sorry. You’ve treated her before. You know how she can get.”

“And yet each time, she assures me it will be the last.” The doctor sighs again. “Have her sign the form. I’ll make sure she’s well supplied with medication.”

“Thank you.” As the doctor leaves, striding down the hall to tend to other patients, the door beside me suddenly feels daunting.

Anastasia is on the other side, waiting to learn whether she can leave. Not that permission would influence her decision, but she does follow some rules. A woman I’ve spoken to directly five times in my life is waiting on me, and that’s oddly scary. On one hand, she’s just a person who comes across as quite cold, especially since her father was murdered. On the other hand, she’s the Remizova Godmother, my boss, and the most powerful woman in the Russian hierarchy.

I can’t pass this chance up. So much is riding on my ability to get her to talk to me.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the room.

The light is low. Anastasia lies on the bed with her eyes closed and her hair spread out around her head like some kind of golden halo. Medical treatment has removed the makeup fromher face, but that doesn’t change how strikingly beautiful she is. Like this, her face is soft and her plump, red lips look seconds away from breaking into a soft smile. Even the bruising across her forehead and injuries shadowing her neck do nothing to change how she instantly takes my breath away.

I hesitate.

If she’s sleeping, I should come back later. The form crumples slightly in my hands, but just as I turn to leave, her eyes snap open and I’m suddenly pinned in place with such force that I can’t breathe.

“What is that?” Anastasia demands. The soft look that was in her eyes when she was huddled against my chest after the explosion is long gone, but oddly, I can still feel her warmth against me. Her trembling grip in my shirt as I cradled her has left some ghostly version of herself attached to me, even if just for a second.

“This?” I glance down at the form. “The doctor wants you to sign it. It will let you leave, but you have to acknowledge that it’s against their advice.”

“Give it.” She sits up with barely a wince and holds out her hand. “Now.”

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