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Ivankov’s smile returned as he dropped the gun and moved out of range of the blade. “I was almost successful this time. Did you forget Coronella’s second was a woman, little wolf?”
Luka wondered if the whole purpose of the hit was for him to break his one rule. His focus sharpened as he continued to attack.
“There’s that frenzy.” Ivankov laughed with joy as Luka’s knife found purchase in his arm. He fisted his hand in Luka’s shirt, pulling him closer, letting the knife go in deeper. “It makes me almost regret sending his sons to her. I was worried she’d weaken you like your sister.”
Luka lost his focus at the words, a question rising to his lips, one that he already knew the answer to.
Ivankov threw him, but the idea writhing in his mind made him hit down hard instead of rolling into it.
A bullet entered Ivankov’s opposite arm. He had his gun again, firing with Luka’s knife still embedded in his arm. Two injuries would weaken him, and Luka should have been thinking about the chance that had presented itself. The possibility of killing his monster was there in front of him.
Instead he lay frozen as Ivankov killed the last of the Cosa Nostra soldiers who hadn’t fled. The pakhan stepped closer to Luka, his face looking disappointed as he stared down at him. He pointed his gun at Luka’s chest, but part of Luka’s mind had counted. He didn’t flinch when the gun clicked without firing.
Ivankov tossed it away. One of his arms hung limp and vulnerable. “Alina Lipin was already dead. Just like your sister. You should have understood that.”
Luka’s feet scrambled for purchase against the warehouse floor. He didn’t lunge for the monster he’d vowed to kill. He ran away.
This time it felt like he was running to something.
Chapter 21
Alina stared at the ‘Closed’ sign on the door of the diner before the sun rose. She hadn’t wanted to be alone any longer. She’d always waited, and leaving the safe house wouldn’t change that. Here she was, outside the diner, with no one around. She leaned against the door, sliding down to her haunches, though she kept her head up and her eyes staring out into the darkness.
When the lights came on inside, bathing the sidewalk where she sat, relief filled her. Lights meant someone was there. She hadn’t known how long she would be left to huddle outside.
The bell sounded above her, along with Meg’s voice. “What the hell, girl?” It was a gruff bark, but welcome, as was the hard hand that wrapped around her arm. “Get in here.”
Meg let the door shut behind them before releasing her. Hard eyes and a scowl made the wrinkles on her face grow more pronounced. “Shame on you. You should know it’s not safe.”
“No one was around,” Alina mumbled. She’d been constantly looking, but she’d been all alone. Like always.
“Even so.” Meg huffed out a breath. Her eyes shifted over Alina, as if looking for something. “You okay?”
Alina nodded, not sure what else to do. Her hands came up to rub at her arms. She’d left on one of Luka’s shirts, and her sleeves were too long. She’d probably make a mess of it while cooking, but she didn’t care. Since he hadn’t come back, he wouldn’t care either. Luka might be past the point of caring.
The thought brought tears to her eyes.
“None of that,” Meg muttered, turning toward the kitchen area. “Come along. You can help me prep.”
“Prep?” Alina asked, distracted enough to be able to wipe at her eyes before any moisture reached her cheeks. She sucked in a better breath.
“Well, the little I do.” Meg’s stride pulled her ahead. “It’ll keep your hands busy. Did you get in a fight with that stalker of yours or something?”
Alina wondered if scaring him away by kissing him counted as a fight. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it, though kissing had been the one thing her attackers never did. They’d used her mouth for other things.
Her fingers found the edges of Luka’s sleeves, pulling on them as the bell dinged over the door.
“Shit, should have locked that,” Meg grumbled. She began to turn. “We’re not—”
A gunshot cut off her words, red blossoming on her shoulder as she fell.
The chuckles that followed were familiar. They were the ones from Alina’s nightmares.
“Fucking Lipin whore,” a man said, and a hand fisted in her hair, forcing her head back.
The tip of the gun burned her cheek.
She didn’t recognize the man or any of the others who had entered the diner. She’d only focused on one face during her captivity, and that one could only return in her nightmares.
