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It wasn’t that Alina wasn’t scared. Her anger simply eclipsed her fear as Luka’s broken breathing filled her ears.
Ivankov’s face went bright with excitement at her threat, but he was looking into Luka’s eyes. He hadn’t spared her a glance. “You must have a thing for stupid women, my little wolf.”
Alina didn’t want Luka to be his anything. She took one of the knives out of its sheath, laying it near the hip of Luka’s good leg. Then she stood despite the way Luka scrambled for her. “I’m not stupid!” she yelled, feeling like a helpless child as she did. The woman had told her how stupid she was at least once each visit.
“Don’t worry,” the pakhan said to Luka. It was as if she was nothing to him. She wanted to make him regret letting her live. “She’ll be more entertaining if I keep her alive. You’re in no shape to frenzy for her now.” His manic grin fell as he stared down at Luka’s broken form. He actually appeared to feel regret. “My disappointment was too severe last time.”
Last time. As if it was one time in a long line of examples.
Let him not bother to look at her. Alina pulled her revolver with her undamaged hand, using the hand with the broken trigger finger to steady her as she fired.
She understood where Luka had learned his speed. One second Ivankov acted as if she didn’t exist, the next he dodged her bullets. It was difficult to hold the gun steady when each time she fired caused her wrapped head to ache worse.
And he wasn’t just dodging; he was closing the distance, almost on her as the gun clicked empty.
She wanted him close and waited until he reached for the gun.
Her other hand dropped, pulling free another of Luka’s many knives. She stabbed out, not trying to aim, just trying to be fast. Because Ivankov was faster.
She screamed when he broke her wrist to stop the knife. At least she assumed it was that bad when the pain of it threatened to overwhelm her. Fury added to the sound bursting out of her. She couldn’t afford for it to be broken.
He still held on to her arm with the useless gun, and the other hand wasn’t moving despite her willing it to go to her waistband for another knife, so she took a page out of Luka’s book and headbutted the pakhan in the nose.
It made her already cracked head feel like it splintered, but through her dizziness she saw blood gush from the man’s hopefully broken nose. His wide smile flashed across his pale face, and red also showed in his mouth, where the blood spilled down over his lips.
He released her unbroken hand to wipe at the mess, and she didn’t hesitate to pull another knife. She swung it into his side, where Luka had once made it look easy, aiming for his armpit, but it sliced lower, drawing more blood but not enough as he backhanded her to the ground.
Right where she wanted to be. The ankle holster loosened easily enough, filling her hand with a gun as he fell on her. She couldn’t miss from that close. A ripple flowed through his body outward from the gut shot she gave him.
He’d once sliced open Luka’s stomach. It felt fitting to shoot him there.
Ivankov began to laugh; high-pitched, insane laughter as his blood-covered hand wrapped around her throat, lifting her face toward him. He used the leverage to slam her head against the rubble below her.
Alina wanted to shoot him again, but the gun flattened against her own stomach as his weight pressed on her. His other hand circled her screaming wrist, twisting it as he slammed her head again, and her body lost the will to fight.
She couldn’t cry out. You needed air to cry.
Her focus clung to the stickiness of blood between them. It was sticky, right? She had managed to shoot him.
He’d said he wanted her alive, but he seemed to have forgotten that as he squeezed her throat.
She wished she could tell Luka she loved him one more time. That he’d made her feel like she wasn’t alone.
At least the last sound she would hear would be Luka saying her name, only it wasn’t the barely-there whisper she loved to strain to hear. It was a scream of pain.
Ivankov grunted as Luka lunged for him. She could breathe again, but there was a stabbing pain in her head making everything seem translucent.
Ivankov stumbled to his feet, his hand going to a knife embedded near his armpit. Oh, Luka had found the knife she had left him. And his aim hadn’t missed. When Ivankov pulled the knife free, blood gushed from him, and he stared down at the wound with no laughter or smile at all.
Luka’s hands reached for her face, not even looking at Ivankov. “Alina.”
Good, she thought blearily. Her name sounded just right on his lips that time.
Ivankov’s legs failed him. He fell to his knees, staring at Luka, who had eyes only for her. Luka’s hands trembled as they caressed her face, bringing her own gaze away from the monster who was, in the end, just a man.
“Not like this,” Ivankov moaned, but she couldn’t see him anymore.
All she could see was Luka’s face, and then his lips pressed gently to hers.
