Page 31 of Unholy Tsar

Ahead, the van slams on the breaks, and the man I stabbed stumbles out, his face twisted in fury. Shit. My skin burning, I force myself onto my feet and get ready to stand my ground.

“I’m tired of running,” I spit.

There’s no point trying to run anyway. I’m not fast enough. So, instead, I steady myself and remember Maksim’s words about targeting the weak points. As the man approaches, I scream and I lift my knife. He curses, slapping the blade from my hand. Somehow, I manage to catch it with my other hand before it hits the ground… but not by the handle.

The sharp side slices into my palm like butter, sending a searing pain through my body.

But I don’t have time to focus on it. My attacker looms in front of me, steam rising from his body. In one swift movement, I transfer the knife to my right hand and jump up, aiming for his eye just like Maksim taught me.

But this fucker is faster than I anticipated, and he dodges at the last second, right before the tip reaches its target. Instead, the knife slashes his cheek.

Yes. Bloodlust fills my veins and boosts my confidence. I don’t give him time to recover before going at him again. With a bewildered look, he starts stumbling backward until his back hits the bridge’s edge.

When that happens, his face goes dark. He glances between me and the river below. Then, without warning, he turns and jumps.

“No!” I find myself shouting. But there’s nothing I can do but stand there in shock as his body plunges into the water.

My heart races. My lungs pound. My chest burns. Did… did I just win?

Turning around, I look back at the van that took me captive. Before I can decide what to do next, the engine roars to life, and the driver speeds off.

What the fuck?

I blink, then sway on my feet, head spinning. Now that the immediate danger is over, excruciating pain floods my senses. From the cut on my palm to the fire spreading through my shoulders and hips from hitting the asphalt.

Without thinking, I shimmy off my jacket and wrap it around my bleeding palm. Traffic resumes. No one stops to check on me, though I swear I hear sirens in the distance. But I don’t want to deal with cops. Not with who my friends are.

Sucking in a breath, I start to limp off the bridge, grateful that we hadn’t gone too far out. Yet, every step feels like hell, my body weighted down by pain. And when I finally reach the entrance, confusion clouds my mind. I glance around, trying to figure out where I am, but it’s no use, I’m lost. My mind is a muddled mess. I don’t know where to go or what to do.

Slowly, though, only one possibility enters my frayed mind.

The only place I can go now.

Summoning what remains of my strength, I manage to hail a passing cab. I give him Maksim's address and sink into the seat with a heavy sigh.

So much for being safe and happy.

I’m not sure if I black out or not, but time blurs, and before I know it, we pull up to his place.

“Here’s fine,” I cough, stumbling out of the door, my body protesting every movement. To my surprise, I don’t see any of the beefy men that usually linger around the high-rise building. The doorman gapes at my disheveled state with wild eyes as I trudge in. “Can you pay for my cab fare? I’m sure Maksim will pay you back…”

He nods and rushes out—presumably to pay. I don’t wait for him to return. Instead, I make my way to the bank of private elevators leading directly to the penthouse. It only opens when you put in the code or if someone sends it down from the penthouse.

I press the buzzer and wait a few seconds. Nothing happens. I place my index finger on the buzzer and press down.

“Cecilia?” Suddenly, Maksim’s deep voice comes out of nowhere.

“Maksim?” I lazily glance around, wondering where the camera is, but before I can figure it out, the elevator’s doors slide open, and I stumble inside.

That’s when my body decides to give up. I slump to the floor and close my eyes, ready to accept whatever happens next.

12

MAKSIM

When I got to Cecilia’s apartment, only Marie, the chef, and two of my men were there. Apparently, my little mouse went out for dinner. With a twinge of disappointment, I dialed Roy’s number, and when the soldier picked up, the fear in his voice was inescapable.

The news hits me like a punch to the gut when he confessed that he had lost her—again. But this time, Cecilia hadn’t left willingly. No, she was snatched from right under his nose. I should never have allowed Cecilia to persuade me into giving Roy another chance.