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“Someone who wished to remain anonymous contacted me about the threat against my business,” I announce, turning to my audience. “They advised me to stay away from Siberia. My question to you is,” I continue, staring them down. “What happened here? Who let the attackers on site? If you point me to the man who plays both sides, I promise I won’t touch anyone else.”
Still, there’s silence. The heavy rain drowns everything in its path, washing away the blood spilled on the ground.
With a single gesture, my men force the two captured men to their knees, making them groan in pain. Rain splashes off the pools of blood at their feet. I study the workers up close, each eyeing the man to his right or left with terror swimming in their eyes.
Peter has sent me a list of workers who could be the leak. There’s a chance that any of them could be the culprit who let the attackers slip past security. But what pleases me the most is the amount of effort my men are putting into the show I’ve prepared for the bastards on their knees.
My eyes wander between them, hoping to catch the gaze of a man who will confess. I’m not expecting much to come from it. Russians are known to stick together, especially the ones who share sweat and blood.
“Okay,” I say at last, nodding to myself. “If you don’t want to talk to me, then I’ll send more people down to deal with the threat. My investors will certainly be interested in knowing who is costing them money. Oligarchs are not exactly famous for letting others steal from them.”
“Nachal’nik, please,” the man I assume to be the leader says. “The men are tired. Perhaps everyone would be better able to talk once they’ve had a chance to rest.”
“It’s out of my hands,” I tell him. “I’ve been dodging calls ever since I got the news about the attack. If I avoid them any longer, it’ll be my neck on the line.”
And with those last words, I walk to the waiting car, with Ivan silently following my example.
A handful of my security detail stays behind to load the two captured men in the back of a van. They’ll take them somewhere more private to interrogate them and identify the mole using any means necessary.
I’m more than ready to get to my hotel, but my foot sinks into a snow-covered hole before I reach my car. I curse under my breath as I pull it out and inspect my wet pants.
There’s a sudden, loud click from the car. It catches my attention enough to stop and turn. In hindsight, stepping into the hole is what saved my life because the next thing I know, a deafening explosion erupts. I’m propelled high into the air as the car blows up less than ten feet away from me. The force of the blast knocks the wind out of me, and everything becomes a blur of noise and chaos. My ears ring, and I’m disoriented, but I realize that if I hadn’t paused, I would’ve been right next to the car when it exploded.
A flaring pain shoots through my hip. A high-pitched ringing in my ears overwhelms my other senses. My head reels from the shock of the explosion. I struggle to breathe, fighting to keep the blackness from swallowing me whole.
Everything from that point on happens in a daze. A strong pair of arms hoist me up. Some part of me recognizes Ivan as he sets my body over his shoulder, smearing the blood from my open wound onto his clothes.
Something flies past me. Then another something.
The next one grazes the side of my head. Just enough to leave a burn, but not enough to cause any damage.
I realize with a shock that it’s a bullet.
Someone is shooting at us.
The sudden burst of adrenaline is enough to clear my head momentarily.
“Put me down,” I order Ivan. “I can walk.”
“Boss—” he starts to argue.
“Shut up,” I interrupt him and twist my way out of his hold.
Hunching down, I put pressure on my injured left leg to avoid losing any more blood and start to hobble my way over to a nearby car.
Without looking back at Ivan and my security guards, I move as fast as my leg allows me. Every other second, a bullet whizzes past me. I duck just before two or three more hit the vehicle parked near me.
“Boss, get in the car,” I hear one of the men shout over the rain.
Without thinking about it twice, I yank open the passenger door and slide inside the damaged car. Through the shattered glass window, I take my first proper look at my enemy. Their faces, hidden behind thin black balaclavas, are covered completely. They have heavy combat boots and full-body suits that accentuate their athletic frames.
“They’re targeting me,” I mutter under my breath in realization.
The man closest to me must have sensed I was watching him because he turns his head and fires three times at me in rapid succession. But one of the bullets misses, and the other two barely graze my skin.
Under the seat of the car, I glimpse a gun and pull it closer to me. Immediately after, I aim it at the masked man and shoot. Since I have one thing going for me and he’s a fucking awful shot, I hit my target. He stumbles, grabs his bleeding leg, and tumbles into a pile of old rusted oil barrels.
Liquid shoots out from the container and drenches the masked attacker from head to toe. The man wails, terrified that he might’ve spilled an accelerant. Or worse, started a fire. His groans grow louder, and despite the gunshots flying around me, I can’t focus on anything else.
