Page 113 of Brutal Vows

“No, Milana. Let Luca take Annushka, tie her to his chest in the baby carrier, use one of the camo jackets to secure her—they’re big enough—and leave on the bike that’s hidden under an old tarpaulin in the far back corner of the shed. I doubt these fuckers would have found it.”

“An old bike? In this snow?” Luca says. “With a baby?”

“Yes, exactly. Nobody is going to think you have a baby underneath your coat. And the bike is brand new, but I covered it in dust to make it look like it’s been there for ages. Something tells me you won’t have a problem going off road. And once that little girl is strapped to you…” She trails off. “You’ll see.” She blinks, quiet tears seeping from her one good eye. “Go through the forest. There are many deer paths through the thicket, shortcuts to a main road. Go east until you find a place for the night. There are small towns dotted along the road. And whatever you do, don’t look back.”

52

LUCA

I give up fighting Masha. We’re on the clock here, and I have to suss out our surroundings. She says there’s no car, but she hasn’t walked the premises. My first aid is rudimentary, and I do what I can with the kit on hand, wrapping my multiple wounds at speed. My pinkie is pulsing as if it’s looking for its missing piece. Well, shit, part of me is forever left behind in Russia now.

“Later,” I say, not looking up as I tie gauze around what remains of my finger and hold it together with Band-Aids. Milana wants to help, but I wave her off. She’d want to do a proper job, and we don’t have time.

I pick a jacket from where the men hung theirs on antler hooks. I catch Milana’s shock-stricken gaze, standing like a lost soul in the middle of the slaughter.

“We’re getting out of here,” I say, touching her cheek. “Understand?” I stroke her hair away from her temple, reminding myself she just shot a gun for the first time. She’s shell-shocked. “Look at me,” I whisper as I lean in, being as gentle as I can be. “We’re getting out of here, so get Zoe ready.”

I don’t say it, but we both know this is probably goodbye.

“Okay.” Her voice is small, probably reeling with the reality of Masha’s words. Coup de grâce.

I pick a flashlight off the shelf, test that it works, and open the door. Wind gusts snow inside. Fuck my life. I’m going to have to do all this shit in a worsening blizzard. It’s fucking madness.

It’s also pitch-dark outside. The world is eerily quiet in that way that comes with falling snow. The flashlight illuminates the ghostly flecks in their intricate dance, and a few steps away from the cabin, I see the outline of what must be the shed. I glance back. A faint square glowing from a curtained window is the only light coming from the cabin. Getting lost here in the dark is the last thing on my agenda.

My boots crunch on the snow as I make my way around the cabin, looking for another vehicle. There’s already a good ten inches of it, but it could be worse. In the forest, there will be less. There’s no other vehicle on the premises. The men got dropped off, like Masha said, or they hiked in. Stranded, just like us.

Back at the car, I risk switching on the headlights so I can actually see what the fuck I’m doing. I ignore the cooler box in the trunk for now, even if my mind churns with Masha’s exit plan and what could be inside it. I don’t want to know, not really, but I can hazard a guess…and I vow Milana will never see.

The shed is so dilapidated, I bet our two Russians didn’t bother to see what was in it. Fuel is stockpiled on one side in metal containers, a fire hazard if ever there was one.

I carry the containers over to the cabin and park them outside the door. I go back, pull the tarpaulin off the motorcycle and inspect it in the flashlight. Under the artfully placed dust, it’s clear it’s a new scrambler and that the tires have hardly been used. Made for two, and if I’m careful, I will be able to carry Zoe on my chest. Fuck it. This is the type of shit nobody covers in advanced drivers’ courses. I haven’t even held her yet, so have no idea of her size and weight.

I pause, visualizing it all, how it would actually work. But there’s no choice—we need to do this and get through to the other side. A protective rage surges in me like I’ve never felt before, and I take a moment to breathe through it. I will protect that baby, if it’s the last thing I do. I just need to get both Milana and Zoe away from this place and somewhere safe, with nobody following us. Lay low and leave Russia as soon as possible.

Masha…Masha had checked out. I saw it as she watched me being tortured. She’s done. And I don’t blame her. The remnants of the torture I could see on her face barely hinted at what they’d done to her body. And then there is the soul-deep agony of the years that followed, the post-traumatic stress she dealt with and still is dealing with. I’d want it to end too.

She was planning a suicide, but with her injured hand and shoulder, it’s impossible now. We don’t have time to consider alternatives.

A coup de grâce. I’ve never had to deliver one to someone I’ve come to care about before. And I do care. Have done since I laid eyes on her ruined face. No woman should have to go through the torture she suffered. If I could kill every man involved in hurting her, my life’s work would be laid out. I’ve got to survive this so we can come back and avenge her.

I shake my head. Focus.

Two helmets are on standby, and the key fob is attached to one.

Masha thought of everything. She’s right—nobody is going to think two people on a motorcycle have a baby with them. It won’t be for hours on end, either, just far enough to get us the hell out of here. With the storm, nobody is likely to come here for days. Our tracks will be covered. We will have passed through like ghosts.

I give the helmets a quick once-over, then start the bike and run through some checks. It’s all fine. Perfect. And I’m stalling.

The cooler box in the trunk is the last thing left to do. I steel myself as I push the bike outside and into the night, parking it a few yards away from the cabin. There’s no noise. Nobody’s coming. We have time.

We don’t.

Fuck my life.

I lean into the driver’s seat and use the lever to open the trunk. Flashlight in hand, I round the car and peer inside. There it is. A seal-tight cooler box that cost me half a million dollars. I clamp the flashlight under my armpit and force the lid open a few inches.

I reel back, the smell hitting me full in the face. I heave, wondering why the fuck I’m surprised. This type of shit is nothing new to me, so I’m not squeamish. Can’t afford to be. I open the lid all the way and shine the light on the box’s contents.