Page 170 of The Bratva King

I turn back toward the building and force myself to move. One foot in front of the other. Sergei is beside me again, Kirill flanking my other side. We breach the entrance together.

The interior is dark. My eyes adjust slowly. I make out hallways branching in multiple directions. The smell hits me. Mildew and something rotting. My stomach turns.

Gunfire erupts from somewhere deeper in the building, and I move toward it on instinct with my gun raised. A man rounds the corner with a weapon drawn. I fire twice. Center mass. He drops.

“Clear left.” Andrei’s voice crackles over comms.

“Clear right,” Roman responds.

I move through the hallway, checking doors. Empty room. Storage closet. Another empty room.

“I’ve got something,” Maksim says. “Second floor, east corner. Door’s locked from the outside.”

I charge up the stairs and race down the second-floor hallway. I feel him. Is that possible? Yes. Because I know he’s here.

Maksim is standing in front of a door at the end of the hall. He steps aside when he sees me coming.

I can see light bleeding out from under the door.

I reach for the handle, taking a breath. Luke doesn’t need to see me falling apart.

The door is locked. I kick it hard enough to dislodge it from the hinges.

The room is small. Bare walls. A single overhead light that’s too bright. And in the corner, pressed against the wall, is a small figure wrapped in a blue blanket.

My chest constricts so tightly that I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m choking. Maksim is there, and his hand is on my shoulder.

“Breathe, brother. Breathe.”

It’s a struggle, but I manage it. I swear to every God, I will slice the throat of every man if my boy is hurt. Or…

I can’t finish the thought.

“Luke.”

He doesn’t acknowledge me. The blanket is pulled up over his head and shoulders.

I quickly holster my gun, making sure it’s hidden. I take one step into the room, then stop.

“Luke, it’s Nikolai.”

He’s so still that I can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

I creep closer and lower myself slowly to the ground, making myself smaller. Less threatening. I’m still several feet away.

“I’m here to take you home,” I say softly. “Your mom is outside. She’s safe. She’s waiting for you.”

The blanket shifts slightly. I see it move near where his head must be. My head drops forward. He’s alive.

“I know you’re scared.” My voice is shaking, but I can’t stop it. “I would be scared, too. But you’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you. I’m here.”

I wait. Count to ten in my head.

“Can I come closer?”

Still nothing. I think of my mom, and what she did when I had a bad day. She talked. She told me about the paintings she’d worked on. Told me about the flowers she wanted to show me.

So, I start talking about dinosaurs.