Page 98 of The Beast of Moscow

The seizures.

The very last thing he needed when he was able to get out of Russia undetected for business was unexpected medical problems.

“This is going to be another fucking Abram situation all over again,” Igor said, dragging Vaslav out of his thoughts in the worst possible way.

“What did you just say?”

“Hear me out.”

The rushed way Igor tried to appease Vaslav said he knew exactly where he had fucked up, but it was already too late.

“Pull over,” Vaslav demanded.

Everybody had a line; he just happened to have several. That was one of them.

“What, Vas, we almost out of the county limit—”

“Pull over right now or I will use the headrest of your seat to beat the back of your skull open so that the next thing I say, your entire brain will be able to hear it.”

That did it.

Vas used the handle on the door to steady himself when Igor yanked the vehicle onto the side of the road with little warning. Two cars raced past the SUV, rocking the vehicle from the speed, and he shoved the rear door open the first moment he could. Had he cared even one bit about the fact his migraine had been gone when he opened his eyes after a nap on the jet, then he would have stayed inside the vehicle.

A bright sun blinded him from overhead, deepening his already-raging scowl but never deviating him from his task. Igor took too goddamn long to also get out of the vehicle, so Vaslav ripped him out after the man cracked his door.

“Jesus Christ, relax!” Igor shouted when Vaslav shoved him along the front of the SUV. In his effort to catch himself from falling to the cracked asphalt, Igor stumbled against the hood, knocking loose the gun that must have been tucked into his waistband.

Paris had taken another thing from him.

A decent weapon.

Snatching the Glock up from the ground, he wasn’t shocked to find the safety off, and a fully loaded magazine inserted. He didn’t need to rack it when he pointed the gun at Igor’s face as the man straightened up with his palms out. Igor didn’t take him seriously, however, until his finger wrapped around the trigger.

“Ah, fucking hell ... Vas, come on,” the man muttered.

“What did you say?” Vaslav asked as the two rounded the front of the SUV. Igor came to a stop with his back facing the hood.

“This is going to be another Abram situation if you don’t chill the fuck out,” Igor said calmly.

It was too public.

“If only that mattered.”

Igor sucked in a short gulp of air, and his gaze darted away from Vaslav long enough for him to know the man believed he was going to die. Another car rushed past, and he didn’t didn’t need to look over his shoulder to check for brake lights, either.

“I just ...” Igor squeezed his eyes shut, coughing out a laugh when the barrel of the gun touched his forehead. “You didn’t listen to me then, either, Vas. Maybe you don’t remember that, too, huh?”

He hated Igor for that; for being right every time. Especially when Vaslav wasn’t listening.

“It’s not going to be another Abram situation,” Vaslav said, shoving the gun hard into Igor’s chest, dropping it where the man caught it with a breath of relief.

“You’re sure fucking acting like it.”

Igor had called that at his back while Vaslav headed for the rear door he’d left open, but he heard it all the same. He let the rock of the SUV be his reply when he slammed the door shut after stepping inside.

The two didn’t speak again until Igor was back on the road, and they’d left the scene far behind them.

“You’re erratic,” Igor said from the front. “You do things and tell me later. If you tell me at all. I know you’re not taking your meds right, and you won’t go to the doctors. How’s the paranoia, boss?”