Page 64 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

Static crackles, then confirmations come through from each vehicle.

I glance back at the SUV where Ana waits. She's watching me through the window, her face tight with worry. I give her a single nod, then point at the vehicle, silently ordering her to stay put, then turn my attention back to the cabin.

I give the order. "Let's go."

The convoy splits, vehicles peeling off in different directions to surround the property. My driver takes us straight up the main access road, no longer bothering with stealth. Speed and overwhelming force are our advantages now.

Gunfire erupts before we're even out of the vehicles. The kidnappers open fire from their positions around the cabin, bullets slamming into our armored SUVs. My men return fire immediately, using the vehicles as cover while they advance through the trees.

I'm out and moving, my pistol in one hand and radio in the other.

The battle is fierce but brief. My soldiers are better trained and armed, and they know exactly what they're doing. The kidnappers fall one by one, their defensive positions collapsing under the coordinated assault.

I lead the charge toward the cabin, firing at a man who tries to block the door. He goes down hard, blood spreading across his chest. Another guard appears from around the corner, and I put two rounds in him before he can raise his weapon.

My guys move like a well-oiled machine, systematically eliminating threats and securing positions. This is why I insist on training. A lot of Pakhans don't bother and let their men figure it out themselves. If they're good enough, they'll live. If not, they die. I prefer to have my men live and be able to protect my ass when needed. Within minutes, the gunfire dies down to sporadic shots as the last of the guards are either lying dead or trying to escape into the woods.

I kick open the cabin door with my weapon raised. The interior is dark and smells like mildew and old blood. It's just a single room with a table, chairs, and a cot in the corner. And there, tied to a chair in the center of the room, is Ivan Rostova.

He's alive. Bruised and bloodied, but alive.

"Samuil." His voice is rough, strained. "About damn time."

I start toward him, already reaching for the knife to cut his restraints. But movement catches my eye and I spin just as a guard lunges from behind an overturned table. The bastard is fast. He slams into me before I can fire, knocking my pistol from my hand. We crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs, both of us fighting for dominance.

He's strong, desperate, and has nothing to lose. His fist connects with my jaw and pain explodes through my skull. I return the favor, driving my elbow into his ribs hard enough to hear something crack.

We roll across the floor, grappling and striking. He gets his hands around my throat and squeezes. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision before I drive my knee up into his gut, once, twice, until his grip loosens. Then I get my hands on his head and twist. The snap of the bones in his neck is loud in the sudden silence. His body goes limp and I shove him off, gasping for air. My throat burns and my jaw throbs, but that shit will have to wait.

"Dramatic, as always," Ivan mutters from his chair.

I grab my knife and cut through his restraints. "Can you walk?"

"I can damn well try." He stands slowly, wincing. His left leg is injured, maybe broken. Blood stains his shirt from multiple wounds.

The door bursts open and Ana rushes inside, her face streaked with tears. "Papa!"

She throws her arms around Ivan, sobbing into his shoulder. He holds her with his good arm, murmuring reassurances in Russian.

I step back to give them space and turn to the men rushing into the cabin. All it takes is a jerk of my head and several head to the back of the cabin where there are a couple of doors. I planned ahead and had my private physician come with us, so now he goes over to Ivan and starts examining his wounds.

After a few minutes, the doc turns to me. “He's got at least two broken ribs and is severely dehydrated. We should probably take him to the hospital.”

"No hospital," I say flatly. "He'd be too exposed there. We're going back to the estate."

Ivan nods his agreement, still holding Ana.

While the physician bandages Ivan's ribs for the ride back, I move through the cabin with several soldiers. The guards we didn't kill fled through hidden trails in the forest, abandoning weapons and supplies in their rush to escape. We find maps, communication equipment, and enough ammunition to suggest they were prepared for a long standoff.

In the main room, I take one last look around the room to make sure I didn't miss anything. A massive support beam catches my attention. It runs from floor to ceiling, holding up the sagging roof. Carved deeply into the wood is that fucking symbol. Not painted like the one on Ivan's vehicle. This one is old, the edges worn smooth by time and weather. I run my fingers over the carving. Someone chose this cabin deliberately. Not just because it was remote, but because of what this symbol represented.

"Samuil." One of my captains approaches. "What do you want us to do about security at the Rostova estate?"

I turn away from the symbol. "The estate is compromised. If they penetrated it once, they can do it again." I look at Ivan, who's being helped to his feet by the physicians.

Ivan's senior adviser steps forward, his expression tight with disapproval. "With respect, Pakhan Galkin, he belongs in his own household. The Rostova estate has been the seat of royal power for generations."

"And it's been compromised," I say coldly. "Your traditions mean nothing if Ivan is dead. He stays at my estate under my protection until we eliminate this threat."