by Denise Wells
And isn’t that the question of the day?
25
Daria
All I see is dust and smoke, interrupted only by the new plumes that follow the intermittent explosions. It seems impossible that anyone could survive what’s going on in there. Yet the rapid gunfire belies that thought even as I have it.
I’m not worried about my father. He’s smart enough to steer clear of the real danger. He likes to be on scene to watch the chaos he inspires unfold. But not so close that there’s a need for him to be involved.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t worry about Mack or my girls and their ability to get out of a situation like this. With or without Quinn, if she was in there. But they are up against my father, and he rarely fights fair.
I don’t even have anyone I can call. Everyone in my life that I care about, except Reed and hopefully Quinn, are in that building. The same one that is falling in front of my eyes. I feel helpless. If I could do something, what would it be? I’ve never felt so useless. One working arm, I can’t breathe, I can’t move, my body is sore as fuck.
Nothing for me to do to help, even less I can do to stop this. My chest feels heavy, but in a different way. Ironically, this is what my father always warned me would happen if I got too close to others. If I allowed myself to care, it would only end in pain. Like him with my mother and now me with Mack and my girls. Oh god, and Quinn. I don’t know where she is. Can I even rescue her on my own?
What about Mack’s promises when I was in the hospital about getting married and having babies? What happens to all of that? Katya’s death almost killed me. I survived, knowing that one day I would avenge it.
Revenge is a powerful elixir for the living. I don’t know how I avenge the deaths of Mack and the girls when the murderer is my father. Do I have it in me to go up against him? Given the opportunity, could I kill my father?
The man from whose loins created me? I wasn’t kidding when I said that they raised me to respect and admire him. It is that way with women and all our male elders and counterparts. Regardless of the skill we possess or whether we inherited the “gift” from my great grandmother.
It’s only because of my grandmother I can even consider myself an equal among men. Well, men like Mack or my brother. Maybe even my father. Most other men, let’s face it, I’m better than.
But if she hadn’t taught me that? Schooled me in the arts of manipulation and intimidation, would I know that now? And is what she taught me enough to go after my father if this results in the death of my family? My chosen family.
Such a westernized idea to choose a family instead of a blood family, but one that I’ve embraced wholeheartedly.
Another explosion rocks the world in front of me, breaking my soul even more with each piece of the building that falls. Every—
My phone ringing interrupts my thoughts, and my heart leaps from my chest. “Mack?”
“Daria?”
It’s not him.
“Ronan?”
“There are issues at Andrei’s compound, is that you?”
“No,” I sigh. “It’s my father.”
He curses in Russian. “You need to get there. It’s where I have your friend. Quinn.”
“What?”
“Quinn, she is in one of the holding rooms at Andrei’s.”
It’s like the ground drops out from beneath me. I feel dizzy. Nauseous. Pissed. Empty. Alone.
“If she’s hurt, I swear to god I will kill you myself, Ronan.” I make the threat, but it sounds hollow, even to me.
“Get her out.”
“I can’t.”
“I know you can’t. Send your team in. Get her out.”
“That’s what I mean, my team is in there.”
“Inside the compound? With bombs going off?”
“Yes.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Where are you now?”
“In an SUV, on the east side of the compound. That’s where they entered from.”
“I’m on my way.”
I don’t know what Ronan thinks he’s going to be able to do. But, he’s my only hope. I can’t go in there. As it stands, I can barely breathe. Mack warned me I would overdo it, and I didn’t believe him. But he was right.
I’d give anything right now to tell him so. Usually, I thrive on telling him how wrong he is. But this time, this one time, I just want the ability to say to him I was wrong. If Ronan can help me do that, I don’t care if he and his family have been enemies of the Limonov’s for as long as I can remember, I will be indebted to him forever.
I rest my cheek against the window, my head vibrating on the glass with each new explosion. The gunfire is easy to drown out, but the bombs, they shake me down to my core. Every sound wave that ricochets off the car reminds me of how long it’s been since I’ve heard from anyone in my crew.
Few men have attempted to escape via the back of the property. They are gunned down almost immediately. The number of men my father must have brought here is staggering, given that I’m sure Andrei already had at least twenty-five on site.
If Mack and the girls are alive and can get out, will my father’s men even care that they aren’t part of Andrei’s crew? Will they just shoot to kill anyway? And will my family be in any position to defend themselves? Especially after what looks like an entire building has fallen down on and around them?
If Ronan can help, then I hope he hurries. At most, it should take him twenty minutes to get here. I count gunshots—the single shots not the rapid-fire— to pass the time. But by the time I reach one thousand, two hundred, seventy-six, I have to wonder if he’s coming at all.
26
Mack
We’ve been stuck in this room for close to half an hour now. The power flickers off and on, leaving us in total darkness about half the time. Jen and Roxie sit patiently, either resigned to our fate or just unaffected by impending death. Al is working on her comms devices, trying to get them to work through the solid feet of concrete between us and a working signal. I want to tell her it’s not worth it, but I don’t want to be the negative voice. Plus, she’s smart as fuck, maybe she knows something I don’t. Scratch that, I’m sure she knows something I don’t.
Regardless, I can’t just sit here and wait to see what will happen next. The bleeding has stopped on my wound, Quinn’s pulse is weak but steady, the explosions have dropped off, and the gunfire has moved to the other side of the compound. If there’s a time to try to get out, it’s now.
“I’ll be back,” I tell the group.
“Where are you going?” Reed asks.
“The dust has cleared, I’m just going to check things out, see if we can get out somehow.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says, looking around to see where he can put Quinn.
“No, stay here. It’s a one-man job, I’ll be right back.” I head out the door, careful to place it back in the doorjamb as carefully as I can to make it look normal. Not that anyone is down here, but shit, you never know. There could be other passageways none of us know about and Al’s equipment can’t find. Weirder shit has happened in more normal places than this.
I head toward the direction we came in from, figuring if there’s going to be an escapable route to the outside, it will be there. The area is not as bad as the explosions would lead you to believe. I mean, yeah, walls and ceilings are down in some rooms and parts of the hall, but it’s mostly traversable. I have a small flashlight with me that I use to find my way to the end of the hall.
It’s blocked, for sure, but I don’t think the blockage is all the way to the vent shaft we came in through. One of these standing walls must be a retaining wall or even a couple, or the entire thing would have come down around us. Which is what I’m banking on as I begin to climb the pile of concrete and brick, looking for a weak point.
Daria has spent a lot of time over the last couple of days complaining about how hard it is to get by with only one useable arm, and I’ve made fun of her. But I get it now. Even though Jen has
pumped me full of morphine, I still can’t move my arm, and it has zero strength.
The rocks below my feet shift as I put my weight on them. Which is either a good thing or not. I want the whole pile to move, but I don’t want any of it coming down on me. And I can’t tell from here if it’s holding up anything else so that if I can move parts of it, will more just rain down?
I brace my back against the far wall and use my right hand to try to pull some top rocks toward me and down the pile. The movement is counterproductive, but it works. The smaller ones fall away with little effort. But the larger ones I won’t be able to move one-handed. I will need Reed or one of the girls to help me. I pull as much as I can to get a look through a small opening along the top.
I make my way back down the pile and to the room. “We can get out; it’s just going to take some effort. I’ve got a space at the top that I can see out, but it’s still too small to fit through. I’ll need some help to get the larger pieces away.” I point to my left arm as an explanation. “But once we do that, I think we’ll be good.”
Reed takes off his shirt and wraps Quinn in it as he lays her gently on the ground.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Boy Scout, but you just improved the view tremendously.” Roxie winks at him. It’s the levity that we need to give us the fortitude to keep going.
“Wow, how could that be taken wrong, Rox?” Al asks drily.
“I don’t want him thinking I’d like to jump his bones, I mean obviously he’s got it bad for the girl so that pursuit would be pointless on my part. But I do want him to know that I appreciate his physique. It’d be no different than if Mack here took off his shirt too.” She points to me. My chest puffs out a bit. I can’t help it. It’s just fucking nice when women appreciate the work you put in to tone your body and keep in shape. It’s vain, I know, and I don’t care.
Roxie stands guard, once again, and Al says with Quinn and continues to fiddle with her electronics while Reed and Jen come to help me with reducing the debris pile. For such a little thing, Jen is frighteningly strong. Between her and Reed, they barely need me at all to get a sizable gap for us all to squeeze through.
Gunfire continues to sound off outside, but it’s not as frequent as it was. I’m assuming they are all down to the last few men. I only hope that doesn’t hurt us once we’re out more than it helps us.
27
Reed
The physical strain of moving large chunks of concrete and brick feels good, even when it hurts. I need something to counteract the pain of knowing how monumentally I’ve failed Quinn. She was right under my nose this entire time. I should have suspected something when they referred to the woman as American. At the very least, checked to see who it was. But I didn’t. I missed all the signs once again.
David.
Daria.
Mack.
Quinn.
How I ever got into the FBI to begin with is a mystery to me now. Unless their standards are so fucking low that they’ll take anyone with a clean background check and no other qualifications. I mean, fuck, how many things do I have to miss before I concede that I suck as an investigator. Things close to me I should have caught before.
Fucking failure.
Why Quinn wants me, if she still wants me, is a fucking mystery. She’s better than that, better than me. But if she does still want me, I’m keeping her. I don’t care that she’s better than me. That’s why I want her. And if she’s foolish enough to think I’m worth it, I will take full advantage of that. I’m that much of a selfish prick.
“We can get through, you?” Jen turns to me and asks. Her face is grimy and sweaty. It might be the first time I’ve heard her speak. Her voice, like her appearance, is soft and delicate. The complete opposite of her abilities and actions. But it’s that soft and delicate that brought her Daria’s way to begin with. And then the newfound abilities help to save her.
I’ve developed a newfound respect for Daria and what she does. When I first spoke with Viktor, he made it appear she was a hired gun. But as I’ve picked up things here and there, I realize that she’s really more of a rescuing guardian angel. A superhero in her own right.
I take stock of the gap and figure I can make it if I suck my stomach in and squirm my way through. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Mack?” she asks.
“I’ll be fine,” he says.
We head back to get the others. Alyssa still hasn’t had luck with getting a comms device to work, but I’m confident that once we are past the pile of debris, she’ll be able to pick up a signal once again.
I gather Quinn in my arms. She stirs a bit this time as I pick her up, turning toward me to cuddle into my chest. I don’t even think she realizes she’s done it, but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying it all the same.
A rush of emotion floods through me. I feel so very grateful that she’s alive. I don’t think I realized just how much I cared about her until I found her down here. I can’t lose her. I get it now. Why Mack would risk everything, his entire FBI career, to protect Daria and her extracurricular activities. It’s the same thing I would do for Quinn.
Let’s be honest, the chances of me going back to the FBI after this are slim. For one, they allowed a known Russian Bratva to dictate my career. My career with the bureau, no less. Two, well shit, two doesn’t matter. One is more than enough. Because the bureau isn’t out for truth, justice, and the American way. They are a business, just like any other business, that needs a bottom line and profit margins.
I’m sure that Viktor Limonov paid handsomely for my services. Which begs the question, what the fuck did he want me to do where Andrei and Ronan were concerned? Maybe my check-ins with our day-to-day activities were enough regardless of how inconsequential I thought they were. Shit, that’s probably how he knew to come here today.
Which means offing me was part of the plan. It’s not like he gave me a warning before he attacked. If it is his men up there doing all this, which I’m assuming it is. I’ll have to deliver a special thank you to him once I get out of here. Hopefully, in person. Something along the lines of my fist in his fucking face.
28
Daria
I’ve long since given up any hope that Ronan is coming to help me. And it’s a humbling reality when you realize your own limitations and mortality. Everything I love is in that building, and I have no way of getting them out.
I don’t know if they are alive or injured, dead or captured.
Our comms have failed. The compound is only half standing. Bodies litter the grounds. The brute strength and force that my father put behind this attack is astounding. Which is why it’s so surprising that he doesn’t even know that Ronan isn’t here. I mean, that was his whole goal in the first place, to bring Ronan down.
So why come in with such a show of force and lack of remorse, putting so many lives at risk, when there is no guarantee on the one you genuinely want to eradicate?
I wish I had an answer to my own question, but I feel as though the strategic part of my brain is still rattled and in pieces from the explosion. I’m missing something in all of this, I just don’t know what it is.
I try to reach Mack again on the comms. Then Alyssa. Neither answer. I knew they wouldn’t, but I also can’t sit here doing nothing while I wait for Ronan to come to my rescue.
During a time where I want to feel that surge of adrenaline that catapults past the point of pain and into action, all I feel is helpless and forlorn.
Tired and weak.
Stupid and naïve.
There was a time, recently, when I would never have been in that tree before the explosion. Because I would never have allowed myself to put feeling and emotion ahead of planning and operation. Is it wrong that I’ve allowed myself to care for others and, in turn, let them care for me?
Was I this weak with Katya? Would I be the same with my other siblings?
I think not.
Katya and I were close, but that was also unusual for my family. W
hen I went into what I thought would be her rescue, I allowed myself days of surveillance and planning before making a single move. I barely allowed myself hours with Quinn.
I’ve softened.
I can only hope it ends up being a positive in my life. Because right now, it seems like the worst thing to ever happen to me.
Even though I’m halfway expecting him, Ronan scares me when he taps on the window of the SUV. I press the button to unlock the doors, and he slides into the passenger seat.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” I admit before I can stop myself.
“I said I would.”
“I know. It’s just . . . nevermind. What’s the plan?” I ask.
“I’ve got a few men, the only ones I can trust. I’m hoping it will be enough.” He nods toward the six men waiting outside. All dressed in tactical gear and looking ready for anything, which makes me feel better about having Ronan on my side. However temporary that may be.
Ronan looks different. The opposite of how I’ve ever seen him before. His eyes are heated, and he too looks ready for action. In direct contrast with the normal cold and unaffected façade he assumes on a day-to-day basis.
He’s dressed like Mack, all in black tactical gear: cargo pants and a thick utility belt with gun holsters and ammo clips, short sleeve black T-shirt, covered by a bulletproof vest, showing off his impressive arms. Arms you would almost miss the definition of when encased in his custom-tailored Italian suits.
I love a man in a beautiful suit, don’t get me wrong, but with Ronan dressed like this, I can see why women back in Russia would go so crazy over him.
“You’re a good man, Ronan,” I tell him. “Thank you for this.”