“I can think of a few things,” she snapped. Losing Johnny. Losing Roman. Losing everything that had made her happy in life. And then working for this man, being forced to endure him as he stripped her naked and took her to his bed.
“And to think you were my favorite,” Sergei said. “So pretty, so lethal. So passionate.”
Bile rose in her throat. Johnny didn’t blink, but she knew he hadn’t missed the nuances of what Sergei was saying.
“Why should we put our weapons down?” Johnny demanded, skipping to the meat of the situation. “So far as I can tell, you’re the one at a disadvantage here.”
“Then I should tell you that Dmitri has a detonator in his shirt pocket,” Sergei said with an evil smile. The door on the left wall opened up and Dmitri walked in, looking smug.
Kat swung her pistol toward Dmitri while Johnny kept his trained on Sergei.
“The sensors are wired to his pulse,” Sergei said. “If his pulse stops, the warehouse blows. Shoot him if you like, but your men will die. Shoot me, and Dmitri will press the button to blow the warehouse.”
“You’re lying,” Kat said.
He arched an eyebrow. “Dmitri, show them.”
“Slowly,” Johnny replied. “One hand.”
Dmitri slid a hand down to his shirt and pulled it open. Sensors studded his chest. He then fished a remote from his pocket and held it up. “Boom,” he said, grinning.
“And now, if you would care to put down the weapons, we can move on to the next part,” Sergei said.
“Not putting the guns down,” Johnny said.
“Then I will have to press this button,” Dmitri said. “Boom.”
“Go ahead.” Anger vibrated off Johnny, palpable even though they weren’t touching. He was utterly focused and totally pissed. “You press the button and blow them up—and Sasha will blow your fucking head off while I take care of Sergei.”
She appreciated that he didn’t call her Kat in front of these men, but she didn’t think it mattered much. They’d clearly found her in New Orleans. They already knew her current identity.
Sergei sighed heavily. “We are at an impasse, it seems.”
“Looks like.”
Dmitri snarled. “You’ve always been difficult, Viper. Couldn’t be like other men, could you? Thought you were so superior when you came to Moscow two decades ago. Typical American.”
Sergei held out a hand to silence Dmitri. It would have been amusing to see Dmitri behave like a lapdog if not for the seriousness of the situation.
“As fun as this is, I think we have to change the dynamic,” Sergei said. “I’d like you to meet the boys.”
The door on the left wall opened up again, and a group of commandos rolled through. Kat instinctively whirled until she was back to back with Johnny just as another group came through the door behind them.
Clad in dark clothing, dark goggles hiding their eyes, they surrounded her and Johnny with an arsenal of weaponry.
“Game over,” Sergei said.
Chapter 39
Mendez could feel her at his back, her muscles tense, her body ready to spring into action. If he launched an offense, she would too. They’d die, but they’d take a few of these bastards down with them.
He almost did it. Almost pulled the trigger and fought. But he couldn’t, not with her at his back, ready to do whatever he asked of her. He released the slide of his pistol and dropped it. She heard him and spun.
“What are you doing?”
“We can’t win this one, honey.”
She cradled the Glock in her hands, the Kalashnikov slung over her shoulder, and he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. He didn’t know what that meant, but holy shit, if he could kiss her now, he might never stop.
“He won’t let us live,” she said for his ears only.
“I know. But we won’t live if we start shooting either. Maybe this way we’ll have a little more time.”
He didn’t tell her that he hoped HOT might arrive. He couldn’t say it in front of these men. Plus he didn’t know if they’d make it in time. They had to land and get through customs. But if there was a chance—and there was always a chance—then he had to take it and bide his time.
Her blue eyes searched his. He could see resignation settle into them. She gripped her pistol hard—and then she released the slide and dropped it. The Kalashnikovs were next, followed by various knives and pistols.
“Ah,” Sergei said when they were done. “I love the smell of defeat in the morning—so long as it’s not mine, of course.”
Dmitri peeled the wires off his chest, grinning as he tucked the detonator back into his pocket.
He reached behind his back and pulled a gun, his expression hardening into something vile as he aimed it at Mendez’s chest.
“I told you I’d get you back, Viper. You fucking piece of shit,” he spat out. He strode toward them, then stopped just out of range as if remembering who he was dealing with.
Too bad. If he’d gotten close enough, Mendez could have taken his fucking head off before the commandos managed to do a damned thing about it. At least he’d have had that satisfaction before he died.
“Yeah, but you needed an army to do it,” he flung at Dmitri before raking his gaze over the stony commandos. “Can’t handle me one-on-one, can you?”
“I should fucking pull this trigger.”
“You can’t. Sergei isn’t going to give you permission. You don’t take a dump without his say-so, am I right?”
Sergei laughed. Hate chased across Dmitri’s face before he managed to stamp it down again.
“You heard the man, Dmitri,” Sergei said.
Dmitri dropped the pistol to his side with a snarl before retreating a few paces. But he wasn’t done. “Think about this while you wait for your death. You had a son. I took him away from you. Not once but twice.”
Kat’s breath drew in sharply, and Mendez prayed she wouldn’t go nuclear. Not fucking now. “You cut the brakes? It was you? After everything you put me through?”
“Enough,” Sergei snapped. He threw a glance at Dmitri. “Take him to the warehouse. Let him die with his men tomorrow. I’ll deal with Sasha.”
“Touch me ever again and you die,” Kat growled.
Mendez’s blood slowed to a crawl. Again?
The truth was an ice pick to his brain. She knew so many details about Sergei’s routine because she’d been an intimate part of it. He’d made her share his bed. The thought turned Mendez’s stomach. Not because she’d slept with Sergei, but because she’d had to.
Jesus.
Sergei laughed. “You have no power here, Sasha. Refuse me and you are the one who dies.”
“If that’s what it takes to never endure your touch again, I welcome it.”
Her voice was iron. Her body stood strong. She didn’t tremble.
A wave of admiration flooded him. Goddamn, she was amazing.
Sergei’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You were always a miserable, ungrateful bitch. I gave you everything—and it wasn’t enough for you.”
“You ordered my son’s death.” She spoke matter-of-factly, but he knew it was killing her inside. It was killing him too.
“You disobeyed me. There are consequences for that… just as there will be consequences for running from me.” The alarm on his watch buzzed. He glanced at it. “Ah, and now I must go and attend to business.”
He walked to the door, then stopped and turned back. “I would have taken you to Saint Petersburg, Sasha. But you have made your choice. Shoot her, Dmitri.”
Mendez’s blood ran cold.
Dmitri looked smug. “And Viper?”
“Not yet. He hasn’t suffered enough.”
Dmitri laughed as his boss disappeared. “Well, well, Valentina—it seems as if your time really is up. This time when she dies,” he said to Mendez, “you will get to see it with your own eyes.”
Mendez no longer fucking cared about anything. The commandos didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except that asshole and what he’d done to their son—what he was about to do to Kat. He wasn’t that far away…
Mendez launched himself at Dmitri like he’d been shot from a cannon, his one thought to snap Dmitri’s neck and stop him from ever hurting Kat again. He would die, but Dmitri would be dead too.
Time slowed to a crawl. Dmitri was just out of reach. He brought his pistol up, the barrel exploding with fire. Something hit Mendez in the chest, knocking him backward as the air was sucked from his world.
He landed on his knees, but he didn’t collapse. He should have collapsed if he’d been hit.
Commandos swirled around him, lifting him. He fought them, landing blows until someone swore and let him go again. That’s when he saw her. Kat. Valentina. She was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. It gushed from her neck. Her eyes were open but her mouth worked.
He dropped to his knees at her side, pressed his hands to her neck to try to staunch the flow. She focused on him. Panic threatened to crush him in its grip. He reached for his shirt, tried to drag it over his head one-handed while he kept the other on her neck. The blood flowed between his fingers as he muttered to himself.
“Johnny,” she whispered.
“I’m here.” He pressed his shirt to the wound, held it hard against her. He still didn’t know what had happened. The adrenaline punch to his system had him on edge, ready to fight for her, to kill. But nothing else happened. No one tried to stop him. She bled and he held her and no one moved.
Or maybe they moved in the background. He wasn’t looking up to find out.
He registered a body lying on the floor in his periphery, blood seeping into a puddle, tissue spattering the bed and wall behind it. The body didn’t move. Dmitri?
Mendez didn’t have time to understand how that could be. How Dmitri could be dead and he was alive. He hadn’t had a weapon. Neither had Kat.
She gripped his wrist. Her hand was cold. She tried to smile but her teeth chattered.
His heart fell. Despair socked him in the gut. He couldn’t lose her again. Not like this.
He pressed his lips to hers, uncaring of the blood. He wanted to breathe life into her, give her something to live for. Her lips were cold.
“Johnny,” she whispered again, and her grip tightened on him. Her blue eyes were cloudy. Unfocused. And then, as if marshaling all the strength she had, she turned those eyes on him. Her gaze sharpened.
“For God’s sake,” he said to no one in particular. “Help her!” He could only do so much with no medical supplies. He needed a clotting agent, towels, morphine.
“S’okay,” she told him, gripping the hand he offered her. “I’m ready.”
“I’m not fucking ready,” he growled. Something wet dripped onto her skin. It took him a minute to realize it was a tear. His tears. Hot, scalding. He was fucking crying like a baby. “Not again,” he said to her. “Not again, solnishko. Don’t go.”
She smiled. “I love you, Johnny. Always have…”
Chapter 40
Her eyes drifted closed, and Mendez started to shake her.
“Don’t,” a voice said. He looked up. Blinked. Ian Black stood there in black tactical gear. Black goggles perched on his head. “She’s losing a lot of blood. We need to stabilize her, and then we have to get her out of here.”
Another commando rushed in with an emergency aid kit. Finally. Mendez rocked back on his heels while a couple of Black’s Bandits tended to her. He shook with the adrenaline coursing through his body. But he didn’t let go of her hand until Ian squeezed his shoulder.
“Colonel. Sir. We could use your help.”
Mendez looked up, focusing on Black. The man had never called him sir in his life. Mendez shook himself. Tears clogged his throat and scalded his skin. He swallowed them down and got to his feet as Black’s men worked on Kat. Her blood was on his hands. Drying, sticky. He dropped his gaze to her, lying there so still and small in her own blood.
Look, he told himself. Look at what you’ve done.
“There’s still work to do,” Ian told him.
“Why didn’t you fucking shoot that bastard sooner?” he bit out as rage rose like a tide inside him. He was piecing it together now. He’d launched himself at Dmitri, but Kat had been quicker. Jesus Christ.
She’d gotten in the path of Dmitri’s gun and she’d taken a hit. Dmitri had been firing at him, but Kat got in the way. His fault.
“He had the detonator, Colonel. We couldn’t do anything until we’d secured your men.”
His throat ached. “You got them out?”
“HOT found the location and they’re on the way.” He held up the detonator. “They’ll have to defuse the bomb, but they should have your guys out soon. Thankfully, Leonov didn’t get a chance to set this thing off.”
Mendez sucked in air. He was working on compartmentalizing the situation. Being calm and cool and trying not to fucking panic. He dropped his gaze to where the men were working on Kat. They’d stopped the blood flow with an application of tiny sponges designed to fill the wound and hold it together.
“Who killed Dmitri?”
“I did.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s my job, sir.”
Mendez shoved a hand through his hair. His life was falling apart around him and he couldn’t give a shit less about protocol or niceties. “What’s with all the sirs? You planning on joining the fucking Army now?”
“No.” Black gave him a considering look. “You’ve earned your rank and the right to be called sir. You’ve got more heroic valor in your pinkie than some men have in their entire bodies. Just wanted you to know that before the shit hits the fan.”
Mendez was tired. Heartsick. The things he’d thought important suddenly weren’t. He didn’t have his command back. He hadn’t cleared his name. Turov was still a threat. Together with DeWitt, they still wanted his head.
And he didn’t care anymore. Everything he cared about right now lay on the floor, her life leaching away drop by drop. He’d had her back in his life, and he’d been too angry to accept that he still cared. He couldn’t drag his gaze from Kat’s body on the floor. He was helpless, and he hated it.
“What are you doing here, Black?”
“Working for Turov.”
That jogged him out of his self-pity and made him look up at the man beside him. “I thought DeWitt sent you for me.”
“He did. Sergei paid me more to deliver you to him.”
Mendez blinked. “You’re fucking working for Sergei Turov?”
“I was. It’s not the first time.”
Mendez grabbed Ian’s tactical vest in two fists and shoved him against a wall. “You could have fucking stopped this. You let her get shot—”
He couldn’t breathe as the enormity of it hit him. Kat was dying, and Ian had let it happen. For his ideals. For whatever God and country, motherhood, and apple pie picture he had in his head.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he growled. “If she dies, I’m coming for you. I don’t care what happens to me, I don’t care how deep under the jail they bury me—she dies, you die.”
“I didn’t know what he had planned,” Ian growled back. “I had to find out. And I acted when I could. If I’d moved sooner, Dmitri would have blown your men to kingdom come. I did what I could.”
Mendez shoved Ian away, resisting the urge to punch him in the face. But only barely. He’d known that Ian operated in the gray areas, but he hadn’t expected it out of him on this mission. Not with all that bullshit about needing his and Kat’s experience on this op.
“Did you give Sergei the location of the safe house in New Orleans?”
“No. It was one of my men—Dmitri was paying him for information. He made the connection between Valentina Rostov and Kat. Dmitri was in New Orleans for her—your showing up was a bonus.”
“Whoever he is, I want his head.”
“Me too, but he’s dead. He got greedy. Dmitri shot him.”
H
e was numb. Just so fucking numb. “Did you know we were coming?”
“I knew you’d be here. I didn’t know when. Your teammates were highly uncooperative on that score. But they let me know they had the coordinates to Delta Squad’s location. They didn’t tell me what they were though.”
“Because they still don’t fucking trust you.”
“Johnny…” Kat’s voice was weak, raspy.
Mendez dropped to his knees beside her, everything else forgotten. But she wasn’t awake, not really. Her eyes fluttered closed again and his vision blurred. He bowed his head almost to his knees, pulling in air. Praying hard.
If he lost her again, he’d go out of his mind.
Chapter 41
The ambulance took her to a hospital in Moscow. Mendez went with her right up until the moment the nurses pushed him away because she was going into surgery. He dropped into a chair in the waiting room, head in his hands, and tried to think of what the hell came next. He should know, but he couldn’t think.
He’d spent years commanding black-ops teams, years fighting shadow wars, and he was just fucking numb. Nothing made sense anymore. He’d gone balls to the wall trying to get to Sergei Turov—and Ian Black was already there. Why the fuck had he worked so hard when Ian could have waltzed in at any time?
It was all for nothing. And now Kat lay on a table in an operating room and he didn’t care about anything else. Antiseptic invaded his senses, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the smell of blood and spent gunpowder. Around him, the hospital went about its business—nurses and staff traversing the halls, shoes squeaking on the tile. Families of patients sat in the waiting room with varying degrees of worry on their faces.
And horror, he realized, as people shot him looks. It puzzled him until he caught a glimpse of his hands. They were covered in blood. He’d gotten a shirt from somewhere—Ian’s people—but it was stained where he’d dragged it on. His pants were spattered too.
He looked like something from a horror movie. Not that he cared. Not when Kat could be dying in there. He rocketed to his feet and went over to the desk. A nurse looked up, her eyes widening.
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