Lethal Nights (Brute Force)

by Lora Leigh

  “We would have been here sooner, but others thought to delay us,” Django stated as Ilya stepped into the shadows with them. “We had to kill them. We were unable to learn who sent them, but the tattoos they wore identified them as having spent much time in Vasilyev’s prison.”

  Vladimir Vasilyev, the man his mother, Lorena Stefanova had married during the first months of her pregnancy with Ilya.

  “I’d suspect Vasilyev anyway.” He shrugged. “I talked to Grandfather earlier, he said he’d be here soon.” A mirthless smile pulled at his lips. “He didn’t give me an ETA.”

  “The Dragon rarely does.” Django chuckled. “We came as soon as we felt the need to do so. I’m thankful you called us to you.”

  He hadn’t called them, but he let that go. It was yet another mystery that came with the life he’d walked away from.

  Outlining the events to this point, he watched each of the team, gauging their strength, their readiness, and didn’t find them lacking.

  Django was a hell of a commander, and it was obvious he’d kept his team in peak condition.

  He should have sent them to watch over Emma Jane the moment he woke at his grandparents’ and saw the ink they’d marked his chest with. Never let it be said that his grandfather put off what could be done in that moment.

  Ilya knew Gustov Dragonovich had despaired of Ilya’s return. He’d feared the strength of the dragon the family had been given had died with his son’s death and the hell his grandson had survived.

  Like his father before him, Ilya fought his legacy, both the good and the bad, the instinctive as well as what had been taught to him. Again, like his father, he’d taken over the Dragon’s Blood vodka enterprise, and within a few years had increased its demand until he could command an outrageous sum for it. But he’d fought the true gifts that came with his legacy.

  The dragon at the side of his face had ensured wariness first among his enemies, then as his martial abilities were whispered of, the man with the dragon curving against his face was watched in fear.

  There was but one person who didn’t fear him, who lived for the danger that striking out against him could bring. Because she suspected the cost of killing her himself, or allowing his men to do so, wasn’t something he’d been willing to risk. She had no clue that she only still lived because taking her life was a choice he feared would push him forever into the darkest part of the man he was. Now he knew, it wasn’t her death that would do that, but the death of his Emma Jane.

  When this was over, Emma Jane might force him to walk away, but at least she’d be alive, and the warriors who surrounded him now would ensure she stayed alive.

  If she forced him to leave. Hell, what woman wouldn’t force him to leave, especially one as sweetly gentle as his Emma Jane? When he had to walk away from her, at least he would know he had eliminated the only person insane enough to come after her because of him.

  She wouldn’t even let him kill her ex-husband, as fiery as she could be, there was no way she could survive his life and the legacy he brought with it.

  “When your grandfather arrives, will you take his place as dragon?” Django asked when Ilya finished apprising them of the situation. “Or will he be directing the dragon soldiers that will amass with him?”

  “When he arrives, and security will ensure the time needed, I’ll take his place as dragon,” Ilya affirmed. “Before I can do that, my mate’s safety must be assured though. My enemy won’t stop until she’s dead, or Emma Jane is. And I won’t risk my mate’s life, and taking that path before I have the right to do so will only weaken the protection I can afford her.”

  Django nodded sharply. “Whatever your choice, our loyalty is with you,” he assured Ilya. “You’ve only to tell us what you need done.”

  “Protect my woman,” he ordered, his voice harder, colder. “Even above myself, protect Emma Jane. If she falls, then I’ll follow quickly behind. There will be no dragon-heir, and no dragon-son, without her.”

  He loved that deeply, that completely. If Emma Jane were lost because of him, because of the evil that haunted him, then he wouldn’t survive it. He couldn’t survive it.

  Without her, Ilya knew, he was lost.

  * * *

  Emma Jane knew the moment Ilya left her, just as she knew the care he took to ensure she didn’t wake up. She was considering just lying there and slipping off to sleep again when her phone lit up with a green light, indicating one of the team with the palm print and code to get out had left the house. And she knew it had been Ilya.

  Rising from the bed and pulling on her robe, she slipped to each of the two windows that looked out on the backyard. When she stepped to the side of the house, she watched the shadows shift at the tree line and five dark figures step just to the edge of trees.

  Ilya walked to them, clasped arms with each, then when he reached the fifth, so obviously female, clasped arms with her, then drew her into a quick, hard embrace.

  She jumped back, unwilling to see more, unwilling to let her world shatter just yet. Heart racing, hands shaking, she moved back to bed and wondered if he’d return, or if he had other things to do.

  Funny, she should have been on guard for another woman, especially after Matt, and God knew Ilya was no virgin. He was so very experienced for a reason. And though her heart was screaming it wasn’t possible, still the fear was like acid in her stomach for long seconds

  Just for seconds.

  Her Ilya wouldn’t betray her, she told herself firmly. He wouldn’t go to another while her scent still covered his body. There was a reason … an explanation.

  But still, sleep didn’t return, and neither did Ilya.

  chapter nineteen

  Whoever, whatever, Lorena had sent to target Emma Jane because of him, was coming closer, Ilya acknowledged as he, Django, and Sylvanus moved silently through the trees the next afternoon, checking for any signs of anyone watching the house or attempting to access the device they’d left in the tree to analyze Emma Jane’s security.

  The group had surprised two men the night before, but before they could capture them, they’d managed to slip away. It was then that Django had made the decision to alert Ilya to their presence rather than staying back until needed.

  Emma Jane’s home was set on several acres of land, surrounded on three sides with a heavily wooded barrier between her and her neighbors. On one side was an old couple with hearing problems, on the other an older lady and her caretaker, with the two-lane road stretching in front of the house bordered by woods.

  Neighbors at the scattered homes nearest to her had heard the gunfire the night of the attack but had excused it as kids goofing off. How the hell they did that Ilya still hadn’t figured out.

  “They’ve managed to hit her twice now,” Ilya murmured as Django moved silently at his side, a black electronic detector in his hand while Sylvanus checked the area with a metal detector.

  “Your suspicion that they’re just sitting back and waiting seems sound,” the other man murmured. “As you said, that would take deep pockets and a lot of patience.”

  Ilya paused, staring around the wooded area as Django fiddled with the display on the device he was using.

  “Problem?” he asked, his voice low.

  The soldier frowned, his dark brows lowering as he glared at the box. “It picks something up for a moment, then it’s gone again.”

  Ilya turned his gaze up, scanning the overhead foliage curiously. “Another scanner like the one closer to the house?”

  Django glanced up at him. “I’m taking that bitch down this evening and checking it out further.” He fiddled with the controls to the detector again, only to quickly raise his head as Sylvanus motioned them over to where he stood with the ground-sweeping metal detector.

  Both Django and Sylvanus had altered and modified various devices to suit far more important needs such as the ones they were using now.

  Joining the other man, he and Django watched as Sylvanus knelt and began brushing ba
ck the leaves and wooded debris that covered the ground. Within seconds he uncovered a transmitter of some kind, the intermittent flash of the red light coinciding with the erratic signal Django had picked up.

  “Bag it,” Django ordered the other man. “Let’s see if it has a buddy, then we’ll take it back to the barn and dissect it.” There was a hint of anticipation in the other man’s voice.

  “A buddy?” Ilya murmured. The other man only snickered.

  “I’m going to bet someone has eyes on her house, day and night. Sabina found evidence of an old hunters blind on the other side of the road that had been used recently.” He slid Ilya a narrow-eyed look. “Is it hunting season for something other than dragons’ mates this month?”

  “I’m pretty certain it’s not,” Ilya assured him.

  “Well, she tagged it. Put a pretty little pressure detector under one of the steps. We’ll see if anything puts it off.” Django slid him a mocking look then. “What the hell you doing hanging out with us rather than your woman?”

  Ilya crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at the commander coolly. “She was napping when I left.”

  She’d moved from the bedroom that morning, not long after he’d returned to the house to finish the briefs he’d been going over on his laptop. She’d gone to the kitchen, baked biscuits, and fried enough sausage and bacon that no one had gone hungry. Once she’d cleaned the kitchen, she silently went to the couch and turned the television on low. It hadn’t taken her long to drift off to sleep.

  “Bet she woke up soon as you left the house.” Sylvanus proved he was eavesdropping at the comment. “If she’s intuitive enough to know when her home’s being invaded, then she’d know when her arrogant dragon left it.” Amusement filled the other man’s voice.

  “Don’t piss me off, Sylvanus,” Ilya warned him. “I can still kick your ass.”

  “Wanna place bets on that?” Sylvanus chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind sparring a little.”

  Ilya merely shook his head before he let his gaze go over the woods. No one was watching them now, but that wouldn’t last, he knew.

  “I’ll have Drake come out and lay sensors before sunset,” Django decided. “They’re not foolproof, but it might give us a few seconds’ warning anyway. And I know they’re fully trained, but I want Maxine and Elizaveta pulled back from night watch.”

  Ilya restrained his smile. “See how far you get with that.” Ilya shrugged. “You can give it your best shot.”

  Turning, they followed Sylvanus as Ilya kept his eyes on the surrounding woods, eyes narrowed for any anomalies. As he searched the woods, his mind was on Emma Jane though.

  That woman was no dummy. Questions were coming soon and he knew it. The explanation he’d given her the night before was true enough but barely touched the surface of all the reasons his mother wanted him dead. Hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to tell her who the enemy was. What man wanted to admit his mother had hated him even before birth because of the father who wanted his child but not her?

  “You need to contact Alexi,” Django sighed. “He’d tell you if she was acting strangely or was up to anything.”

  His half brother. Ilya refused to answer his calls, refused to contact him on his own.

  “If he knew anything, he would have contacted Ivan,” Ilya stated. “There’s not much I do that he doesn’t feel the need to know about.” He was awful damned nosy for a younger brother.

  They made their way from the forest, across the yard, and to the back door, where Django and Sylvanus broke off and headed to the barn where the team was staying.

  Stepping into the house, he came to a stop when he saw Emma Jane sitting at the table using the laptop he’d rarely seen her pull out.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, closing the door and reactivating the security.

  “Fine,” she answered, turning to him to watch him suspiciously. “Who do you have hiding in my barn?”

  His brow lifted as he restrained his smile and walked to the coffeepot. There wasn’t much that got past her, he had to give it to her.

  “They’re part of the dragon tribes,” he told her. “You find gypsies just about everywhere, it seems. They heard I was here and offered their services.”

  “And you trust them?” Evidently, he hadn’t alleviated the suspicion.

  “I trained them,” he told her, watching the interest flare in her gaze. “All five of them, and inked the dragons they wear. Yes, I trust them.”

  Her lips tightened at the information. “And why haven’t I met them? This is my property. I like knowing who’s on it.”

  Pouring his coffee, he picked up his cup and moved to the chair to the side of the table. Pulling it free, he sat down, slouched back in it as he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, and just watched her. And damn if he could intimidate her. She met his gaze and held it.

  Not many men, let alone women, could do that.

  Pulling back a grin, he sipped at his coffee.

  “I thought we’d take care of that this evening,” he informed her, glancing at the laptop. “Are you working or just playing?”

  Lifting one hand, she very slowly turned the laptop until he could see the page she was reading.

  The information site showed his picture, a black-and-white image of the dragon in exacting detail. And beneath it, information he’d hoped she wouldn’t find. He should have known better. To be honest, there was so much conflicting information from site to site that he’d hoped she’d overlook the worst of it.

  Ilya Nicholas Dragonovich, called the Dragon heir, or dragon-son, grandson of the head of a gypsy tribe that only came into being in the past century. Rumored to be the older, illegitimate brother of Alexi Vasilyev, newly elected president of the Russian Federation.

  No mother’s or father’s name listed but said to be the son of the late Nicholas Dragonovich and Lorena Stefanova.

  And there were pictures. Pictures of Lorena and her husband, Vladimir Vasilyev, pictures of Alexi and their teenage sister, Zorah.

  He lifted his coffee cup and sipped at the hot brew again as she continued to stare at him, and wished to hell he kept vodka in the kitchen.

  The article was incriminating enough for sure.

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked her when she didn’t speak. “Should I deny it?”

  “Is it the truth?” she asked him quietly.

  “Insomuch as the fact that I share their blood only.” He placed the cup back on the table. “Lorena is no one’s mother, she’s a dam, nothing more. I wasn’t raised with Alexi or Zorah, but should they be harmed I will exact vengeance. I rarely speak to either of them, and if Alexi and I do speak, we keep it carefully hidden lest Zorah be punished for it”

  A few clicks and she turned the laptop back to him, her expression somber.

  Oh yes, this article was much more incriminatory and a product of Lorena’s viperous war against him.

  The picture of her brother at perhaps twenty-five, laid out on the ground, blood staining his throat and chest.

  Lorena Vasilyev accuses the Dragonovich heir of murder at the tender age of fourteen. According to Ms. Vasilyev, who claims to be Dragonovich’s mother, he murdered her brother in a psychotic rage, though there are those who state had Dragonovich killed him, he’d have had more than one good reason to do so …

  Suspected enforcer of the former Resnova criminal organization in the Soviet Republic …

  Rumored to be the sole owner of Dragon’s Blood vodka, an exclusive, highly prized recipe …

  Suspected in the disappearance of Russian crime tsar …

  Suspected in the bloody murder and dismemberment of former Russian parliament member …

  There was a hell of a list there.

  Checking the site, he realized it was a rather new one. Ilya had a fondness for crashing and deleting sites that included too much information about them. No one site needed to reveal too much, he thought.

  Ilya didn’t bother reading the rest of t
he article.

  “Bastard never looked better,” he murmured, realizing he was rubbing at the scars beneath the dragon with his index finger. “He died the same night Ilya’s father did. Though I have to say Karloff Resnova died easier. Ivan was a bit more efficient at the time though he is older.”

  She turned the laptop back to her and snapped it closed.

  “Is Vladimir or Alexi the enemy you believe targeted me?” she questioned him, and he could see the fear in her eyes.

  Yeah, she’d been busy. But hell, he should have already explained all this to her anyway. She had a price on her head because of the little war Lorena had been waging on him since he was a child.

  All because Nicholas Dragonovich had refused her.

  It had never made sense to him. But then, he tended to be confused by psychopaths in general.

  “Alexi makes a point to kill anyone who dares strike against me in horrible ways.” There was no humor in the grin he gave her. “Sometimes, he and Ivan have screaming matches over who should have that pleasure while I take care of it myself.” He leaned forward, holding her gaze and hating himself for the pain he glimpsed in her eyes. “I never claimed to be a saint, nor did I pretend my hands are free of blood, Emma Jane. I never claimed to be a good man, or even a man worthy of your touch. But I never lied to you and I never tried to hide the fact that you may have been targeted because of me.”

  Sitting back, he finished the coffee, then placed the cup on the table once more.

  “And you didn’t answer my question,” she pointed out. “Which of them are behind that attempt to kill me, and why, Ilya?”

  No, she wasn’t going to be merciful and let this go.

  “Not Vladimir.” He shrugged and scratched at his cheek. “He’s a bit lazy and rather stupid. I really believe Alexi does not belong to him. So by himself, he’s not a threat.” He paused, held her gaze, then continued. “When I was five, Lorena’s bastard brother and Ivan’s father held me to the ground and sliced my face open half a dozen times. Then they left me lying in the mud and the stink of my own blood and vomit while she stared down at me with a sneer. Lorena’s behind this, I just have to catch the bastards she sent. As for why?” He grimaced, unable to come up with an answer that made sense. “I’ve been trying to figure that one out for as long as I can remember.”