Lethal Nights (Brute Force)

by Lora Leigh

  Ilya snapped the description to the team, checked his weapon, then braced himself as the Ferrari increased speed.

  “They’re dead, Alexi,” he stated calmly. “Lorena and Vladimir both. I’ll fucking kill them.”

  “We have to find them first, Brother!” Rurik snapped as Ilya searched the traffic for the vehicle while digging a spare comm link from his jacket, activating it, and, rather than handing it to his reckless brother, simply reached over and shoved it in his ear.

  “We have to find them first.” The bitterness and fury in Alexi’s voice weren’t new. “I just fucking arrived and haven’t been able to find the jet yet.”

  “Django, do you have her location?” Ilya snapped into the link.

  “Interference,” Django reported coldly. “Last ping heading east.”

  “I have visual,” an unknown voice patched through. “They just took the exit to the airport. Tan Lincoln, two males in front, heat signature reclined in the back.”

  “Identify.” Ilya held on as Alexi turned on to the interstate in a scream of rubber and accelerating horses.

  Dammit, the bastard was going to get them killed.

  “Friends of Nik’s,” the voice came back. “There’s a private jet taxiing to the runway. I’m good, but I don’t think I can stop that jet.”

  “Well, let’s see if I can.” Alexi snapped his cell phone from the car cradle and quickly pulled up contacts. By the time he made the call while weaving in and out of traffic, Ilya was sweating.

  “Delay takeoff or I’ll turn you over to the dragon heir the second I find you. Do not alert my parents to my arrival and be prepared to explain yourself for not notifying me of your flight.” He was silent for about three seconds. “I’m nearing the exit now, ETA in two to three minutes.” He paused. “Well, unlock the cockpit door, you stupid bastard. If that plane moves I’ll cut your dick off and parade you through Moscow as the moron you are.”

  Ilya sat silent, allowed the empathy, compassion, and what little honor he’d tried to salvage of his life evaporate. All that remained was the dragon. The killer. Avenger.

  Death was coming, and it was hungry.

  chapter twenty-three

  Emma Jane came to awareness as she felt every bruise on her body scream in protest. She was dumped on what appeared to be a couch of some sort.

  Her lashes fluttered open, her gaze slowly clearing until she was staring into the cool, curious features of Lorena Vasilyev, the monster who haunted Ilya’s life.

  The monster who now had her.

  Ilya was going to be so mad, was her first thought. Her second? She was so screwed.

  “Awake now.” The heavy Russian accent sounded coarse coming from the smiling lips of this woman.

  Reaching out, she smacked Emma Jane’s cheek, her pale eyes flashing with pleasure before she rose to her feet and ordered, “Have the pilot take off immediately.”

  Pilot? Despair rushed through her. Ilya would never find her until Lorena dumped her dead body somewhere.

  As she fought the lethargy and the roiling of her stomach, her fingers curled against the leather beneath her face and she could feel the grief beginning to burn through her.

  “Takeoff is delayed.” The halting English was a bit garbled. “Pilot says tower will notify us when to taxi.”

  Ilya had to find her. She fought to control her panic and the need to sit up and tell this woman what a lowlife bitch she was.

  “I hate America,” Lorena spat out. “Lazy, crass bastards.”

  “My dear, you’re showing base roots,” another male drawled with faint amusement.

  “I’d prefer we not be caught with this little tramp,” the bitch sighed. “Ilya would be very put out with me.” There was an almost girlish simper in her voice that was, frankly, sickening. “No doubt he’s rather upset.”

  A male chuckle sounded at that observation. “I have no doubt, as he does seem rather protective of her.”

  A sound similar to that of ice rattled in a glass.

  “She’s not his mate or she’d carry his dragon mark by now,” Lorena drawled as Emma Jane forced herself to sit up in the corner of the couch she’d been dumped on.

  Pushing her hair back with shaky hands, she focused on Vladimir Vasilyev and his wife, their expressions curious, coldly calculating, as they watched her.

  “You’re crazy,” Emma Jane whispered.

  “Unfortunately for you, that is far too close to the truth,” Vladimir breathed out heavily, and shook his head as though amused by his own words.

  “Shut up, Vladimir,” Lorena ordered as she sat back in a leather chair, the wine-red silk dress she wore sliding against the leather as she crossed her legs and continued to watch Emma Jane.

  “Madam, I believe we have a problem.” One of the men guarding the closed exit looked through the window before turning back to Lorena, his expression alarmed. “President Vasilyev is outside along with the Dragon heir.”

  Emma Jane watched the long-suffering look that came over Lorena’s face. “I must not have beaten Zorah enough the last time Alexi was so foolish as to interfere with my fun,” she sighed.

  Vladimir shot her a dark look. “You are testing my patience with your cruelty to my children, my dear.”

  Lorena smirked back at him.

  “Madam,” the pilot came over the intercom, his voice trembling. “Tower has grounded us until further notification from Homeland Security. They demand President Vasilyev be allowed to board.”

  Lorena turned to her husband. “You know, Vladimir, I know that boy is yours. He’s so weak.”

  Vladimir’s, “Hmm,” was met by an expression of disgust.

  “Well, open the door.” Lorena flicked expertly manicured nails toward the exit. “Check the Dragon heir for weapons before he enters.”

  Emma Jane sat still, her eyes on the door as it slowly opened, steps extending automatically to the ground.

  Alexi Vasilyev entered first, dressed in black silk slacks and an open-necked black shirt and leather gloves. He slid his glasses from his eyes, looked around the cockpit, and quietly clicked his tongue chastisingly as his gaze settled on Emma Jane.

  “Really, Mother,” he sighed, walking to her as the two men checked Ilya for weapons. “I was convinced you were actually smarter than this.”

  His expression appeared mildly disappointed, but if she wasn’t mistaken she caught a gleam of cold, hard fury in his pale blue eyes.

  “Your faith in me once again astounds me, my son.” She gave him a hard, brittle smile before turning to where Ilya stood.

  His expression was savage, the dragon at the side of his face staring back malevolently as Ilya stood, feet braced apart, his arms now crossed over his chest.

  He’d lost the tie and the jacket and looked like a civilized savage.

  Lorena’s expression lost the bitterness and softened almost girlishly.

  “Nicholas,” she breathed almost reverently. “You are the image of your father.”

  She rose from her seat, staring at Ilya like a star-struck teen.

  Ilya didn’t move. He just stared at Lorena before his gaze flicked to the two guards watching him warily, then to Vladimir and Alexi.

  “He’s so very handsome, isn’t he, Ms. Preston?” the older woman breathed out with something akin to lust. “So proud and indomitable.”

  Emma Jane gave Ilya a dubious look before her smartass side got the best of her.

  “He’s passable,” she quipped. “That dragon on his face is cool though.”

  Before anyone could respond, a blow from Lorena’s fist nearly shattered her face as it bounced her head against the back of the leather couch.

  Alexi cursed viciously as Emma Jane fought not to puke.

  “You fucking whore,” Lorena sneered when Emma Jane make sense of the world again. “You have no idea who he is or the blood he carries. You’re not fit to be in his presence.”

  “Lorena.” The sound of Ilya’s voice was terrifying now, and as Emma Jan
e focused on his face, she could see the piercing intensity in the color of his eyes, and the bloodred ink of the dragon. “I will kill you.”

  With a sound of disgust Alexi moved to the bar, fixed two drinks, and handed one to his obviously rattled father.

  “You’re a good son,” his father muttered, taking a healthy drink.

  “Really, Mother!” Rurik snapped furiously. “You’re allowing your crazy to show. Rein it in if you don’t mind. It’s unbecoming.”

  Lorena flashed him a killing look before turning back to Emma Jane, her fists clenched, her once-pale face now a mottled red with rage.

  “Do you even know who he is?” Ignoring her sons now, she focused entirely on Emma Jane. “He’s royalty, Ms. Preston. A direct blood link to Nicholas the Second. His line should have ruled rather than that week-kneed boy that took the throne. Had they done so, Ilya would be the heir to a throne. He would be a prince.”

  Ilya arched a brow as she cast him a suspicious look.

  “And here I forgot to bow and scrape,” Emma Jane muttered.

  Lorena’s arm swung back for another blow.

  “Lorena.” Quiet but as sharp as a whip, Ilya’s voice stopped her, had wariness flashing in her expression.

  “She’s trash,” his mother accused him furiously then. “You could be fucking women of worth.”

  “Women like you?” he taunted her with a sneer. “Really, Lorena, I like to think I have some good taste and discrimination.”

  Lorena’s face flushed in humiliation.

  The scene would have been farcical if it weren’t for the potential of death. If the woman standing only feet from Emma Jane weren’t a psychopath.

  “You could have taken control of the Soviet states.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Ilya. “I made certain you understood strength and survival. No mercy. Power. You were born to fulfill the Romanov legacy.”

  Ilya merely stood watching her. His eyes eerie as hell were so pale now. “You’re fucking crazy,” he enunciated with the utmost clarity.

  “My God, look at those eyes,” Lorena whispered. “The power in them, like a mystical warrior.”

  Sickening distaste filled Emma Jane at the unabashed lust in the woman’s voice and expression.

  “Let Emma Jane go, Lorena, you don’t need her here.” The rough, enraged rasp of Ilya’s voice was almost mesmerizing.

  “But we do need her.” Lorena faced him almost pleadingly. “I have to make you understand what you were born for. I can’t do that if she lives.”

  Ilya smiled. There was no amusement in the curve.

  “If she is harmed further, I will peel your flesh from your bones as you watch. That is a vow,” he told her, and even Emma Jane believed it.

  Lorena looked from Ilya to Emma Jane again, calculation flashing in her gaze.

  “Lorena,” Vladimir drawled. “Alexi can fly home with us. Let Ilya and his little pet go. The odds are against us, my dear.”

  Emma Jane knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  “This is over, Mother.” Alexi’s voice hardened as he turned to the two guards watching all of them warily. “You have one chance to walk away from this if you leave now.”

  The two men glanced at each other.

  “Oh for God’s sake!” Lorena exclaimed in disgust, turning to the guards as she drew a weapon from the pocket of her dress and fired twice.

  Emma Jane watched in shock as they fell to the floor, her heart nearly exploding in her chest, disbelief and terror exploding inside her.

  At the same time, Ilya moved in a blur of speed, picked her up from the couch, and all but threw her into the chair behind him, covering her body with his own.

  “Dragon,” Lorena breathed, then turned and leveled her weapon on Rurik before glancing at Ilya from the corner of her eye. “Your whore or your brother, Ilya. Choose now.”

  Sorrow creased Alexi’s face then. “Mother…” he whispered despairingly.

  “You’re weak!” Lorena snapped. “Such a disappointment, Alexi.” Her finger tightened on the trigger. “Perhaps I should choose for him.”

  The harsh, explosive retort of a single shot caused them all to flinch. Emma wanted to scream, wanted to hide, then watched as Lorena went backward as though in slow motion. Blood rapidly stained the silk of her dress over her chest as she slid to the floor, shock reflecting in her expression.

  Emma Jane’s gaze went slowly to Vladimir. He sat in his chair, the gun held confidently in one hand, the drink his son had made him in the other.

  “Well, I did warn her,” he injected mildly. “A man has to protect his son.” He nodded to Alexi. “Shall we return home now? I believe it’s poker night and General Grosky should be there. He owes me quite a bit…”

  Emma Jane stared at the blood and death that filled the small plane, the scent of it hitting her. She gagged, one hand going to her mouth as she fought desperately to hold back the bile desperate to escape.

  “Take your woman and go, Brother,” Alexi sighed heavily. “Go. This mess is mine.”

  With his arm supporting her, Ilya rushed her from the plane, and as they passed the final step, in front of a dragon team, brother, friends, and family, she lost control and began retching, sobbing.

  The nightmare was over, for her, perhaps for Ilya.

  But for Alexi it may have just begun.

  * * *

  It was hours later before Homeland Security finished with them. By then, Ivan had flown in along with several political backers of Ivan and Ilya’s work in the shadow criminal world they still had connections into. His grandparents were escorted from the airport parking lot to where Ilya, his men, and the security members of Brute Force, along with Eric and Ronan, waited.

  Alexi’s jet was pulled into an empty hangar along with a limo a very powerful senator showed up in. Emma sat in the limo, a blanket wrapped around her, the door opened to allow Ilya direct access to her in case she was sick again. His grandmother sat on the other side of her, speaking to her softly.

  Vladimir was convinced to leave the plane and wait in the Ferrari, though he wasn’t questioned. The man was almost childlike as he spoke with Alexi, smiling and patting the Russian president’s face as he had when he was a boy and Lorena had managed to punish him, Ilya thought.

  For whatever reason, likely Lorena, Vladimir had slipped into his version of reality years before and only visited theirs when he had no other choice.

  Finally, Alexi rose from his crouch next to the car, wiped his face, and turned to meet Ilya’s gaze before sliding the dark glasses over his face and sauntering over.

  Alexi wore those glasses because he was well aware that were times he couldn’t hide the emotion in his eyes. He hadn’t been burned by the fire enough, Ilya thought, almost thankful that his half brother had escaped a measure of the cruelties Lorena could have heaped on him.

  “She’s well now?” Alexi asked as he stood next to Ilya at the limo.

  “I don’t think she’s going to throw up again.” Ilya glanced at Emma Jane’s bent-down head and wished he could just take her home. “It will take her a while, but she’ll make it.”

  “I tried to keep Lorena reined in—” Alexi broke off, his jaw tightening, his hands shoving into the pockets of his slacks. “She became worse by the year. She couldn’t accept your hatred, couldn’t accept she’d lost Nicholas, even though she killed him.”

  The other man turned and stared off into the distance. “She couldn’t handle reality.”

  “I should have had her killed when I found Natalia,” Ilya growled.

  He wouldn’t have regretted it, wouldn’t have lost sleep over it, if it hadn’t been for his little half sister.

  “No one would have blamed you, least of all me,” Rurik sighed. “Until I had Zorah safe, I couldn’t let you do it, Ilya.”

  Lorena had held Zorah’s safety over Alexi’s head like a double-edged sword.

  “She’s safe?” Ilya asked.

  Rurik nodded sharply. “I left her in Hager
stown with Nik and Mikayla. They promised to look after her until I could have her flown home to Moscow.”

  Moscow was the one place Zorah didn’t need to be.

  “Let her go with Grandfather when he leaves,” Ilya suggested. “They need someone young around now that they’re retiring. Grandfather has his security, they can easily guard her as well.”

  Alexi rubbed at his neck before dropping his hand and staring around the organized chaos of the hangar. “Perhaps,” he finally said. “Fixing the hell I’ve walked into isn’t going to be easy.”

  Being president of the Russian Federation and fixing the mess his predecessor left would be more than hell.

  “Get out, Alexi.” Ilya turned to him, feeling the certainty of what he was about to say. “You won’t survive there. The people aren’t ready yet. Not yet.”

  His brother’s face creased with momentary grief before he shook his head. “I can’t believe that. I have to believe they’re ready. I have to believe it can be done.”

  Yeah, the difference between him and Alexi was the fact that Ilya accepted the world for the fucked-up place it could actually be sometimes.

  “I have a dozen men ready for a challenge,” he said then. “I’ve worked with them myself over the years and they’re damned good. You need a security team that can’t be bought if you’re going to do this.”

  “A dragon team?” Alexi said with interest, using the title Emma Jane had used when Django had brought her water and she’d asked if the dragon team was all there.

  Ilya nodded. “They’re fully blooded and inked.” Trained in war, men who knew the value of life but all the ways of death and inked with dragon blood.

  “I’ll take the offer.” Rurik nodded. “And I’ll let Zorah go with the grandparents. She’d enjoy that.”

  “Go do what you have to do, Alexi. My team will arrive in a few days. When they do, pay attention to the commander, he knows what the hell he’s doing.”

  Alexi nodded, extending his right arm. As they clasped arms, Ilya felt the presence of the dragon ink his brother wore even through the shirt sleeve covering it. He had been one of the first Ilya had inked.

  “Visit soon,” Ilya ordered. “Visit secretly.”