So yes, I’m pretty sure I’ve subdued all the officers in the building. Still, I watch the door because I’d rather be over-cautious than catch a bullet with the back of my skull.
However, my attention is pulled away again when a button rolls past my boot.
Maks has cut open the front of Lara’s shirt.
I stride over to them.
Maks is right in her face, while the girl cringes away from him, her knees knocking together beneath her dowdy skirt.
The sight of her causes two highly incompatible sensations.
First off, a flush of arousal. Her unbuttoned shirt bares an absolutely stunning pair of breasts, barely contained within the cups of a plain cotton bra. With her arms bound behind her back, her chest is thrust forward, round and full and completely vulnerable. Those perfect tits rise and fall several inches with each gasping breath. It’s fucking mesmerizing.
I have to tear my eyes away.
I look at the smooth tan column of her throat instead, where I see something I don’t like at all. A cut just under her jaw on the left side and a bead of blood running down her neck.
Now, instead of lust, I’m hit with an irrational wave of fury.
How dare Maks scratch that flawless skin.
This is my operation, not his. What happens to the girl is up to me.
I brought Maks and Jasha along because we work well together. We’re younger than Ivan, Efrem, Oleg, and Andrei. We get things done faster.
But tonight, there’s a weird tension between Maks and me. I don’t like him crouching so close to the girl. I don’t like him messing with her clothes. His hand is still closed around her arm, and I want to rip it away, and maybe throw him across the room for good measure.
I don’t know how much of this Maks can sense, but he knows I’m fucking pissed.
At that moment, Jasha finishes cutting into the safe.
The tension breaks, because we have to load up the bricks of weed.
Luckily, it’s all here. Every last package—none liberated by sticky-fingered cops along the way.
We get it packed up in minutes, throwing some bundles of cash and some loose gemstones into the bags for good measure. Call it interest, for the two days that Erdeli was holding our product.
Now I take possession of the girl, pulling her toward the back exit. I don’t trust Maks with her. I don’t want him touching her again.
As we get close to the door, she starts begging me to let her go.
I feel that twinge of guilt again. She’s frightened and desperate, dragging her feet like a child.
“Lara,” I tell her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
It’s true. I wouldn’t hurt her, and I wouldn’t let anybody else hurt her, either. She hasn’t done anything wrong, just because her dad’s a dick.
She relaxes for a moment. But then when I try to blindfold her, she starts freaking out again.
“Please, don’t!” she shrieks. “I hate the dark . . .”
She’s squirming and writhing in my arms. I can feel her heart racing against my hand. She’s not faking—her terror is real.
My stomach lurches, but I have to do it. She’s already seen too much.
I blindfold her, lifting her bodily into the back of the van.
It’s Sloane’s old plumber van, re-painted to look like a telecom vehicle. Before we set foot inside the police station, we cut the phone lines and the hardwired alarms, just to be sure. I didn’t want to chance any more fuckups.
I lay Lara gently down on an old coat. Her whole body is shaking. I can see tears leaking out from under her blindfold, though she’s quiet now.
This isn’t a normal level of fear. Something happened to this girl.
Again, I feel that surge of anger, of protectiveness.
It’s ridiculous.
I’ve never been a bleeding heart. I don’t know this girl. Why should I care what happened to her? Why should I care what happens to her now?
Still, I say, “Drive carefully,” to Jasha, so she doesn’t get jostled around. And I stay in the back with her, while Maks takes the passenger seat.
It’s only a six-minute drive to the convention center where the gala is taking place.
I use the time to scribble a quick note, while also sneaking glances at the prone figure of the girl, illuminated every time we drive beneath a streetlamp.
Laying on her side, I can see the deep indent of her waist and the wide curve of her hip. She’s petite, but she has a beautiful, sensual figure. And those breasts . . . Fucking hell. I’ve never seen their equal, even from the best surgeons. And I’m pretty sure they’re real.
Of course, there’s only one way to know for certain . . .
My willpower is hanging on by a thread.
Just in the nick of time, we pull up in front of the convention center.
Gently, without allowing my hands to linger, I pin the note to the front of Lara’s torn blouse.
It reads,
We came to take our property back. Found something of yours. Next time, we won’t be so generous.
Not exactly my best work, but I had to improvise on the fly with a huge distraction laying right next to me.
It’ll get the message across well enough. Or more precisely, the sight of Lara will do it.
The point is to publicly humiliate Erdeli. To show that he can’t even keep his own daughter safe, let alone his fellow officers and the citizens of St. Petersburg.
It will erode support for his anti-corruption campaign. And hopefully, if he gives a fuck about his daughter, it will intimidate Erdeli himself. He’ll have to worry what we did to her—what we will do to her if he doesn’t back the fuck off.
I’m not thrilled about Maks cutting her shirt open, but it does help send the message. It should inflame Daddy’s protective instincts, seeing his little girl manhandled.
Honestly, he’s a fool to think he could bring her here. Plenty of the other Bratva would have let Maks do what he wanted, or worse. They would have left her corpse on the convention center steps, throat slashed and the note drenched in her blood.
It may come to that, if Erdeli doesn’t back down.
But for now, the note will suffice.
Jasha pulls up in front of the venue. I open the back doors of the van, stepping out so I can place Lara on her feet. I cut the zip-ties binding her hands, annoyed when I see how tight Maks pulled them. The plastic has bitten into her flesh, leaving deep red welts around both wrists. Her hands are obviously numb, the fingers constricted and unable to straighten.
I massage her hands, forcing the blood to flow back into them. I’ve taken my gloves off, so our bare skin is touching for the first time. Lara flinches at first, but then allows me to try to restore sensation to her hands.
In fact, when I’m about to let go of her, she actually clings to my arm for a moment, as if she’s even more scared of being left alone.
I tell her, “Walk forward five steps. Then stay there until your father comes to get you.”
Lara hesitates, then inches forward blindly, shuffling her feet along the cement so she doesn’t stumble.
I pull an AR out of the back of the van and fire a spray of bullets into the air to get Erdeli’s attention. Lara jolts and lets out a terrified shriek, thinking the bullets are about to riddle her back.
I don’t wait around to see the commissioner’s reaction. Instead, I climb back into the van and Jasha speeds away.