Yuri. The man had already proven himself to be a wily opponent.
Pyotr pulled a weapon from his desk. He leveled the barrel at Yuri and took aim. “Yuri, this is not what we agreed upon.”
“I find I don’t like what we agreed upon,” Yuri taunted. “So I’ve decided to change things to suit me. I hope you don’t mind.”
Yuri pivoted, dragging Annika with him. She moaned in pain as he wrenched her neck even farther. Her joints creaked in protest. A cold shot of dread slipped down her spine. This was not going to end well. It couldn’t.
“Let her go!” A shrill, female voice rang through the study.
The heavily accented voice could only belong to one person. Annika felt the tears begin when she saw Irina enter the room holding another weapon. Her hands shook, the barrel of the gun bouncing as she trembled with obvious fear.
“Come on, Irina.” Yuri’s voice was filled with loathing. “Although I suppose I cannot fault you for interfering. Whores always stick together. No?”
“I heard these men talking,” Irina said haltingly. “You killed my husband!”
“Vasily?” Yuri’s flippant disrespect for his vanquished opponent seemed to enrage Irina even further. “Yes. I killed that silly old bastard.”
“You will die for that!” Irina screamed.
Annika closed her eyes when Irina squeezed the trigger. Her position left her so close to Yuri as to be nothing more than a human shield. Either Irina was a crack shot, or Annika was going to be full of holes. The odds didn’t look so good for Annika.
The shot came, but there was no pain. Annika opened her eyes, confused. Then she saw Irina sinking slowly to the floor. There was a bullet hole in her forehead. Behind her, the wall of Pyotr’s study was covered in blood and brain matter.
Annika retched at the sight. The coppery scent of blood was overwhelming. She could hardly breathe, and yet Yuri was still dragging her toward the doorway. He was about to make his exit. This man who deserved to die so many times over.
“Yuri Orlov! I’m coming for you!” Feliks shouted.
Yuri threw one look over his shoulder. “Oh I’m counting on that. Come to my father’s home in an hour. There’s a council meeting, and you’re required to attend.”
Chapter Thirteen
Feliks couldn’t think straight. Not with Pyotr’s incessant weeping as the man cradled Irina’s lifeless body in his arms, and not with the fear he felt in his belly for Annika’s fate. Feliks had never experienced this sort of indecisiveness. His world was usually so ordered, completely cut and dried. There was a job. He developed a strategy to complete the job, and then he was done and on to the next thing.
“I am so sorry, my old friend,” Pyotr wailed. “Vasily! I promised to care for her and now she is dead. Dead!”
“Mama?” Oksana poked her little head into the room.
Pyotr struggled to turn his back in order to keep Oksana from seeing her mother in such a way. “Feliks! Get Oksana out of here. Please.”
Feliks stood and scooped the girl into his arms. She started to cry. He was helpless as to how he might soothe her. He could hardly imagine how to soothe himself.
“Uncle Feliks, why is Mama on the floor?” Oksana asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“She’s gone to be with your papa, little one,” Feliks said softly. “It will be okay.”
“But who will take care of me?”
Oksana sounded small and helpless, and Feliks realized that a child of her age had so little understanding of death that she might not truly realize what had happened. The thought made him incomparably sad.
He stroked Oksana’s blonde head. “I will take care of you, little one. I promise.”
“Will I go to live with you?” she wanted to know.
Feliks thought of the horror his life had just become in the last twenty-four hours. Yet there were so many good things as well. For the first time in his life he had something to live for. He cared whether he lived or died. There was a
Pyotr pulled a weapon from his desk. He leveled the barrel at Yuri and took aim. “Yuri, this is not what we agreed upon.”
“I find I don’t like what we agreed upon,” Yuri taunted. “So I’ve decided to change things to suit me. I hope you don’t mind.”
Yuri pivoted, dragging Annika with him. She moaned in pain as he wrenched her neck even farther. Her joints creaked in protest. A cold shot of dread slipped down her spine. This was not going to end well. It couldn’t.
“Let her go!” A shrill, female voice rang through the study.
The heavily accented voice could only belong to one person. Annika felt the tears begin when she saw Irina enter the room holding another weapon. Her hands shook, the barrel of the gun bouncing as she trembled with obvious fear.
“Come on, Irina.” Yuri’s voice was filled with loathing. “Although I suppose I cannot fault you for interfering. Whores always stick together. No?”
“I heard these men talking,” Irina said haltingly. “You killed my husband!”
“Vasily?” Yuri’s flippant disrespect for his vanquished opponent seemed to enrage Irina even further. “Yes. I killed that silly old bastard.”
“You will die for that!” Irina screamed.
Annika closed her eyes when Irina squeezed the trigger. Her position left her so close to Yuri as to be nothing more than a human shield. Either Irina was a crack shot, or Annika was going to be full of holes. The odds didn’t look so good for Annika.
The shot came, but there was no pain. Annika opened her eyes, confused. Then she saw Irina sinking slowly to the floor. There was a bullet hole in her forehead. Behind her, the wall of Pyotr’s study was covered in blood and brain matter.
Annika retched at the sight. The coppery scent of blood was overwhelming. She could hardly breathe, and yet Yuri was still dragging her toward the doorway. He was about to make his exit. This man who deserved to die so many times over.
“Yuri Orlov! I’m coming for you!” Feliks shouted.
Yuri threw one look over his shoulder. “Oh I’m counting on that. Come to my father’s home in an hour. There’s a council meeting, and you’re required to attend.”
Chapter Thirteen
Feliks couldn’t think straight. Not with Pyotr’s incessant weeping as the man cradled Irina’s lifeless body in his arms, and not with the fear he felt in his belly for Annika’s fate. Feliks had never experienced this sort of indecisiveness. His world was usually so ordered, completely cut and dried. There was a job. He developed a strategy to complete the job, and then he was done and on to the next thing.
“I am so sorry, my old friend,” Pyotr wailed. “Vasily! I promised to care for her and now she is dead. Dead!”
“Mama?” Oksana poked her little head into the room.
Pyotr struggled to turn his back in order to keep Oksana from seeing her mother in such a way. “Feliks! Get Oksana out of here. Please.”
Feliks stood and scooped the girl into his arms. She started to cry. He was helpless as to how he might soothe her. He could hardly imagine how to soothe himself.
“Uncle Feliks, why is Mama on the floor?” Oksana asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“She’s gone to be with your papa, little one,” Feliks said softly. “It will be okay.”
“But who will take care of me?”
Oksana sounded small and helpless, and Feliks realized that a child of her age had so little understanding of death that she might not truly realize what had happened. The thought made him incomparably sad.
He stroked Oksana’s blonde head. “I will take care of you, little one. I promise.”
“Will I go to live with you?” she wanted to know.
Feliks thought of the horror his life had just become in the last twenty-four hours. Yet there were so many good things as well. For the first time in his life he had something to live for. He cared whether he lived or died. There was a
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