Nikolai: The Complete Collection

27. Justine

27

JUSTINE

B ile surges up my throat, adding to the burn in my esophagus when I lean over Vladimir’s corpse to grasp Nikolai’s knife in my hand.

After scouring Nikolai’s police records in great depth last weekend, I know firsthand his knife has been logged into evidence numerous times in the past five years, so it won’t take the authorities long to match him to the weapon used to kill Vladimir.

I’m not going to let that happen.

Just as Nikolai risked his life to save mine, I will risk mine to save his.

Even discovering Nikolai was sired by a man I hate hasn’t weakened my feelings for him. He just killed a man for me. How much more does he have to sacrifice to prove his devotion?

Nothing.

Not a single thing.

I am his for eternity, and he is mine.

I protect what is mine.

The chance of holding back the contents of my stomach is nearly lost when the last bit of air in Vladimir’s lungs releases as I pry Nikolai’s knife from his chest. The amount of blood seeping into his shirt makes determining his cause of death difficult, but with most of the blood pooling around the area Nikolai’s knife pierced, I would say a fatal knife wound to the heart will be cited on the coroner’s report.

Pretending the blood dripping from the blade of Nikolai’s knife is jam, I head back to him and his crew frozen in the hallway.

Nikolai gawks at me, the sparkle of awe in his eyes amplifying with every step I take.

“You can’t leave any evidence you were here,” I say, thrusting his knife toward him. Although my words are strong, my shuddering heart is evident in my tone.

The corners of Nikolai’s lips tug high as he accepts his knife from my grasp. He wipes the blade with his shirt, not the least bit worried he’s smearing the blood of the man who raised him onto his clothing.

After storing his knife in his back pocket, he cups my jaw, being extra careful not to graze the bruise throbbing on my left cheek. I realize I’m not the only one overwhelmed with emotions when I feel how shaky his hands are. He is as shattered as me.

He stares at me like he doesn’t have a dozen of his men waiting for him, ensuring I can’t miss the gratitude in his heavy-hooded gaze. Even with tension suppressing the air of oxygen, his stare makes me needy and hot.

“Come, Ангел . It’s time to take you home,” Nikolai murmurs, his deep timbre intensifying the heat on the back of my knees.

I nod, striving to ignore the feelings I shouldn’t be experiencing in a hallway that reeks of death. Smirking at my agreeing gesture, he curls his hand around mine, and we begin exiting.

My stomach rolls on multiple occasions when we dodge bullet casings strewn between numerous bloodied bodies. I don’t know how many men were killed tonight, but I do know one thing. This bloodbath was inevitable—whether I was in the picture or not.

Well, that’s what I plan to tell myself when guilt eventually steamrolls into me .

My mind strays from dangerous thoughts when the faintest hum trickles into my ears. I abruptly stop at the crest of an old stairwell and prick my ears.

“We need to go, Ангел ,” Nikolai advises when my brisk halt jerks my hand out of his.

Ignoring both his plea and the insanity of his men pouring gallons of gasoline over the wooden floors we’ve just walked, I listen for the noise again.

My suspicion is set aside for shock when I hear the faint cry of a woman over the sloshing of liquid. The swirling of my stomach escalates when a second plea joins the first, closely followed by another and another and another.

Shockwaves jolt through me .

The women! Oh my god, I forgot about the women.

The width of my pupils doubles when I swing my eyes back to Nikolai. “There are women trapped in rooms. We need to free them,” I say, pointing in the direction the murmured voices are coming from. I spin on my heels, my objective spurred on by massive amounts of adrenaline thickening my veins.

Nikolai grips my wrist, foiling my endeavor to return to the hallway we just left. “We don’t have time, Ангел. We have to go.”

“No,” I reply with a shake of my head. “I promised I’d help them. We can’t leave them here.”

“We don’t have time,” Nikolai replies, more firmly this time, his dangerous tone kick-starting both my heart and my libido.

“Then make time,” I reply, the plea in my voice unmissable. “I promised I’d help them. Please don’t make me break my promise.”

Tears glisten in my eyes, but I don’t do anything to discourage them. My heart is breaking for those women, so why shouldn’t my outside appearance match my insides?

Nikolai tries to shut it down, but I see the quickest flare of emotion blaze through his eyes when he spots the sorrow creeping across my face. I don’t want him to feel guilty. I simply want him to understand if he hadn’t saved me like I’m striving to save those women, I would have become one of them.

“Please, Nikolai,” I beg, incapable of ignoring the glint in his eyes that reveals he isn’t the man his police record portrays. A monster raised him, but he is not a monster. He knows right from wrong.

“ Ангел… ”

His tone indicates he doesn’t appreciate my continued arguing, but I don’t back down. The women trapped don’t deserve to be imprisoned by Vladimir any more than he did his entire childhood.

He is now free from the torment, so can’t they be as well?

I glance up at him with the same promise in my eyes I had when he carried me out of the room where he claimed a life just to keep me safe. I issue him silent pledge after silent pledge that his gallantry will be rewarded tenfold if he does this one last thing for me. He already owns my body, mind, and spirit, but if he does this, he will also own my heart.

“Please.” I give it one last shot.

Relief floods me when he nods for the briefest second. After muttering a Russian cuss word under his breath, he diverts his focus to a group of men surrounding him as they wait for further instructions.

Faster than I can blink, three members of his crew start clearing the first two corridors on our right, and Nikolai and I head for a third bank of rooms on our left.

“We have five minutes, Justine. Any longer than that, they’ll have to defend themselves.” His tone is a cross between the man who makes me swoon beneath the sheets and the one who makes my knees clang together when he is engulfed by darkness. One is as appealing as the other.

Nodding, I direct him toward the doors I know have women trapped behind them because they’re the ones I issued promises to during my daring escape.

The gasoline smell in the confined space is nauseating, but I press on. When we release them, the sheer relief on the ladies’ faces makes more adrenaline surge through my body than it can handle. I’m physically shaking, but the tremors racking my body have nothing to do with fear. I am excited and, in all honesty, turned on.

There must be something wrong with me. Hours of solitude in the dark, damp-smelling room must have wreaked havoc in my head. Otherwise, what plausible reason could I have for my disturbing response?

I should be scared—or at the very least mortified—but no matter how hard I try to ignore the sensation thrumming in my veins, there is no denying it. I am far from scared.

I’m excited.

Shutting down my inner monologue for a more appropriate time, I follow Nikolai to a door that hasn’t left my mind all night. The same frightened blue eye peers out of the keyhole, but she remains as silent as a mouse, fear rendering her speechless.

“Move away from the door,” I instruct her in Czech when Nikolai points his gun at the large padlock holding her hostage.

Nikolai waits for the keyhole to darken before he pops a bullet into the lock. He then kicks open the door, leaving it hanging by its hinges. Seeing his strength in the flesh adds to the frantic quiver of my pulse.

“Stay behind me, Justine,” he instructs before he enters the sooty-smelling space. My safety is always his utmost priority.

When I enter the room on his heel, I spot a very skinny and grubby young girl, who couldn’t be any older than nineteen, sitting in the corner of the room. Her arms are curled around her shuddering legs, and her face is buried between her knees.

“It’s okay. We won’t hurt you,” I assure her in Czech, cautiously approaching her.

“Not too close, Ангел ,” Nikolai warns, cautious about what her response may be.

Nodding so he’s aware I heard him, I slowly close the gap between the blonde and me. Although she remains huddled on the ground, the absolute terror blanketing her eyes dulls every second we share the same air. She knows we’re not here to hurt her. She’s just lost the ability to trust anyone.

“The devil is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.” I glance into her eyes, issuing my promise with the same guarantee Nikolai gave me.

Her hollow eyes bounce between mine for what feels like hours, but it is mere seconds before she accepts the hand I’m offering.

Tears prick my eyes when I feel how brittle her skin is. I don’t know how long she’s been trapped here, but if her sunken eyes and translucent skin are anything to go by, she’s been trapped in this room for weeks, if not months.

“ Děkuji ,” she praises on repeat, her thanks completely unnecessary but beautiful to hear.

She glances into Nikolai’s eyes without any hesitation crossing her face, proving today is the first time they’ve met. “ Děkuji. Děkuji mnohokrát,” she thanks him, her eyes brimming with tears.

The pure joy on her face when she gingerly walks into the corridor forces moisture to my eyes. Her steps down the rickety stairs are frail… until she spots an equally battered and wide-eyed female standing at the warehouse’s entrance.

Gasping loudly, she gallops down the last three steps before throwing her arms around the shoulders of a woman with undeniably similar features.

Curling his hand around mine, Nikolai directs me toward Trey near a bank of blacked-out SUVs at the front of the property. Although I want to learn the identity of every man who saved me, I can’t take my eyes off the women we rescued. Even with the threat of danger still prominent, they are all smiling, their happiness too immense to contain.

They’re not the only ones looking like lunatics.

I can’t stop grinning either— or shaking .

“Is this everyone?” Nikolai asks Trey, who I’d guess to be in his mid-twenties.

Trey ushers two frazzled women into the back of the SUV he is standing next to before nodding. “Yes. But we need to move quickly.” The ringing of sirens in the distance underscores his request. “Where do you want them taken?”

“Take them to Clarks, but no one is to move until I say so,” Nikolai instructs before he scans the dozen or so men surrounding us. “Where’s Rico?”

My eyes rocket to Nikolai. Shock is all over my face. He didn’t say Rico, did he? That’s the name of his brother—his deceased brother. Rico is a common name, but Nikolai’s tone dipped when he articulated it, indicating that Rico is more important to him than a standard member of his crew.

Smiling at my slack-jawed expression, Trey replies, “He’s getting our guest ready for transport.” His smile increases as he nudges his head to his right.

My heart kicks into a mad beat when I follow the direction of his gaze. Malvina is guided down the stairs by a handsome man with inky-black hair and defined facial features. Her hands are bound behind her back, and her mouth is covered with the same industrial-strength tape used to tether my hands together earlier today.

Even with Nikolai’s impressive body sheltering half her face, I can’t miss her eyes widening with every step she takes. She is panicked, and rightfully so. She should be.

The furious growl Nikolai releases while guiding me into the lead SUV reveals he’s aware Malvina’s role in my kidnapping was as big as his father’s. It also adds to the excitement caking my skin with sweat.

Just like with the women smiling in the middle of a war zone, the responses he elicits from my body could never be harnessed no matter how dire the conditions. Nothing could scare me away from Nikolai—not even witnessing him killing the man who raised him. He killed Vladimir to save me. I can’t judge him for that.

It’s the fight of my life to keep my backside glued to my seat when Malvina is shoved into the space across from me. The only reason I do is because the shriek of sirens grows louder with every second ticking by. We have mere minutes before this compound is inundated with police.

Once the dark-haired man with piercing brown eyes slides into the vacant seat next to Malvina, Nikolai signals for the driver to go. The tires of the SUV spin on the mud-slicked surface for several seconds before we rocket into the pitch-black night.

For every quarter of a mile we travel, the fainter the sound of police sirens becomes. I writhe uncontrollably in my seat, powerless to ignore the excitement lacing my veins, much less the heady smell of testosterone lingering in my nostrils. I thought I understood Nikolai’s world, but the thrill of it is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.

It’s like watching a horror movie right at the gory part. You know something terrible is about to happen, but no matter how often you beg your eyes to look away, they remain glued to the screen, fearful of missing a moment.

The events leading to us fleeing the scene of a crime were immoral and unjust, but I can’t act innocent. I knew what I was signing up for the instant I laid eyes on Nikolai. I was just unaware I’d be open to the violence I knew he was a part of.