Betrayed (Undercover #3) (11 page)

Vasiliy gave a snarl and charged forward.

Olaf raised his gun quite nonchalantly and fired. Vasiliy staggered back and fell, a red stain spreading across his shirt.

I screamed and Luka yelled in rage. Olaf ignored both of us. “Take them through there,” he said, motioning with his gun towards the nearest bedroom. One of the armed thugs dragged a groaning Vasiliy while the other two herded us towards the bedroom door.

It was the same bedroom Luka and I had used earlier. They dumped Vasiliy against the foot of the bed. His face was already deathly pale, the blood spreading steadily across his snow-white shirt. Luka’s fists were bunching and unbunching—he was going to go for Olaf and, when he did, I knew he’d be killed. I was beginning to see that this was Olaf’s way, to taunt his victims into a rage and then finish them.

Olaf’s eyes lit up as he noticed the rumpled bed...and then something else. “Oh! I see what sort of games you’ve been playing, Luka!”

I looked behind us and my chest went cold. We’d left the handcuffs on the bed.

Olaf stepped close to me and stroked my cheek. “You must have enjoyed being tied up in the warehouse. Were you sorry when you were rescued?”

I glared at him. I wanted to scream at him, tell him how he couldn’t be more wrong. How Luka was the polar opposite of him and his men.

“Don’t worry,” said Olaf. “When we’re done with these two, I know just where I’m going to take you. You’ve been there before, when your boyfriend beat up my son. You’ll be a very popular attraction.”

I spat right in his face. He stepped back, staring at me in disbelief. Then there was a flash of chrome and my head snapped back. It felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. I staggered sideways into one of the gunmen, tasting blood. I groggily realized I’d just been smacked across the face with a gun. But it had been worth it, just to break the arrogant bastard’s cool.

And it had an unexpected bonus. With everyone looking at me, Luka had a second to launch himself at Olaf, knocking him to the floor. Yuri knocked the heads of two of the thugs together and they crumpled to the floor. That only left the one I’d stumbled into, and he was still off balance. Vasiliy kicked out his legs and sent him crashing down.

We were free—but in a few seconds, they’d all get to their feet and we’d be dead. And we were still trapped—God knows how many armed men were downstairs.

“My room,” snapped Vasiliy as Yuri hauled him to his feet. “Quick!”

Luka punched Olaf once in the face. He looked as if he’d gladly carry on all through the night, but he obeyed his dad and grabbed my hand, picking up one of the gunmen’s handguns at the same time. The four of us staggered out of the room and across the landing, then through another bedroom door. As soon as we were inside, Vasiliy threw himself against the door, slamming it shut and sliding thick bolts across. A half-second later, the first of the gunmen slammed his fist against the other side.

My eyes scanned the room. There was one door, half-open, leading to a bathroom and no other way out. Why had Vasiliy brought us in here? To buy time? The men outside pounded and kicked at the door. They’d be through in seconds.

Vasiliy clutched at his chest, the red stain on his shirt spreading rapidly. He nodded Luka towards the ornate, cast-iron fireplace. Luka crouched, gripped both edges of it...and hauled the entire thing away from the wall.

It hadn’t been fixed there, just rested there under its enormous weight. Behind it was an opening to the chimney...and the rungs of a ladder.

I looked at Vasiliy.

“Is not first time people try to kill me at home,” he said in English, the pain making him pant it out. He waved Yuri to the ladder and the bodyguard started to descend. Then Vasiliy himself. He touched his bloody chest by way of explanation. “If I fall, I won’t take you with me.”

I went next, followed by Luka. The rungs were iron, bolted into the wall and coated with a thick layer of dust. Far below, I could hear water.

We climbed quickly but as quietly as we could. We knew there were still gunmen waiting downstairs and, if they heard some noise from behind the walls, they’d know where we were. But there were also the men trying to break into Vasiliy’s room, above us. All they had to do was reach the fireplace and fire down into the hole—we’d be fish in a barrel.

At last, I reached the bottom and splashed down into freezing, knee-deep water. We were in a tunnel with a curving roof, scarcely big enough for me to stand up in. The men had to crouch-walk. “Is old sewer,” said Luka in my ear. “Don’t worry—not used anymore.”

We could hear voices above us—were they into Vasiliy’s room? We stumbled down the sewer towards blinding whiteness….

...and emerged into crisp daylight. The snow had stopped and we were crunching our way out of a small opening set into a muddy bank by the side of the road. The dash across the landing and the climb had taken its toll on Vasiliy. He was stumbling now, his face deathly pale.

Across the street was a car—an ancient Soviet-era thing. Yuri reached underneath and found a hidden key, then helped Vasiliy into the passenger seat.

Vasiliy read my amazed expression. “Is so that no one steals it,” he told me, nodding at the rust and peeling paintwork. “Is BMW underneath.” Then he reached out and clutched Luka’s hand. “We have to split up. Take her out of Moscow,” he said. “Out of Russia, if you can.”

Luka gripped his dad’s hand hard. “I’m not leaving you to die.”

Vasiliy looked offended by the idea. “I’m not going to,” he said. “Yuri will get me fixed up. But I’m out of the fight.” He clapped his son on the shoulder and glanced at me. “
You
are the Malakovs, now.”

And they sped off, the car’s engine roaring like a showroom model.

Luka pulled me in the opposite direction, towards a tram station. There was a tram just pulling in. “Don’t turn around,” he told me.

In seconds, we were mixing with the crowd. I could hear shouts behind us as the gunmen emerged from the tunnel and started to hunt for us. The tram was crowded and, for a few horrible seconds, I thought we were going to be left behind on the platform, easily visible.

But then Luka reached in and just scooped out a couple of paying passengers, quieting their protests with a glare, and the doors closed and we moved off. I had a glimpse of one of Ralavich’s men kicking the tram sign in rage and then we were speeding into the heart of Moscow.

***

We transferred to the metro and got on one of the main lines racing along deep beneath the city streets. Our plan was to go straight through Moscow and out the other side, then keep going. On board the quiet, gently rocking train, everything just...stopped.

I flopped down onto a seat, resting against Luka’s side. The headlong rush from the house had been sheer adrenaline. Now it was seeping away and I just felt utterly drained. The stark reality of our situation started to sink in. Vasiliy was dying, possibly dead. Olaf Ralavich, backed up by Adam’s CIA influence, was seizing control, starting with Vasiliy’s house and finishing with the Malakov’s gun business.

I looked across at Luka. In the space of a few hours, he’d been transformed from the crown prince of a criminal empire to a man on the run. And, thanks to me, he was facing enemies he’d never had before—not just a rival gang but the entire might of the state. With Adam nudging them, the government would pull out all the stops to catch the two of us. Luka was a major criminal, after all. He’d just been ignored by them for all these years because he’d paid off the right people. Now, it was open season.

I pressed harder into Luka’s solid, reassuring body, winding my arms around him. The exhaustion and the fear, the hopelessness of our situation—it all weighed me down like heavy chunks of ice, pushing me beneath the dark water.

Luka’s hand stroked comfortingly through my hair...and I slept.

***

I had happy, brightly-colored dreams of Luka and me together somewhere—New York, maybe. We did all the things couples are supposed to do: running through parks, rolling over and over each other in the grass. Birthday parties. Roller coasters. But the dreams kept being invaded by men with guns.

I woke, but I didn’t open my eyes immediately. I didn’t want to face up to the reality of what was happening. The dreams only made it worse—they were a world I’d left behind when I’d joined this new society based on violence and fear, honor and respect. People like Luka—people like
us—
didn’t get to have lives like that.

Luka nudged me in the ribs. “Trouble,” he whispered in my ear.

I opened my eyes and sat up and he shook out the stiffness in his arm—he’d been holding me cuddled into his side, my head on his shoulder, for an hour or more. He was staring through the window as we pulled into a station. Police officers were waiting for the train, watching who got off.

“This is the edge of the city,” Luka whispered. “Adam must have them looking for us. We can’t get out of Moscow. We’re trapped.”

We took the metro back into the city and went up into the streets. With the stations and presumably the roads out of the city under surveillance, we’d have to hole up in the center while we figured out what we were going to do. But, as soon as we got above ground, Luka swore under his breath and nodded ahead of us. One of Ralavich’s men, marching determinedly towards us. We turned and there was another one behind and more getting out of a car across the street. Between them and the police, they had the whole city locked down.

Luka pulled me towards the street. I didn’t know what he had in mind until he pulled open the door of a man’s car and pointed his gun at him. The man scuttled out, hands over his head, and Luka pushed me into the driver’s seat.

I stared at the steering wheel in horror. I hadn’t driven since the crash. Luka flung himself into the passenger seat. “I can’t,” I told him. It was night. Snow was falling. I was going to have a full-on flashback. Just being in a car might not be enough to trigger it, anymore, but this combination of stress and fear sure as hell would. And if I had a flashback at the wheel, we could both be killed.

Luka grabbed my head between his hands. “You have to,” he said, waving the gun. “I have to shoot.”

My eyes bugged out.
Shoot?! Shit! Shit shit shit shit—

My whole body was stiff with tension. I clumsily put the car into gear, then tentatively pressed the gas. We shot forward and smashed into the car in front. Luka swore.

“I told you!” I snapped. Ralavich’s men were running towards us, now.

An irate driver climbed out of the car ahead of us. Luka pointed the gun at him and he climbed back in.

There was a bang and a crash of shattering glass. Bits of the rear window were in my hair.

“Arianna!” Luka’s voice was commanding and calm despite the chaos. “We have to go!
Now!
”

I hauled on the wheel and pulled out into traffic, drawing honks and shouts. I prayed and floored the gas. We screamed forward, pinballing off parked cars but pulling away from the car behind us. For a moment, I thought it was going to be okay. Maybe I really was healed.

Then a corner came up, way too fast, and we slipped and skidded on the hard-packed snow. The past rushed up to meet me, the horrible feeling of the wheels leaving the ground.

I could feel the memories rushing up to engulf me, bright and sharp as the day of the crash. The feel of the seat under me. The creak and crunch of tortured metal. I squeezed my eyes closed but it was too late. I was with my parents, the car skidding towards the cliff—

“Arianna!” It was Luka. “Stay with me!”

I focused on his voice, on the exquisite, perfect
solidness
of him, my anchor in the here and now. I opened my eyes and I was out of the flashback and back in Moscow.

I hauled on the wheel and managed to get us round the corner, though we clipped a parked truck. Luka gripped my arm hard, keeping me in the present. He was firing out of the window with the other hand.

I sped through the twisting streets. There were several loud gunshots, but all I could do was stare at the road ahead, go as fast as I could and pray a bullet didn’t hit me in the back of the head. After a few more corners, the sound of the car chasing us seemed to fade.