THE GATEKEEPER

"I slept here last night. I ran after you left last night." I make my face sullen and stubborn. "I'm not going back."

"No? What of your lover? You won't forgive him?"

I'm not much of an actress, but I draw on the genuine anger I felt last night. The shock and betrayal that had rocked me. "Never." But I fold my arms across my chest. "You told me I was working with the FBI."

"A little lie to ensure your cooperation," Stepanov says. "But I do have contacts there, and they are working on finding your nephew." Another lie, I'm sure.

"But we are leaving the country right now. If you wish to come with us, this is your only chance."

"But I told you, I don't have a passport."

"You don't need one. We travel on private aircraft."

I pretend to relax. "Good." Hopefully, Maykl heard that and knows where to go. I'm not sure I actually believe I will end up on that plane alive. Even if Stepanov's intentions are good, I don't plan on going back to Russia with them. I sweat through the remainder of the drive. No one makes conversation, which makes it even more tense.

Seventy minutes later we reach a private airstrip where crates are being loaded onto a plane.

Stepanov gets out without a word. I follow him.

A large man with an oversized forehead stands in front of the plane, and I draw in a surprised breath. "Leonid Kuznetsov." I say it out loud, so the Chicago bratva will hear. I recognize the head of the largest branch of the Moscow bratva. He glares at me. "Why is she here?"

"She cannot forgive her lover for what he's done. She's coming back to Russia with us." Stepanov puts a meaty hand on my nape and when his thumb slides up and down, my stomach turns. I remember how he made a play for me in the past.

I imagine he expects me to play nice with him now. Disgusting pig.

"She's your responsibility," Kuznets says.

"Of course." Stepanov maneuvers me toward the plane's entrance.

I start to panic. What if the guys don't get here in time? Do I just cut my losses and run? I have a weapon, but there's no way I can take down four men by myself. Besides, I'm not the one with a vendetta. I don't need these men dead.

I just needed to do this for Maykl. To prove my loyalty and clear my name with his brotherhood. So, I can be accepted into their circle.

"I have to use the restroom," I say, trying to avoid getting on the plane.

"Use the one in there." Stepanov jerks his thumb toward the cabin.

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Blyad'.

I climb the steps to get on the plane and find the tiny bathroom where I lock myself inside to formulate a plan.

Maykl

"Where's their location?" I shout, taking a turn at fifty miles an hour. "I lost the signal." I'm in my Ford Bronco with Adrian and Dima. Two other vehicles loaded with Chicago bratva soldiers hurtle behind us.

I'm doing my best to stay calm. To keep my head in the game. Because I have to find my girl before something terrible happens to her. I don't trust Stepanov not to kill her the moment he's in a place he can dispose a body. And out here in this sparsely populated industrial area, it would be very easy to dig a grave or bury someone in concrete.

"They must have a signal jammer," Dima grumbles, swiping across his iPad. "I've got nothing. I lost all GPS information."

Adrian points across me. "I see a runway. Must be a private airstrip over there."

I slam on the brakes, causing Oleg to swerve to the right behind me to avoid a collision.

Spinning the steering wheel, I adjust my direction and peel out to the left, in the direction Adrian pointed, then I step on the gas. I get the Ford Bronco up to 90 mph, only slowing when Adrian points to the right.

I swing around a curve, and we zoom in to an industrial warehouse area where there's a hangar. A small plane stands on a runway. Around it men move quickly, packing crates into the cargo area.

When one of them draws a gun and fires at us, I know we found the right place. I throw the car into park as all three of us duck our heads to avoid being shot. We tumble out the doors crouched, guns drawn. I fire around my door and take out two men.

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The other two vehicles slam into formation around us, forming a barricade of sorts. The cars are all bulletproof.

Gunfire rains from both sides. Bodies drop. None from our side.

I'm scanning the area for Kira, terrified she'll get caught in the fire. Of course, she knows how to handle herself. She would know to stay down. Or, use her own weapon, if it wasn't taken from her.

I don't wait for the gunfire to stop. I run, away from the safety of the vehicles, toward the airplane. I'm praying the whole time I will find Kira inside. Alive. Gospodi, please let her be alive.

"Kuznets is mine," I hear Ravil growl. He must have sighted him.

I still don't see Kira anywhere. I dash behind a crate to crouch, then run for the stairs to the airplane just as a shot is fired inside.

Fuck, no. Kira!

But, of course, my little warrior is not playing the victim. Her gun is held expertly in both hands, arms straight out, a look of determination blazing in those sky-blue eyes. At her feet lies Stepanov, a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead. "Kira!" I hold out my hand to help her step over her boss' body.

"Are they-"

I stop to listen. There's no gunfire. In my comms, Ravil is barking orders like we've won the battle.

"It's over," I confirm, pulling her roughly into my arms.