Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine (Russian Mob Chronicles Book 2)
Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine: Chapter 18

After accepting my boarding pass from a smiling flight attendant, I make my way down the gangway. I don’t bother waiting for Roman, my desire to cry in private misplacing my manners. I have no clue what the hell is happening. The greatest week of my life was destroyed in thirty seconds. I lost my job, my relationship, and my residential status in the blink of an eye.

Last night was. . . God. Finding a word adequate to describe it is impossible. Nikolai was wonderful. He took me to the brink of ecstasy so many times I lost count, but it wasn’t done in a crazy-lust filled romp type of way. It had meaning, like we were finally unifying as one. Then a sunrise unraveled everything.

A new day.

A new beginning.

An ending I never saw coming.

After handing my ticket to a pretty blonde flight attendant standing near a bar at the front of the plane, I scuttle to my seat a few places down. I want to say I was surprised when Roman handed me a business class ticket, but that would be a lie. Nikolai is anything but stingy.

Dumping my handbag onto my seat, I move to the closest restroom. I’m hoping some cold water will hide the angry red streaks lining my cheeks. I’ve been eyeballed enough the past hour while waiting to board, I do not desire any more curious gawking on my five-hour flight home.

Latching the bathroom door closed, I spin around to peer into the mirror. The heavy crevice between my eyes deepens. I look as terrible as I feel. I’m not just upset because I’ve been forced home against my wishes; I’m devastated for striking Nikolai for the second time in under a week. I didn’t mean to slap him. With my emotions still high from my argument with Mr. Fletcher, and my brain on the fritz from a night of strenuous activities, my hand swung out before I could stop it.

My slap was nothing more than a fairy tap, but the pain it caused to Nikolai’s eyes will forever maim my heart. I’m beginning to wonder if it was why he didn’t respond to my taunt about him being as cowardly as Dimitri?

My grumbled comment was another stupid thing said before stopping to consider the consequences of my actions. My intention wasn’t to hurt Nikolai; I was just desperate to force the world-dominating Nikolai from the shadow swallowing him whole. I came close. He tussled with Roman, but at the end of the day, I still failed. My devastation wasn’t incentive enough to bring him out of the blackness. He was too far gone to see sense.

After splashing cold water on my face and using the facilities, I exit the washroom. My steps are sluggish, but not as heavy as they were when I entered the plane nearly fifteen minutes ago. If I stop thinking with my heart for just a second and listen to my brain, I can see logic in Nikolai’s decision to send me home. He promised to keep me safe, and he is doing everything in his power to do that. I can’t judge him for that, can I?

I want to stand by his side, but if I am as distracting to him as he is to me, perhaps me being in Vegas is more of a hindrance than a help. I’m not sure what good my presence would be anyway. I don’t know how to fire a gun—I haven’t even held one—and, in all honesty, I don’t want to.

One of the reasons I’ve grown to love being a defense attorney so much is because it is one fight that doesn’t require a weapon. The grit Mr. Fletcher puts into every case he counsels is mind-blowing. His battles are worthy of the record books. That’s why I was so stunned he left Nikolai defenseless like he did.

Greed is a horrible thing, but I had no clue it made courageous men cowards. If I hadn’t seen the evidence firsthand, I would have never believed Mr. Fletcher was capable of such a heinous act. And the fact Nikolai was a minor when it occurred makes the matter ten times worse.

With my heart in tatters, I increase the length of my strides down the surprisingly empty aisle. Only minutes remain before the plane is scheduled for takeoff, but it is plenty of time for me to apologize to Nikolai for the terrible things I said.

I’m angry he took away my right to make my own choices, but I’m not angry enough to let him think I hate him for a second more than he already has. He isn’t a coward. He is the bravest man I’ve ever met.

“Roman, can I please borrow your phone?” I ask, stopping to stand next to Roman’s cubicle, which is positioned across from mine.

With my cell phone battery depleted updating my parents on my unexpected return home, I don’t have any other means of contacting Nikolai.

“Roman?” I ask again when he fails to acknowledge my presence, much less my request.

When he neglects to respond for a second time, my stomach gurgles, warning of impending danger. My brief encounters with Roman this week have revealed he isn’t an overly talkative man, but his silence is fueling my panic.

“Roman.” I shake his shoulder, praying he’s just dozing. “Are you okay?”

Snubbing the sick unease spreading through me like a wildfire, I crouch down in front of Roman and lift his dangling head. Air vacates my lungs in a brutal grunt when a pool of blood slides down his left temple before slithering around my hand. I can’t see what has caused his injury, but the blood is coming from the top of his skull.

I stumble back, startled. I can’t stand the sight of blood as it is, let alone when it is coming from someone I know.

Fighting through the bile racing up my throat, I press my fingers against Roman’s neck to check for a pulse. A dash of relief overrides some of my panic when the faintest flutter is felt beneath my fingertips.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I stammer out, my eyes drifting to the flight attendant who guided me to my seat earlier. “My friend is injured. He’s. . . ah. . . hurt.”

My words are choppy from the worry clutching my throat. If Roman were just unresponsive, I wouldn’t be as spooked, but the fact he’s clearly been assaulted has my fright escalating to a point I can’t contain.

The sheer terror depriving my lungs of oxygen grows when the flight attendant raises her chin high enough I can see her face. She isn’t the same woman who greeted me earlier. She is Malvina, Nikolai’s ex-fiancée.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, standing from my crouched position, my entire body quivering.

When Malvina advances toward me, I shoot my eyes in all directions, praying my full gaze and whitening face will alert other passengers to my distress. My prayers fall on deaf ears when my quick scan of the cabin fails to locate another presence. The entire business class section of the plane is empty.

My attention reverts to Malvina when she hisses, “Nikolai isn’t the only one taking back what’s rightfully his.” The hatred in her eyes triples as she fans open her lightweight coat, revealing she has a small pistol strapped around her thigh. “So am I.”

I peer at her, oblivious as to what her statement refers. As far as she and anyone in her entity are aware, I am part of Nikolai’s defensive team, nothing more.

Malvina doesn’t buy my act. The snarl on her top lip grows as her eyes narrow into tiny slits. “Don’t treat me like an idiot. I saw the way Nikolai looked at you. He has never looked at me like that, not even when I had his dick between my lips.”

My stomach lurches into my throat, sickened by the scorn in her voice.

“You were supposed to get him off his charges, not get him off.” Her face grows redder with every syllable fired off her tongue.

“I did. I got him off his charges. That’s all I did,” I reply, hopeful she doesn’t know me well enough to hear the deceit in my voice.

Snarling so profoundly, her top lip becomes riddled with wrinkles, Malvina snags an outdated recording device from the pocket of her jacket and throws it in my direction. I barely manage to grab it before it falls to the floor, my shuddering hands impeding my catching skills.

“Press play,” Malvina demands, her tone so low it makes my exposed toes shudder.

I lick my parched lips before doing as instructed. My pupils widen to the size of saucers when a recording of my ecstasy-riddled voice breaks through the silence teeming between us.

My fingers fumble wildly over the device, seeking the stop button when Nikolai’s throaty groan for me to repeat my pledge of being his rolls out of the speakers.

“That isn’t you?” Malvina asks, her tone revealing she already knows the answer to her question. “I’m yours, Nikolai. Yours. Yours. Yours.” The fury on her face doubles as she mocks me.

She takes a step closer to me, her anger so white-hot, sweat beads at my temples. “Four years I invested in him, all to have some little tramp steal him away before I reap the benefits of my effort.”

She rakes her eyes down my body, lowering my confidence with every grimaced expression she makes, but I don’t back down. I roll my shoulders and stand tall, spurred on by the desire to protect what is mine. Malvina spoke of Nikolai as if he is a possession, not a person, proving what I suspected. She doesn’t love him. She was just using him like so many others in his life already have.

“If you had treated Nikolai like the man he is, he wouldn’t have looked elsewhere.” I don’t usually condone cheating, but this is an entirely different kettle of fish. “Your loss is my gain.”

Malvina’s anger twists from her gut to her face. ‘Our wedding is merely delayed, not canceled.’

“That’s not true,” I reply with a shake of my head, my tone remarkably strong for how intense my heart is hammering. “I’m sorry if our actions hurt you, Malvina, but you need to accept Nikolai’s decision with the grace of a lady. He doesn’t want you. You are not who he wants.”

“And you are?” Malvina huffs, faking amusement. “I would handle the postponement of our wedding with dignity if he had chosen a better whore.’ Her mocking tone dents my ego, but my dedication to protecting Nikolai remains firm. ‘But to have something I’ve been working on for years snatched out from underneath me by a marked-up mangy mutt. . .’ She stops talking, allowing her growl to finalize her sentence.

“I won’t stand for this!” Her nostrils flare as her eyes widen in a terrifying way. “My father won’t stand for this! You disgraced me, and now you will pay the penance for your stupidity.” She hisses her words with so much violence, steam billows from her ears.

“You disgraced yourself; don’t put that on me,” I mutter before I can leash my vicious tongue.

Malvina lunges for me, squealing like a wounded animal. I stumble backward, tripping over a sizeable black instrument I didn’t notice on the floor.

Thinking she has me at her mercy, a vindictive smirk etches onto Malvina’s mouth. ‘The Huntress being hunted, how fitting.’

Excitement blazes in her eyes, relishing my forced swallow. My frightened response can’t be helped. There is only one man who has referred to me as the Huntress. The devil himself—Vladimir.

Although scared, Malvina shouldn’t be so cocky. Only last week I took down a man double her size. She may have a gun, but there is no greater weapon than determination.

Remaining on the ground, I wait for her to be within reaching distance before kicking out my leg with violence. Malvina sucks in a mangled breath when my stiletto smashes into her knee before crashing into her crotch. The absolute agony hardening her features reveals it isn’t just men who are unappreciative of a hit to that region.

After sweeping her feet out from underneath her, I leap up from the ground and charge down the narrowed aisle.

“Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs, praying Malvina’s harsh tumble to the ground will keep her down long enough I can exit the plane without a bullet wound.

I’m halfway down the aisle when I suddenly freeze, startled by a gun being fired in warning. My stomach violently rolls, warning me of Malvina’s imminent arrival, but I’m void of a defense. No amount of grit can outrun a bullet.

My hands shoot up to save my hair from being wrenched from my scalp when Malvina fists it in a deathly clutch. She viciously yanks me back, sending horrid pain rocketing through my skull.

‘You’re lucky he wants you alive, or I’d kill you now,’ she snarls, her words breathless like she is in pain. ‘Although, for what he has planned for you, you’ll soon be wishing you were dead.’

Encouraged by the malice of her words and unwilling to go down without a fight, I drop one of my hands from my head to ram my elbow into Malvina’s chest. Upon hearing her winded grunt, I throw my head back with force, painfully crashing my skull into her unprotected nose.

Hair rips from my scalp when I restart my sprint. For how harshly my body is shaking, my strides are remarkably strong. I reach the space separating economy and business class in under two seconds.

Spotting the open plane door, I’m filled with gratitude.

My appreciation doesn’t last long.

I’ve barely crossed the threshold between the plane and the gangway when my brisk pace ends with a collision into a wall of hardness. Instinctively, my hands shoot up to cradle my nose as I struggle to breathe through the pain radiating across my face.

“Help. You need to help me,” I plead to my savior before peering over my shoulder to see if Malvina is approaching me. ‘There is a woman with a gun. . . She’s trying to kill me. . . She’s already hurt my friend. He’s injured. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he won’t wake up,’ I babble between breaths, my panic making me a blubbering, incoherent mess.

The efforts of my heaving lungs double when a broad Russian accent says, “Don’t worry, Ahren. I’ll keep you safe.” His thick, condescending tone doesn’t match his assurance.

Scarcely breathing, I raise my wide gaze to the man gripping my arms. The eyes of the devil stare back at me—as lifeless and hollow as ever.

“Vladimir. . .” I breathe out heavily before a strike to the back of my head forces me to succumb to blackness.