Bound by Vengeance

Chapter 6

VICTOR'S POV

I walked out of that basement with Maya's story burning holes in my brain. Eleven years old. A thirteen-year-old girl with a lamp, fighting off someone twice her size. The image wouldn't leave me alone.

In my world, protection came with a price tag. You paid for loyalty with fear or money, and it lasted exactly as long as the payments did. But what Maya had described was something else entirely. Something I didn't have a name for.

I poured myself three fingers of whiskey in my study and stared out the window at the city lights. Tried to make sense of what she'd told me.

Sarah hadn't saved Maya because she wanted something. She'd done it because a kid was getting hurt and she couldn't stand by and watch. Then the system had destroyed her for it, labeled her dangerous, made sure she'd never find a real home again.

That kind of sacrifice didn't compute in my head. It was foreign territory.

The whiskey burned going down but it didn't help clear my thoughts. If anything, it made Maya's words echo louder in my skull. The way her voice had cracked when she talked about David. The fierce certainty when she'd said Sarah wasn't a killer.

I'd spent twenty years learning to read people. Knowing when they were lying, when they were hiding something, when they were about to break. Maya hadn't been lying. Every word of that story had been carved into her bones.

But that didn't make Sarah innocent of Randoff's murder.

My phone buzzed. A text from Kozlov: "Meeting moved up. Jersey. One hour."

I cursed and checked the time. The arms deal with the Russians couldn't wait, not when we were this close to finalizing the shipment. But leaving Maya felt wrong somehow. Like walking away from something important.

I went back downstairs to give my men their orders, but I stopped outside the basement door. Maya's voice was still ringing in my ears: "She chose to help me when she had nothing to gain and everything to lose. That's not a transaction. That's love."

Love. The word sat strange in my mouth. In Ivan's world, love was weakness. Something that got you killed or used against you. But the way Maya had said it...

I shook my head and opened the door. She looked up when I walked in, those dark eyes steady on mine. No fear, no pleading. Just quiet acceptance of whatever was coming next.

"I have to go to Jersey," I told her, keeping my voice cold and professional. "Business meeting that can't wait."

The guards I'd brought with me positioned themselves by the door while I adjusted my cufflinks. The routine motions helped center me, reminded me who I was supposed to be.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked.

"As long as it takes." I turned to my men. "Watch her. No one gets in or out without my permission. If anything happens while I'm gone, you answer to me personally."

"Yes, boss," they replied.

I started toward the door, then made the mistake of looking back at her one more time. She was watching me with something that might have been concern. Like she could sense the danger I was walking into.

"Maya."

"Yeah?"

"When I get back, we're going to finish this conversation."

I meant it as a threat, but it came out sounding more like a promise.

The drive to Jersey took forty-five minutes through traffic that made me want to put bullets in random strangers. I kept thinking about Maya's story, about Sarah with her broken wrist and cuts on her face. About a system that punished a thirteen-year-old for being brave.

The meeting was set up in a warehouse near the docks. Neutral territory, or supposed to be. Kozlov and his people were already there when I arrived with my crew. Five men each, just like we'd agreed.

But something felt off the moment we walked through those doors.

Kozlov was standing too rigid. His men were positioned wrong, too spread out for a friendly negotiation. And there were shadows moving in the rafters that shouldn't have been there.

"Victor," Kozlov greeted me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Right on time."

"Let's get this done," I said, every instinct I had screaming that this was wrong.

We moved toward the table where the sample weapons were laid out. Standard routine - we'd examine the merchandise, discuss terms, finalize payment. But Viper caught my eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Too many heartbeats. Too many people breathing in a space that was supposed to hold ten men.

The first shot came from above. One of my men - Marco - dropped before I could even process what was happening. Blood bloomed across his chest as he hit the concrete.

"Setup!" I shouted, diving behind a shipping container as gunfire erupted from every direction.

Kozlov's people had been planning this. The arms deal was just bait to get me isolated and outnumbered. They'd brought at least fifteen men to our five, positioned them throughout the warehouse like a spider's web.

Viper made it to cover beside me, returning fire with practiced precision. "Boss, we need to move. They've got us surrounded."

Two more of my men went down in the first sixty seconds. The sound of bullets hitting metal rang through the warehouse like deadly music.

I pulled my gun and tried to count muzzle flashes. Too many. Way too many.

"This way," I yelled to whoever was left, making a run for the side exit.

That's when the bullet caught me in the ribs.

The impact spun me around and sent me crashing into a wall of crates. Pain exploded through my chest like liquid fire. I could feel blood soaking through my shirt, warm and thick.

"Boss!" Viper appeared beside me, laying down covering fire while I tried to stay conscious.

"Get out of here," I gasped.

"Not without you."

The world was starting to tilt sideways but I forced myself to focus. We had maybe thirty seconds before they closed in for the kill.

Viper half-carried, half-dragged me toward the loading dock while bullets whined past our heads. My legs weren't working right and every breath felt like drowning in reverse.

Somehow we made it to the car. Somehow Viper got us out of that warehouse alive while I bled all over his leather seats.

"Hospital," he said, but I grabbed his arm.

"Home first. Need to secure... need to check..."

"Boss, you're bleeding out."

"Home," I repeated, and passed out before he could argue.

I came to in the back seat with Viper shaking my shoulder. We were in my driveway and my entire shirt was soaked red.

"Sir, we need to get you medical attention."

"Maya first," I mumbled. "Check on Maya."

But when we got inside, the house was empty. My men were gone. No guards at their posts, no one in the surveillance room. The security system had been disabled.

Panic cut through the blood loss haze. If someone had taken Maya while I was getting shot up in Jersey...

I stumbled down to the basement, leaving a trail of blood on the stairs. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through my ribs but I kept moving.

The door to her room was still locked.

I fumbled with my keys, hands shaking from blood loss, and finally got it open.

Maya was still there. Still tied to that chair, exactly where I'd left her. But her eyes went wide when she saw me.

"Jesus Christ, Victor. What happened to you?"

I leaned against the doorframe, trying to stay upright. Blood was dripping from my fingers onto the concrete floor.

"Ambush," I managed. "Jersey was a setup."

She was staring at the growing puddle of blood beneath me like she was calculating how much time I had left. Which, judging by how lightheaded I was getting, wasn't much.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

"Gone. Scattered. Don't know."

This was it, then. The moment where my luck finally ran out. I'd survived twenty years in Ivan's world only to bleed out in a basement while the only person who could help me was tied to a chair.

I looked at Maya and waited for her to start laughing. Or demanding her freedom in exchange for help. Or just sitting there and watching me die.

Instead, she said, "Untie me."

"What?"

"Untie my hands. I can help you."

I stared at her through the fog of pain. She could have lied, told me she'd help and then run the moment she was free. Instead, she was looking at my wounds with the focused intensity of someone who'd made a decision.

"You'll run," I said.

"Maybe. Or maybe I'll save your life because it's the right thing to do."

The words hit me harder than the bullet had. She was offering to help the man who'd kidn*pped her, interrogated her, threatened her. Not because she had to. Because she chose to.

Like Sarah choosing to grab that lamp.

Like loyalty that wasn't a transaction.

I reached for my knife with shaking hands and cut the tape binding her wrists. The moment she was free, Maya could have knocked me down and run. I was too weak to stop her.

Instead, she caught me as my legs gave out and helped me to the floor.

"This is really stupid," she muttered, but her hands were already working to stop the bleeding.

I closed my eyes and waited to find out if Maya's version of loyalty was real, or if this was where my story ended.