His to protect

False Alarm

Chapter 7:

My heart felt like a trapped bird beating itself to death against my ribs.

I dropped the fire poker, grabbed Adrian’s discarded gun from the kitchen counter. It was a heavy, cold automatic. And aimed it, shaking, at the gaping hole where the door had been. Splinters of wood lay scattered across the floor like confetti.

A silhouette filled the space, tall and menacing, obscured by the dim light of the cabin.

I squeezed the trigger.

The recoil was brutal, slamming my wrist back. The bullet missed, hitting the stone of the fireplace with a TINK.

The silhouette froze.

"Ella! What the hell are you doing?"

The voice was rough, familiar. It wasn’t Mikhail.

A second figure moved quickly past the doorway and into the light. My knees almost gave out.

It was Adrian. And with him was a man with a thick neck and a permanent scowl. The driver from the warehouse, who had identified himself as a "friend."

“Viktor, get the door, now!” Adrian barked, moving toward me with a dangerous limp.

Viktor, the gruff driver, didn't hesitate. He grabbed the ruined door, shoved it back into the frame, and wedged a chair under the handle, all while scanning the woods through the gaps.

Adrian reached me, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and relief. He snatched the gun from my hand.

“Did you just shoot at me?” he demanded, his voice low and furious.

“You kicked in the door!” I hissed back, my voice trembling. “You told me they were coming! What was I supposed to do?”

“I told you to run! I didn't tell you to turn this place into a fortress and start shooting friendlies!” He glanced at Viktor, who was already securing the perimeter. “Did you see anyone?”

“Empty,” Viktor reported, his voice like gravel. “Just our tire tracks in the mud. Someone followed us. Saw the cabin, probably called it in. Heard you guys and spooked.”

Adrian turned back to me, the anger slowly draining, replaced by exhaustion and concern. He looked at my shoulder, still bruised from the fall from the fire escape.

“Who was it?” I asked, finally finding my voice.

“The crew you saved me from,” Adrian sighed. “My father’s clean up squad. They figured I’d come looking for you. They’ve been trailing us since the warehouse.”

“And you just let them follow you here?”

“We used them,” Adrian admitted, a grim look crossing his face. “We had to see who was still loyal to Konstantin. They were the bait to draw out the real problem.”

He took a slow, painful breath, sinking onto the nearest wooden chair. “Mikhail isn’t the only one hunting me. The betrayal runs deeper.”

“Deeper than your own father?” I asked, the sheer insanity of the Volkov family drama overwhelming me.

“Yes. We know who the rat is now. The person who set up the alley ambush and the warehouse trap.” He locked eyes with me. “It’s Alexei.”

Alexei. The name of the man listed in the VOLKOV: THE CORPORATION file as the organization’s chief financial analyst. The numbers guy.

“He fed the entire plan to Mikhail,” Adrian confirmed, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “He sold us out.”

Before I could process the latest layer of treachery, the old, rotary landline on the wall rang. In the silence of the cabin, the sound was an abrasive, terrifying intrusion.

Adrian looked at Viktor. Viktor looked back, shaking his head slowly.

“No one has this number,” Viktor muttered.

Adrian rose slowly, his hand instinctively going to the small of his back where the gun now rested.

Ring. Ring.

“It’s a landline, Adrian. They could be anywhere,” I whispered.

Adrian ignored me. He walked to the phone, hesitated, and then lifted the receiver.

“Volkov,” he said, his voice clipped and dangerous.

I watched his face. It went from cold fury to something entirely different. A flash of pure, gut wrenching dread.

“Where is she?” he demanded. “Konstantin, if you touched her…” He listened, his eyes closing briefly. He looked like he’d aged ten years in ten seconds.

He slammed the phone down.

“Who was it?” I asked immediately.

“Konstantin,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “He didn’t follow us here. He’s not interested in me right now.”

“Then what does he want?”

Adrian’s eyes found mine. “Nadia.”

Nadia. Jenna’s name flashed in my mind, but Nadia was the name of Adrian’s female crew member, listed in the files as his chief intelligence officer. The one I hadn't met yet.

“Nadia was planning to meet us here. A rendezvous point,” Adrian explained, running a hand through his dark hair. “He intercepted her. He has her.”

He walked to the window, staring out into the dark woods.

“Konstantin wants to trade,” he said, his back still to me. “He wants you.”

“Me?”

“He knows you’re my weakness. He wants to trade Nadia for you. He says if I don’t bring you to the old docks by midnight…”

The landline shrieked again, demanding attention.

Adrian didn’t move. Viktor did. He grabbed the phone and answered.

“Hello?” he growled into the receiver. He held the phone out to Adrian, his face pale. “It’s not Konstantin. It’s a man named Dmitri. He’s with Nadia. He says he patched the line through. He says Konstantin has a message.”

Adrian took the phone.

A new voice, smooth, calm, and utterly chilling, spoke through the line.

“Twelve hours, Adrian. That’s all you get. Come alone, and bring the nurse, or I start cutting pieces off your friend. Starting with her fingers.”

Then, clear as a bell, I heard a ragged, muffled scream. It was a woman’s voice, raw with terror.

Konstantin’s voice: “Twelve hours. Come alone or I start cutting pieces off your friend. Starting with her fingers.” Nadia screams