Grigory doesn’t look anywhere near as calm as Boris does. He’s shaking in his shoes, in his fingertips, in his blue-tinged lips and the bloodshot whites of his eyes.
“Grigory, do me a favor and pass our guests here those handcuffs on the table?” Boris requests pleasantly. “They’re going to cuff themselves to the radiator like good little boys.”
Swallowing hard, Grigory picks up three sets of handcuffs, drops one in the process, picks it up again, and approaches the three of us gingerly. He stops several feet away as though we’re rabid dogs on loose leashes.
At this point, that’s exactly what I feel like.
Boris chuckles. “I think Grigory might feel a little more comfortable if you three drop your guns.” When none of us listen, he presses the gun hard against Alyssa’s temple causing her to whimper loudly. “Now.”
I don’t hesitate. I pop out the clip and drop my gun to the ground. I glance behind at Nikolai and Dimiv, who haven’t moved. “Do it.”
They follow suit without question and Grigory, obviously terrified to come any closer, tosses me the first set of handcuffs. I chain myself to the radiator and then Nikolai and Dimiv are forced to do the same.
“There we go. What good boys you are,” Boris snarls with a satisfied smirk on his face.
“Enjoy this while you can,” I hiss. “It’s not going to last long. I’m gonna get out of these cuffs and when I do, nothing you touch will be safe. Especially not that boy you smuggled out of Moscow with his mother.”
Boris shrugs. “My son and his mother are safe. They’re hidden somewhere you’ll never be able to find them. That’s the difference between us, Uri: I protect the things that are of value to me.”
Considering Alyssa is lying in pain in the basement cellar of one of Boris’s holdings for the second time in the last six months, I can’t exactly argue with him. I have failed to protect my family.
But that changes now.
I don’t know how exactly it’s going to happen, but I know from the tips of my fingers all the way down to the marrow of my bones that Boris is not walking out of here alive.
Alyssa moans suddenly, her back arching as though she’s going into shock. I try to move forward but the cuffs hold me back.
“She’s in pain,” I growl. “Do something!”
“Oh, I’m planning to.” Boris smiles. “But it’s probably not what you’re hoping for.” Then he glances towards Grigory, who looks like he’s close to pissing his scrubs. “Get your ass over here and tell me what’s taking so long. I thought you induced her?”
Grigory shoots me a furtive glance before turning to Alyssa’s bed. “I did… but she’s too weak to push out the babies. And they’re too small for a natural delivery.”
Boris shrugs and pulls out a large blade with a gilded hilt. “Guess I’ll just have to cut them out of her stomach.”
Is this what it feels like to go mad? Because I feel as though my sanity is holding on by a fraying string right now. If he brings that blade any closer to her, there’s no telling what will happen.
“I swear to God, Boris, if you—”
BANG!
The gunshot comes out of nowhere. For a second, I actually believe that Boris has shot Alyssa in the head. Then the gun falls uselessly out of his hand as blood gushes from his arm.
“What the fuck…？” Sobakin gasps, looking down at his injured hand in pure disbelief.
Dominik rushes into the room with a combination of my men and his. Boris takes one look at Dominik and tries to make a grab for his gun. But he doesn’t reach it in time.
Grigory does.
Despite his pale face and his constant shivering, the man moves pretty fast for a traitorous coward. He’s only a foot from Boris as he raises the gun.
“Give it the fuck here!” Boris snarls. “Give it to—”
BANG!
He did it. Grigory actually pulled the trigger.
Boris flops to his back on the floor, his eyes wide with shock as blood blooms across his chest in ugly spurts. Dominik charges Grigory, taking him out with a punch to the face and ripping the gun out of his hands. Meanwhile, my men release the three of us from our cuffs.
The moment I’m free, I rush to Alyssa. Her eyes are fluttering half-open but there’s no light in them, no awareness.
“Alyssa,” I say desperately, grabbing her hand. She’s so sweaty it almost slips right out of my grip. “Alyssa, can you hear me?”
She doesn’t answer apart from a low moan rippling with pain.