Chapter 134 Nikolai
The farmhouse became our war room.
For three days we planned, argued, and prepared. Gregor mapped out Volkov's estate. Dmitri tracked his security rotations. The others gathered weapons and ammunition from old hiding spots across the city.
"We hit him at night," Gregor said, pointing at the blueprints spread across the table. His scarred finger traced the perimeter fence. "His guards change shifts at two in the morning. That gives us a fifteen minute window where the east side is undermanned."
"Fifteen minutes is not enough," Dmitri argued. "We need at least thirty to get in and out."
"Fifteen minutes has to be enough," I said. My voice was quiet but everyone heard it. The room went silent. "We go in fast and hard. Find Anya and get out. We are not there to kill Volkov. We are there to take back what is mine."
The men nodded but I saw the doubt in their eyes. They wanted blood. They wanted to burn Volkov's world to the ground. So did I. But Anya came first.
Gregor handed me a photograph of the estate. Aerial shot taken by a drone. "Volkov keeps his wife in the main house, third floor, east wing. Heavy security on all stairwells and elevators. The only way in is through the service stairs at the back."
"How many guards inside?"
"At least twenty. Maybe more. Volkov has been paranoid lately. He knows someone is coming for him."
"Good," I said. "Let him be afraid."
The night of the attack arrived cold and dark. No moon. No stars. Perfect for what we planned.
We drove to Volkov's estate in three black cars. Twenty men armed to the teeth. I sat in the front with Gregor, my heart pounding against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through. My hands were steady on my rifle but my mind was racing.
"Remember," I said over the radio. "Find Anya first. Volkov second. Do not engage unless necessary. We are ghosts tonight. In and out."
"We hear you, boss," Dmitri replied from the car behind us.
We cut through the chain link fence at the edge of the property. The wire snarled and snapped under the bolt cutters. We moved through the trees like ghosts, silent and deadly. The main house loomed ahead, three stories of stone and glass, lights burning in the windows like angry eyes.
I signaled for the men to spread out. Gregor took half to the east side. Dmitri took the other half to the west. I took three men straight up the middle toward the service entrance.
We made it to the back door without incident. Too easy. My gut told me something was wrong but I ignored it. Anya was inside. Nothing else mattered.
I picked the lock in thirty seconds. The door swung open into a dark corridor that smelled of bleach and old blood. We stepped inside.
Then everything went wrong.
Spotlights flooded the grounds outside. The windows exploded with gunfire from every direction. Men screamed and fell. Bullets tore through the walls around us.
"Ambush! Ambush!" Gregor shouted over the radio. "They knew we were coming! Pull back! Pull back!"
I dropped to the floor and crawled to the window. The yard was lit up like daylight. My men were being cut down from all sides. I saw Dmitri take a bullet in the chest. He fell to his knees, raised his gun, and kept firing even as more bullets tore through him. He died on his feet like a soldier.
Rage flooded through me. I raised my rifle and started firing through the window. I took out two men. Then three. Then four. But more kept coming. They were everywhere.
Behind me, one of my men went down with a bullet in his throat. Another fell with his face blown open. The third grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the back door.
"We have to go! Now!"
"No," I said. "Anya is in there."
"She is dead if you are dead! We regroup and try again!"
I wanted to argue. I wanted to fight. But he was right. We were outnumbered and outgunned. I gave the order to retreat.
We ran through the trees as bullets whizzed past our heads. Men chased us. I turned and fired until my magazine ran dry, then I pulled my pistol and kept firing. One man fell. Then another. Then another.
Only five of us made it back to the cars. Fifteen good men left behind on that blood-soaked lawn.
I drove with blood on my hands and rage in my heart. Gregor sat beside me, his arm bleeding from a graze wound. The other three were in the back, all wounded, all silent.
"What now?" Gregor asked. His voice was hollow.
"Now we go back," I said. "And this time we burn it all down."
But Volkov did not give us the chance.
He found our safehouse the next night.
I was in the kitchen cleaning my weapons when I heard it. A sound I knew too well. The crunch of boots on gravel outside. Too many boots.
I grabbed my gun and ran into the main room. Gregor was already there, his face pale. "They found us."
The windows exploded. Gunfire erupted from every direction. Men were shouting and women were screaming. The farmhouse erupted into chaos.
I dropped to the floor and crawled to the window. At least thirty of Volkov's men were swarming the property. They had brought reinforcements. They had brought hell.
Gregor fired through the window and took down two of them. Then three. Then four. But for every man he killed, two more appeared.
"We cannot hold them!" someone shouted from the back of the house.
"Then we fight until we cannot fight anymore!" I shouted back.
I raised my rifle and joined Gregor at the window. We fought side by side, taking down man after man. The bodies piled up outside. The smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air.
But there were too many. They kept coming. They kept shooting.
One of my men fell with a bullet in his head. Another fell with his chest torn open. Another screamed as his leg was blown off.
Gregor took a bullet to the stomach and fell to his knees. Blood poured through his fingers as he pressed his hand against the wound.
"Go," he whispered. His face was white. His eyes were glassy. "Run. I will hold them."
"I am not leaving you."
"You have to. Find Anya. Finish this." He grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. "Do not let us die for nothing."
He shoved me toward the back door and raised his gun to cover me. I ran. I heard the gunfire behind me, endless and brutal. Then I heard Gregor scream. Then I heard silence.
Gregor was gone.
I ran through the woods with nothing but the clothes on my back and a single pistol. Branches cut my face and arms. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. But I kept running.
Behind me, the farmhouse exploded into flames. The fire lit up the night sky like a second sun. I did not look back. I could not.
I ran until I could not run anymore. Until I collapsed in a ditch and vomited from exhaustion and grief.
Twenty men. All dead. Because of me.
I lay there in the mud and stared at the stars. My body was broken. My heart was shattered. I had nothing left. No men. No weapons. No plan. No hope.
But I still had my life. And I still had my purpose.
I would find Anya. Even if I had to walk into hell alone. Even if I had to crawl there on my hands and knees.
I got up and kept walking.