Chapter 152 Nikolai
The explosion threw me through the air like a rag doll.
I landed hard on my back, the wind knocked out of my lungs. Debris rained down around me. Wood. Metal. Concrete. A piece of shrapnel sliced through my arm. Blood poured down my sleeve, warm and sticky.
I pushed myself up. My ears were ringing. My vision was blurred. The warehouse was gone. Nothing left but flames and smoke and the bodies of the men who had helped me escape.
I stumbled through the wreckage, coughing, choking on ash. My legs threatened to give out but I kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. Do not stop. Do not die.
Not yet. Not before I saved Anya.
I made it to the tree line and collapsed behind a thick oak. My body was broken. My arm was bleeding badly. My ribs screamed with every breath. But I was alive. Somehow, I was alive.
I pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked but it still worked. I dialed a number I had memorized years ago.
"Come get me," I said. "And bring medical supplies."
Within an hour, headlights cut through the darkness. A black SUV pulled up. Viktor stepped out, his face pale with worry.
"My God, Markov. What happened to you?"
"Alexander happened. Help me into the car."
They drove me to a safehouse on the outskirts of the city. A doctor was waiting. He stitched my arm, wrapped my ribs, cleaned my wounds. I sat in silence, staring at the wall, feeling nothing. My mind kept replaying the explosion, the fire, the men who had died helping me escape. Their faces haunted my dreams. Their screams echoed in my ears.
For three days I healed. Ate when they told me to eat. Slept when my body gave out. But my mind never stopped. It kept circling back to Anya. To Alexander. To the bombs and the fire and the warehouse falling down around me. Every night I dreamed of her. Every morning I woke up reaching for her. And every time my hand closed around empty air.
On the fourth day, I walked out of the safehouse. Viktor tried to stop me.
"Where are you going?"
"To see someone."
"Who?"
"Mikhail."
The cemetery was quiet, as always. Rows of headstones stretched across the green hill, silent witnesses to a thousand griefs. I walked to Mikhail's grave and sat down on the grass beside it. The soil was cold beneath my hands. The wind whispered through the trees like voices from another world.
"Hey, old friend," I said. "It has been a while."
No answer. Of course there was no answer. But I needed to speak. Needed to say the words out loud.
"I failed her. I failed Anya. Alexander has her now. He is using her for her inheritance. He tricked me with a fake body, with a fake video, with a fake Anya tied to a chair. And I fell for all of it."
I picked at the grass, pulling up small handfuls and letting them fall through my fingers. The tears came then. Hot and silent. I had not cried since I was a boy. But sitting there at Mikhail's grave, I could not stop them.
"You would have been smarter. You would have seen through his lies. You always did."
The wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves. I closed my eyes and imagined Mikhail sitting beside me. Imagined his voice, rough and steady.
What would he say?
He would not tell me to gather more men. He would not tell me to plan another attack. He would not tell me to burn another building down.
He would tell me to go myself.
"Stop sending others to die for you," Mikhail would say. "Stop hiding behind armies and weapons. If you love her, go get her. Even if it kills you."
I opened my eyes. The sun was setting. The sky was painted orange and red, like fire. Like the fire that had consumed the warehouse. Like the fire that would soon consume everything.
He was right. He was always right.
I stood up and brushed the grass from my pants. "Thank you, brother. I will see you soon."
I drove back to the safehouse and walked to the armory. Viktor followed me, confused.
"What are you doing?"
"Preparing."
"For what?"
"For the end."
I loaded two pistols, a rifle, and four magazines of ammunition. I strapped a knife to my ankle and another to my belt. Then I walked to the back of the room, where the explosives were stored. My hands did not shake. My heart did not race. I was calm. Calmer than I had been in weeks.
Viktor grabbed my arm. "Markov, what are you doing?"
"I am going to get Anya."
"Then take men. Take me. Do not go alone."
"No." I shook my head. "I am done watching people die for me. Mikhail died for me. Gregor died for me. Twenty men died at the farmhouse. Five more died at the warehouse. I will not add your name to that list."
"You cannot do this alone."
"Watch me."
I took the explosives and strapped them around my chest. The weight was heavy. Uncomfortable. But I welcomed it. This was my burden to carry. Mine alone.
Viktor's eyes went wide. "That is a bomb."
"Yes."
"You will die."
"Maybe. But Anya will be free."
I pulled on a jacket to hide the explosives. Checked my weapons one last time. Then I walked to the door.
"Markov," Viktor said. "If you do not come back..."
"Then tell the world I died doing something right for once."
I drove to Alexander's estate alone. No backup. No getaway car. No plan except to walk through the front door and not stop until Anya was in my arms.
The guards saw me coming. They raised their guns.
"Stop! Do not come any closer!" They thundered.
But I kept walking.
"I said stop!"
I reached the gate and pushed it open. The guards opened fire.