Page 44 of Lord of Passion

Nikandr and I keep shooting and this time, the truck doesn't do anything dramatic, no explosions. It simply slows to a stop - I'm fairly certain everyone inside is dead - and tilts against a lamp post.

Vasilisa pulls the SUV out of traffic as our backup car catches up. Bodyguards pour out of the battered SUV, racing over to us.

"Are you all right?" Nikandr touches my cheek. "You're bleeding."

"I think it was from a bit of glass or something," I say. "I'm fine. You were the one who got shot!" The sleeve of his jacket is soaking. He glances down, as if noticing it for the first time.

"I'm fine."

"Liar." A bodyguard is bracing his feet against the wheel, trying to rip open my door, all battered from being hit so many times. Nikandr crawls into the back seat and kicks the door open, sliding out first and reaching for me.

Three Range Rovers race toward us. Oh, shit.Moreof these bastards? They all skid to a stop and Alexsey is first out, holding an enormous gun.

"A little late, I see," he says, looking at the flaming car, upside down in the median and the battered truck. The shattered windows are coated in blood, the decimated radiator hissing and smoke curling up from the hood.

Nikandr puts his arm around my waist, taking me over to Alexey's convoy. "Take her to the safehouse," he says to a guard, who already has the door open for me.

"You're coming, right?" I ask.

"Soon," he says, looking at the two men his guards dragged out of the ruined truck. They're still alive, bloody and barely conscious. "You'll be safe."

I'm not sure if he means it as reassuring or dismissive, but I look away, putting on my seatbelt.

"I'll get this taken care of," Alexsey says, looking between me and Nikandr. "Cousin, let me do this. You need to go with her."

"What I need to do," Nikandr says, "is to take those two men and peel their skin from their bodies and dissolve what's left hydrochloric acid. I need to –"

The guards jam the bloody men into another one of the Range Rovers and Alexsey takes Nikandr by the arm and shoves him into the SUV with me. "Go," he says. "Don't be azasranets."

The ruins of our heavily armored SUV took hundreds of rounds of ammunition. "It looks like a spaghetti strainer," I mumble.

Cars are beginning to pull over to stop and stare. I can hear the sound of sirens rising in the distance.

"Go," Alexsey snaps, and our Range Rover pulls away.

I'm staring straight ahead, spine stiff, but my treacherous hands are trembling violently. Nikandr takes them and presses them between his own. His hands are sticky with blood, but they're warm.

"You did well," he says, clearing his throat. "You were very brave." We both stare out the window as the car pulls off themain road and heads into a neighborhood. The houses are well cared-for here. Flowers and neatly trimmed grass, lights shining in windows where families are no doubt having a late dinner together or watching TV and not shooting at other people with armor piercing bullets.

We pull up behind a quiet two-story brick house and I blink. "Aren't we going back to the Tsaritsa?"

Nikandr gives me what I think is meant to be a reassuring smile. "That's where they will expect us to be."

"Oh, okay." I know I sound a little robotic, he's looking at me with a concerned frown. That little cut on my cheek has already stopped bleeding. I wish I could say the same about the bullet hole in his shoulder that he's choosing to ignore.

Vasilisa and one of Alexsey's men have already moved ahead of us, flipping on lights and checking the security system with brisk efficiency. The house is basic, furniture and basic comforts. I can see why there was no need to decorate.

"I can treat your shoulder, if you want." Nikandr looks at me, holding a bloody towel on his shoulder. "I used to clean my brothers up all the time when they'd come home after some colossal screwup-"

Before they betrayed our cousin.

"We're secure," Vasilisa says. "Why don't you go get cleaned up?" She smiles at me. "Check that this is not his only injury, would you? He is notorious for being hurt and not bothering to pay attention to it until hours later when it's infected."

I'm so relieved to have something to do, and I head toward the bathroom down the hall. "Where's the first aid kit?"

***

Zasranets- Russian for asshole