Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea

glimpse of her surprised expression as he tipped her face up to his and took possession of her mouth. There was no hesitation on her part; she kissed him back, melting into him, giving herself to him the way she always did.
    You're coming back to me. Don't say good-bye.
    I'm not saying good-bye. He tried to be reassuring, but he was saying good-bye. In his business, there were no guarantees, and he had a bad feeling about the night. I'm saying, no matter what, I love you with every breath in my body. His hand slipped over her hip to press between their bodies, to feel her flat stomach where his child would grow.
    He wanted that. Wanted everything from her in the same way he had given everything of himself, body and soul, to her.
    I love you, too. Joley clung to him, holding him tight. Ilya, if there's a chance something can happen to you, don't go.
    Stay here. I won't perform. I'll stay with you.
    The enormity of what she was offering made him soft inside when he needed to be steel. With great reluctance, he lifted his mouth from hers. 'Please stay safe, Joley.'
    'You too, Ilya.'
    She didn't cry. And she didn't try to stop him. He was proud of her for that. He lifted a hand to her family and slipped out the door, looking back at her face once before he went out. He wanted to memorize every detail. Feel her bone structure on his fingertips. He wanted to know that if he died this night, her face would be his last memory.
    Chapter Eighteen
    Nikitin had always preferred to rent houses, even if he was only staying one night. He liked upscale neighborhoods, and he'd move in and make himself at home for however long he could stay. Ilya had noticed a difference in him the past year. He'd gone from surly and mean to a much more mellow and happy man. That didn't matter, however, when it came down to his job. Nikitin carried hundreds of deaths on his shoulders and had no compunction about ordering the torture and killing of entire families if anyone stood in the way of building his empire.
    Ilya drove through the neighborhood slowly. As usual, he'd chosen a car that would fit in. He drove past the house Nikitin was renting, not too slow, not too fast, careful to not to draw attention. There were three men standing just inside the gate, bending over a fourth man. At first glance the three men looked like Nikitin's guards, but they weren't men he recognized, and the one on the ground was Eddie, a solid man Nikitin often used for intimidation at his front entrance.
    Ilya parked his car down the street and moved into the shadows as he made his way back to the house. The three intruders were inside the gate, which meant he had to go over the wall without being seen. He walked beside it, running a gloved hand along the brick until he found a small indentation he could work with. He jumped, caught the indentation with the toe of his shoe and went over the wall, landing in a crouch on the other side. He waited, orienting himself to the layout.
    A low, mocking laugh was followed by a grunt as the taller of the men dragged Eddie up by his hair and shoved him against the wall. 'You're gonna die,' he said harshly, and kicked Eddie in the stomach. 'But we're gonna have us some fun first.'
    The other two men laughed.
    'You should have stayed in Russia,' one with a barbed wire tattoo across his arm added.
    The third pulled a club from under his coat. 'Guess you picked the wrong boss.'
    Ilya broke into a sprint as they closed in on Eddie, forming a loose semicircle. Eddie spat on the ground in front of them defiantly, his eyes bright with rage.
    Ilya came in fast and silent, grabbing the bat as it swung toward Eddie's head. He kept turning as he yanked it from the man's hand, swinging at the taller man's hand as he pulled a gun. The club struck him hard enough to break bones and the gun went flying. The tall man swore as he stumbled back.
    The man with the tattoo punched at Ilya's open ribs, brass knuckles glinting in the light spilling from the porch. Ilya blocked the shot with his forearm, continued his forward spin going inside and slammed his elbow with full force against the man's sternum. He dropped like a stone, clutching his chest and gasping.
    Cursing, the first man, who'd pulled the club, drew a knife and lunged. Ilya stepped into the attack, slamming a brutal fist into the exposed wrist with a short, chopped blow. The knife fell to the ground. Ilya brought up his knee hard into the man's crotch and then turned, shooting the same leg