Chapter 4 - The Midnight Extraction
The stairwell below erupted with the heavy, synchronized thuds of tactical combat boots. Gemma’s heart jumped into her throat as Nikolai pulled her behind him with his uninjured arm, moving with terrifying speed and stealth toward the back of the apartment. He kicked open a narrow utility window that led directly onto the metal fire escape, the freezing London rain immediately whipping across their faces.
""Climb,"" Nikolai ordered, gesturing upward toward the roof rather than down to the alley.
""The roof?"" Gemma cried over the howl of the wind. ""We'll be trapped!""
""They control the street level, Gemma. The sky belongs to my loyalists. Up! Don't look down!""
Gemma grabbed the icy iron rungs of the vertical ladder, her boots slipping slightly against the wet metal. Behind them, the reinforced oak door of apartment 4B shuddered under the violent blast of a hydraulic battering ram. The wood splintered with a deafening crack. Men shouted in Russian, commands barking through the corridor, followed by the muffled thwip-thwip-thwip of suppressed automatic fire chewing through the drywall.
Nikolai climbed right behind her, using his massive body as a physical shield between her back and the gunfire below. A bullet pinged off the iron railing just inches from Gemma’s hand, sending a shower of bright orange sparks into the darkness. She gasped, nearly losing her footing, but Nikolai’s large, warm hand clamped firmly around her waist, physically lifting her over the ledge and onto the flat, gravel-strewn roof of the building.
The rooftop was swept by torrential rain and biting wind. Hovering barely twenty feet above the gravel, its twin rotors beating the damp air into a violent hurricane, was a sleek, matte-black helicopter devoid of any registration markings. A spotlight clicked on, blinding Gemma, before a side sliding door opened. Two men clad in full tactical combat gear and Kevlar dropped heavy safety ropes to the roof deck.
""Boss! Grab the harness!"" one of the operators yelled over the deafening whine of the turbine engines.
Nikolai grabbed the heavy tactical strap and buckled it securely around Gemma’s waist before she could even process what was happening. He pulled the carabiner tight, checking the lock with a hard yank.
""What about you?"" she shouted over the storm.
""I’m right behind you,"" he roared. ""Hook your arms through mine!""
Before she could scream, the winch activated. The ground dropped away beneath their feet in a dizzying rush of vertigo. The rooftops of London, gleaming like wet slate under the distant city lights, blurred into an ocean of shadows. Gemma buried her face into Nikolai’s chest, clutching the damp fabric of his coat as the freezing air whipped around them. His arm locked around her waist like an iron band, holding her so tightly against his frame that she could feel the steady, indomitable thumping of his heart against her cheek.
With a violent haul, the two tactical operators grabbed their vests and dragged them both inside the reinforced cabin of the aircraft. The heavy sliding door slammed shut with a hydraulic hiss, instantly cutting off the roar of the wind.
Gemma collapsed onto the metal floor, trembling uncontrollably, her teeth chattering from both hypothermia and raw terror. Nikolai remained seated against the bulkhead, breathing heavily as one of his men knelt before him with an emergency trauma kit.
""Report,"" Nikolai demanded, his voice turning cold, imperious, and utterly terrifying.
""Dmitri Volkov has taken over the Belgravia estate, Boss,"" the soldier replied, his eyes filled with grim tension. ""He told the council that you were assassinated during the morning ambush. Half the captains have already sworn fealty to him to save their necks. He’s putting a bounty of ten million pounds on your head by dawn.""
Nikolai’s jaw hardened, a chilling, venomous smile spreading across his lips. ""Let my uncle celebrate his coronation. It will make his execution so much sweeter.""
He slowly turned his gaze toward Gemma, who was curled up against the opposite bench, shivering beneath an emergency foil blanket a soldier had tossed around her shoulders. The ruthless frost in his eyes softened, replaced by a dark, possessive fascination.
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""And who is the girl, Boss?"" the soldier asked cautiously, noticing Gemma for the first time. ""A witness? Do we drop her at a safehouse?""
""No,"" Nikolai stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. ""She saved my life. Dmitri’s hounds saw her face at the flower shop. If she steps foot in this city alone, she dies. From this moment on, she stays at the Fortress. Under my personal guard.""
