Wild:. Noelle MackЧитать онлайн книгу.
He did not have to return to Russia to be shot. Kyril or his brothers could do the honors here in England.
“Taruskin is no better than an animal,” Volkodav said quietly. “He must die first. A degrading, painful death that his brothers will witness. Then it will be their turn. This is the wish of the Tsar.”
One of the other Cossacks spat on the floor. He might not be quite so loyal as the others. Kyril studied his face for as long as he dared. If he could turn one of the five against his comrades in time—
“And you are prepared to do this?” the captain was saying.
The Cossack who had spoken opened the front of his coat no more than an inch. Kyril glimpsed a flash of steel.
“At once. As soon as we find him.”
“London is a much bigger city than Moscow, my friend.”
The captain’s comment sparked a ruckus. The men shouted over each other as to which city was greater, claiming Moscow, the beating heart of their beloved motherland, as the fairest metropolis on earth. Anyone who disagreed should expect to be disemboweled, drawn, and quartered.
Sentimental and vicious, Kyril thought. Not an unusual combination.
He hated listening to their bluster. He could not pick them off in so public a place and he wanted to leave. But he had to stay with Volkodav as long as possible.
“Enough!” The captain held up his hand. “I will help you track down this animal—no, this man. Where does he take his pleasure? That is the easiest way to find a fellow.”
“He is often with a lady. Blast—I forget her name.”
“Brandy,” another said.
“That is not a name.”
“Of course not. I want more, you fool!” He snapped his fingers at the barmaid.
Another of the Cossacks withdrew a folded paper from his pocket. Kyril strained to see. He mispronounced the name he read aloud but Kyril understood him only too well.
He had said Vivienne Sheridan. Kyril was thunderstruck. How had they known of her? The imperial secret service had a long reach.
But the address the man read next was her old one, in Audley Street. Kyril was thankful for that.
Flooded with fear, he did not know whether to go to her and tell her to flee to the countryside or—it might be best to avoid her entirely. What if he was followed to the house in Cheyne Row?
She could be easily used to bait him. And as far as he knew, she was not in love with him. What if she turned against him—no, the thought was impossible. The secrets he sensed she was keeping were those of a gentle soul betrayed. She was a woman of the world but he truly believed in her essential purity of heart.
Lukian would have told him that he was a sentimental fool for thinking so.
So be it.
Somehow Kyril would protect her, at the cost of his own life if necessary.
You will have to. The thought flashed into his mind when he saw Volkodav come toward the table again.
“Where were you?” one of the men asked.
“I told you, you drunken idiot. I had to piss. But it is time we left. It is hot in here.”
The air in the tavern was humid and the windows were covered with mist. Streaks of water created clear spots here and there—Kyril spied a young whore peering in, looking at the new faces. Through the blurry window, she looked a little like Vivienne. Dark hair and dark eyes. Delicate features. His heart ached for her.
By and by, she sauntered in and the illusion of the resemblance vanished. Young as she was, she had been too long at her trade and her careworn face showed the strain of it. But she perched upon the knee of one of the Cossacks as if she were a new girl on the street, afraid of no man.
They roared with laughter, and the man she’d chosen put his arm around her waist. He fondled her bum, squeezing hard through her bedraggled skirts with his free hand. The girl looked nervous but she was game, smiling and joking though she understood not one word of their talk.
“Nice piece of chicken.”
“Take her to bed.”
“No, save your money. Fuck her on a table. It’s cheaper and you can keep your breeches on. And your boots.”
“None of that here,” the captain said. “There is a brothel close by. The madam is an old friend. She will not overcharge.”
“Then we will go there. But first we drink again.”
The barmaid brought another round and escaped a groping hand. The whore was not so lucky. The Cossack’s fondling had grown rougher and her threadbare gown showed it. The bodice was ripped and so was the waist.
“I should pull this off you and fuck you in front of everybody.”
She smiled desperately, not understanding.
“Then I will give my friends a turn, eh? One of us in every hole you have!”
The men roared with cruel laughter.
“But Grigor—she has only three!” one yelled.
He squeezed her waist so hard she gasped for breath.
“Then we will make her more,” he growled. “One in the bum!” He jabbed her there with two bent knuckles. “And one in the head!”
The blow split the skin just above her eye and his knuckles came away bloody.
The girl shrieked with pain, but he opened his hand and boxed her ear with all his strength. Dazed, she still showed spirit and struggled against him. The Cossack tightened his grip and slapped her across the mouth. Her lip split and more blood trickled down her chin.
Something snapped in Kyril. He rose and hit the man on the side of the head as hard as he could with the pewter mug. The Cossack fell backwards in his chair, not releasing the girl even though he was unconscious.
She sunk her teeth into his arm and he let go at last. She scrambled to her feet and ran out the door, wiping the blood from her lip on her sleeve and holding a hand over her injured ear.
A blow like that might leave her deaf. It was a wonder she had escaped with her life—
Volkodav stepped in front of Kyril and took the mug from his hand. Kyril stood his ground.
Icy eyes looked into his. Flat. Expressionless. There were flecks of steel-gray in the other man’s pale irises and his pupils were unusually small. Kyril saw no flicker of recognition.
“You are gallant,” Volkodav said in English. “But you are also a fool.” He looked down at the unconscious Cossack on the floor. “And so is he.” His next words were just as calm. “Go. I have no wish to fight you for his sake.”
Kyril dared not answer. Volkodav had not recognized his face but Kyril could take no more chances.
He had to warn Vivienne…Kyril realized that the other man was looking intently at him. He should not have even thought her name.
He nodded, ready to walk out the door. He would not run.
Volkodav raised the mug in his hand so swiftly that there was no chance to react. He smashed it into Kyril’s face with extraordinary force.
Kyril felt his cheekbone crack and swayed on his feet. Blood filled his mouth. He spat it into Volkodav’s face and punched him so hard he could feel the other man’s guts give way under his taut skin.
Volkodav’s eyes rolled to the whites. He swayed on his feet and bile spurted from his open mouth.
The others stared with shocked surprise as Kyril delivered two more punches and the Wolf Killer joined the Cossack on the floor.
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