The Dance: Bratva Vows by SR Jones

Author:SR Jones [Jones, SR]
Language: eng
Format: epub

5

Ilya

“She’s got a concussion, and she’s in a lot of pain, but she’s going to be okay.”

The doctor onboard my private jet sits down opposite me and loosens his tie. His name is John … now. That’s the English name he took when he came to live here and married a Brit. He still has traces of his Russian accent, though, despite elocution lessons to dim it.

“She’s freaking out about why she’s on a plane.” He shrugs. “I told her, she was being flown for better medical treatment, but she’s going to flip when she finds you’ve taken her to Russia, and I don’t know if that’s going to do her any good. Luckily for you, she’s sleepy and out of it, so I doubt she’ll realize yet we’re flying for too long to be taking her to a hospital in the UK.”

“Sleeping?” I ask, concern lacing my tone. “Isn’t that dangerous if you have a concussion.”

He shakes his head. “No, so long as I wake her and check her responses every couple of hours, it’s good for her to rest. She’s not got a severe brain injury. Or at least, the signs so far don’t show that. When we get her to Russia, I suggest we go straight to the Ramin clinic and get a scan. It’s one of the best clinics, and they’ll do it immediately. They are also … discreet. I can stay for a few days to make sure all is well, but then I have to return to England. My wife won’t be happy if I’m gone too long.”

“Of course.” I dip my head in answer. I’m lucky he came at all. I’m a scary man, but the man opposite doesn’t intimidate easily. He’s ex-combat medical, and he’s seen shit I can only imagine. Like Andrius. He, Andrius, and a man called Konstantin are like the unholy trinity. Two angels of death and a twisted, hardened medic. They don’t see one another often, as Konstantin is in London, but with operations in America and Russia too. The man is making his fortune, and like myself, not always legally, and Andrius rarely socializes these days. I know though, for a fact, they’d lay their lives down for one another. For that is the sort of bond forged in the flames of war.

I’m lucky. I had a good life while they were fighting. When things collapsed in the nineties, and the Russian economy deregulated to a crazy degree, I was young, ambitious, and I made a lot of money. Legally, and illegally.

Now, I’m one of those oligarchs you read about on the news. Wealthy. Powerful. Untouchable … almost.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out to see Allyov calling. I answer, and the good doctor stands and moves to the back of the plane, giving me privacy for the call.

“Yes,” I say.

“My men tell me the clean-up is done. Where is my girl?”

I tamp down the growl his words draw out of me. “She’s my girl now,” I tell him.

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