Chapter 2 - HEADLIGHTS IN THE BLIZZARDThe twin beams of a heavy-duty vehicle swept across the frosted windows, painting jagged lines of yellow light over the ceiling.
Mara's heart slammed against her ribs. She looked from the headlights back to Viktor Vance.
If the police or federal agents had tracked him here, she was harboring a fugitive, and her foreclosure-ridden life would be blown to pieces. But if it was them—the men who had put him in that wheelchair and rolled him into a freezing ravine—they wouldn't care about warrants or laws. They would burn the cabin to the ground with both of them inside.
Viktor’s face had hardened into stone. The confusion was gone, replaced by a cold, calculated fury that turned his black eyes into shards of obsidian. He reached out with a scarred, heavy hand and gripped Mara’s wrist with surprising strength.
"Listen to me, woman," Viktor whispered, his voice deadly calm. "They aren't cops. If they find me here, you are dead before you can scream. Go to the back pantry. There's a loose floorboard. Take the lockbox and run."
"And leave you?" Mara hissed, pulling her hand away. "To crawl where? To bleed out on my porch?"
"I am a dead man either way," Viktor spat, his eyes blazing. "Save yourself."
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Heavy, rhythmic pounding echoed against the front door. It wasn't a knock; it was a demand for entry.
"Open up! Federal Marshals! We know you're in there!" a harsh voice shouted through the howling wind.
Mara stared at the door. Marshals? She looked down at Viktor. Viktor didn't blink. He shook his head imperceptibly. Liars.
Bear let out a deafening roar, launching his hundred-and-fifty-pound frame against the wooden door, slamming his paws against the wood just as a heavy boot kicked it inward. The deadbolt splintered, wood chips flying like shrapnel into the kitchen.
Two men stepped across the threshold, wrapped in tactical gear, their faces obscured by black balaclavas. But their hands weren't resting on standard-issue police sidearms. They held silenced submachine guns, sweeping the room with cold, professional precision.
"Clear," the first one muttered, his eyes landing instantly on Viktor lying helpless on the floor.
A cruel, metallic laugh escaped the second man's mask. "Well, look at that. The king of the city, rescued by a stray dog and a peasant."
Mara stepped forward, placing herself squarely between the armed men and Viktor, her hands trembling but her voice sharp as glass. "Get out of my house. You have no warrant. You broke my door."
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The lead man lowered his weapon an inch, looking down at Mara with chilling amusement. Then, his gaze shifted to Viktor.
"Shame, Boss," the man sneered, taking a slow step forward. "We thought the winter took care of you. Guess we have to finish the job ourselves."
