Mikhail

13 (R)

"You let your emotions rule over reason," he scolded, tensed gaze firmly on the dark yet lively road ahead.

I ignored him and focused on the unconscious woman beside me in the backseat, her head resting against the window.

"We need to take her to the hospital," I decided, Mikhail's suit coat covering her nude body.

He shook his head, not meeting my pleading eyes through the driver's mirror. He had rolled up his sleeves and was now speeding down the busy streets of London.

"She's seen too much."

My jaw clenched, furious at his lack of empathy toward a victim of human trafficking. The screen in his car lit up with a call, and my attention directed to it.

It was Mogilevich, of all people.

"Where the hell are you?" his angry voice boomed through the speakers of the car, and the woman beside me jolted at the sudden sound, "Lancaster's been shot!"

"I'm aware," Mikhail informed his boss, "I'm trying to track her down."

"Send Ivan your location," Mogilevich instructed vehemently, "I'll send him to help, Misha."

"I've got this."

And he hung up. Mikhail hung up on Peter bloody Mogilevich.

How he was gutsy enough to do something as disrespectful as that and be allowed to breathe for a second more was beyond me.

Mogilevich had murdered his men for less, yet the same fate avoided Mikhail like the plague.

I couldn't help but gape at him, and his narrowed dark eyes finally met mine through the mirror.

"Close your mouth before I do it for you," he grunted out dismissively, holding on to the control he held over this situation.

"We're bringing her to the hospital," I informed with him finality, not budging on this, "she's too high to remember anything."

He remained quiet and focused back on the road. We both knew driving up to the hospital and dropping off a nude woman who was searched for by somebody would start a police investigation. While most were under the control of the men we worked for, task forces against human trafficking were out of reach and would easily track down this car.

"I swear to God, if you don't-" I grew furious at his lack of reaction, shifting in my seat and itching to strangle him.

"Behave," he gruffed out simply, and my fury only grew.

"I-" I then began vehemently in protest, but he silenced me with a harsh look.

The car screeched to a halt and I quickly reached my arm over to hold the woman's torso back, as her head would've smacked against Mikhail's headrest at the sudden force of the stop.

Before I could raise my voice at the reckless man, he turned a sharp corner and sped down a one-way street.

I was all too aware of my lack of clothing, and my phone having been left at the building we had escaped from. I couldn't even enjoy the fact that Lancaster was dead, because I hadn't been the one to kill him.

I hadn't a clue of where we were now headed, but knew he would kill this poor woman only over my dead body.

"We'll leave her on the street opposite the hospital," he finally broke the tensioned silence, distasteful to be giving in to my order, "there's no cameras."

I relaxed, pursing my lips shut as not to push this and risk him changing his mind.

It was in silence that he then drove toward the hospital. My attention was on the unconscious woman, carefully searching for any signs of sickness or laboured breathing.