Hostile Ground (The Arsenal Book 7) Read online

  Hostile Ground

  Cara Carnes

  Heartscape Publishing, Inc

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 Cara Carnes

  All rights reserved.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cover Model: Johnathan L-Laurin

  Photography by: Paul Henry Serres

  Cover Design by Dar Albert

  Content Editor: Heather Long

  Copy Editor: Becky Edits

  Proofing: Ink It Out Editing

  For the latest information, subscribe to my newsletter, or join my Facebook Group.

  Created with Vellum

  Acknowledgments

  It might take a village to put out a book, but when it comes to The Arsenal I’m beyond blessed to have an army behind me. I wish there were enough pages to thank everyone individually.

  Thank you to my fearless editors, who never fail to knock my words into shape. And my talented photographer and fabulous cover designer for always, always providing gorgeous covers that bring the world to life.

  A huge thank you to Tracie, Heather, and Becca for your valuable feedback. Your insight and dedication to The Arsenal world is truly appreciated. Also, for all those who received an ARC and provided feedback on typos, etc…you have my eternal gratitude for helping polish Hostile Ground.

  Thank you to all the experts I’ve reached out to throughout this series. I have learned so much from your expertise, and I thank you for your time and insight. Any errors are entirely mine.

  And to The Cohorts and all the readers who have reached out about this series…You all are beyond fabulous. Your passion for these books, the characters within, and the romance genre itself is why I love writing so very much. I hope that I can do justice to the world you’re enjoying.

  ***While The Arsenal series is a romance at its heart, the fiber, blood and bone of this series is a gritty, sometimes dark, and daunting rollercoaster ride of suspense, family, team, and honor. Love isn’t ever an easy road to navigate. While I’ve made every attempt to warn readers of possible triggers, please know there may very well be subject matter within this series that may be difficult to read.***

  Hostile Ground has some scenes involving torture which may trigger some readers.

  1

  Twenty-two years ago…

  Outside Moscow, Russia

  “Papa, no!” Kristof Sidorav struggled between the two men holding him. Pain ran down his shoulders, but he didn’t care. Mama needed him to be strong. “Mama!”

  Tears trekked down the woman’s face when she looked at him. Blood ran down her busted lip and along both eyes. Why was Papa hurting her? Had Kristof made him mad again? Mama always took his anger whenever he did. But he wasn’t young and scared anymore. He was a man. Fourteen.

  “Papa, I’m sorry. Punish me,” Kristof begged.

  “You’d hide behind our son,” Kostya said. Anger boomed within his voice as he pressed the gun against her forehead. “Tell him what you did.”

  “Kostya, please. Do whatever to me but take him away.” Her voice broke toward the end as she gasped for breaths. Papa had squeezed her throat so hard earlier Kristof had worried she’d die.

  No. Not Mama.

  Tears tumbled down his face. Papa hated when he cried. Maybe if he cried harder, he’d punish him rather than her.

  “Tell him!” Papa screamed.

  “I betrayed your father,” she said. Her gaze swept to Uncle Kir, whose body laid face down, his wide, dead eyes focused on where she knelt in front of Papa.

  “I gave you everything and you dared spread your legs for him like a whore.” He spat in her face and squeezed her throat with his left hand. “No one betrays me and lives. Especially not you.”

  Kristof struggled once again. Ivan punched him in the stomach. “Watch! This is what happens to whores and betrayers.”

  “I love you, Kristof. Never forget that.” Mama clutched at Papa’s hand as he squeezed harder.

  The gunshot boomed in the room. Blood sprayed the area as Papa stepped back and Mama fell. No. Shock and pain rolled through Kristof as Ivan and the other man released their grip.

  He surged forward and fell to his knees. “Mama!”

  Kristof drew his mama into his arms and rocked back and forth. Garbled grief rolled from his throat as he cried.

  “Enough. My son will not grieve for a whore.” Papa dragged him backward.

  Kristof pulled away from his papa and turned. “Why? How could you?” He punched the man’s chest and squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see was Mama’s blood. All he heard was the gunshot.

  “Enough!” Papa bellowed. “You will not cry for a whore. She’s made you weak.”

  Kristof glared up at the man who’d done nothing but hurt and scare him. He’d never hugged him close like Mama had. He’d never told stories or sung songs or played with him. “I hate you!”

  Pain exploded along his jaw. He touched the area and glared up at his papa. Red filled the man’s face. Evil lurked within his eyes like it always did.

  “I’ll kill you for this,” Kristof promised.

  Papa laughed. “You are nothing but a weak and pathetic runt I should’ve smothered at birth. Now that she’d not here to coddle you, you’ll become what you must. My son. My heir. My legacy.”

  Never. Kristof clenched his fists and fed the anger filling him. Papa was right. He was too weak to kill Papa for what he’d done, but he’d get stronger than Papa.

  He’d pay for killing Mama.

  “Ivan, bring the car around. It’s time to take Kristof to his new home.”

  “And them?” Ivan asked as he pointed to Mama and Uncle Kir.

  “Bury them in the back yard with the dogs,” Papa said. He grabbed Kristof’s throat. “Your new life begins tonight, Kristof. Don’t disappoint me or you’ll be buried beside her. I’d rather have no heir than a weak bitch like you.”

  Pain spread through Addison Rugers’ body as she teetered on her right foot with
her arms outstretched. The uneven bark from the post dug into her bare foot, but she ignored the discomfort because her time was near an end. Water dripped from the spigot in the corner. Her throat ached, but she didn’t dare leave her position even though no one watched. If she stopped now, she’d have to start again.

  Anger kept her focused as the door behind her squeaked open. Had more time passed than she realized? Was her latest round of punishment finished?

  “Get in and keep quiet,” Misha growled in Russian as she shoved a thin boy into Addy’s view.

  The boy wore a white uniform denoting his new entry into the training camp. “What is this place?”

  “The punishment cabin. You’ll remain here for three days so you’ll know what will happen when you disobey us.” Misha’s boots dragged in the dirt as she turned. “This is Addy. She spends more time here than anywhere.”

  Addy glared at the woman, then returned her gaze to the small hole on the wall across from her. It was one of forty-one on that wall.

  “Have you made a decision, Addy?” Misha asked.

  She didn’t answer. The woman already knew her answer was no.

  “Very well.” Misha walked over to the small table nearby.

  Addy’s pulse quickened and her empty stomach knotted. Which implement would she choose? Addy’s gaze cut to the boy, who looked older than her ten years. He was tall but skinny with dark blond hair and wide, gray eyes.

  “Fall and your time begins again,” Misha said as she lifted a leather strap so Addy could see. “Decisions have consequences, Kristof. Today you will learn from her poor choices.”

  Addy’s pulse quickened as Misha disappeared behind her. Rather than close her eyes, she sought the boy’s gray gaze. His face reflected worry and fear. She’d learned to read emotions quickly the past three years.

  Pain exploded on the exposed bottom of her left foot. She bit her lip to stifle the scream as she tottered left, then right, then forward until she leveled out.

  Stay on the post. Stay on the post. Stay on the post.

  The strikes echoed in the room. Addy counted each one silently but gasped when Misha landed one to her bruised butt. She remained atop the post with each blow despite the pain.

  Then Misha struck the backs of her knees. Addy crumbled forward, catching herself with the palms of her hands. Pain exploded up her sore arms. Her eyes burned, but she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Misha.

  Intense gray eyes met hers when she looked up. The boy held out a hand.

  “Don’t help her,” Misha ordered. “Her punishment ends when she does as she was ordered. You have an hour to rest, then we begin again, Addy. Use your time wisely. I expect to find that rabbit dead at the door when I return.”

  The woman paused at the door and took a bag from the guard. It landed with a thud near the boy. “This is your dinner. I’ll go through the camp’s rules when I return.”

  Addy remained on all fours as the door slammed shut and the lock fell into place. She was gone. Tears trekked down her face. She would’ve made it if Misha hadn’t brought the boy in. She’d been so close.

  Next time.

  Addy looked over at the cage. Bunny hadn’t eaten or drunk since yesterday. Neither had she. She crawled over to the water spigot in the corner and cupped her hands beneath the dripping spout. She lapped greedily.

  “Wait!” the boy shouted. Russian.

  She’d learned Russian three years ago to survive. She was the only one in the camp forbidden from speaking English, her native tongue.

  Addy glared his direction when he knelt beside her and dumped the bag’s contents on the ground between them. A large loaf of bread and a chunk of meat. Her stomach growled, but she looked up at the boy. What was he doing?

  He gently pulled her hands out of the way and put the plastic bag beneath the dribbling water. He used the rubber band from the bag holding the meat to tie it into place. “This will be easier.”

  Right. Addy settled with her butt on the ground. “You shouldn’t help me.”

  “We’ll both need to drink,” he said. “I’m Kristof.”

  “Addy.”

  “Is she always like that?”

  “She is with me.” Addy shrugged. “I don’t obey. It’ll be easier for you.”

  Kristof’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t know that.”

  She studied him again. He was older than her, but not by much—which meant he was still younger than the others that came to the camp. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re too young.”

  “I’m older than you.”

  “Everyone’s older than me.” Addy watched the water dribble. Her mouth dried.

  “Here.” Kristof undid the band and pulled the bag off. He handed it to her. “We’ll gather more once you’ve drunk.”

  Addy gulped the water quickly, then held the empty bag out. “Thank you.”

  Silence filled the area around them as they watched the bag fill. Addy didn’t mind the quiet because it gave her time to think about Mom and Dad. Things had been easier before they died and her brother Peter brought her to this place.

  She wanted to go home.

  Tears burned her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry. Kristof would laugh at her like the others did. They didn’t ever cry.

  “Here.” Kristof held the bag out.

  Rather than drink it down like she wanted, she held it close and walked to the corner. Kneeling, she opened the small cage and took Bunny out. The rabbit drank as she held the bag open. At least it wouldn’t be thirsty anymore.

  “Is that your pet?”

  “No.” Addy stroked the animal. “It doesn’t deserve to die. Misha said I’m weak because I won’t kill it.”

  Kristof sat against the wall facing her. He took a hunk of bread and ripped it into small pieces. Surprise filled Addy when he held one out to the rabbit.

  “Misha will be mad if she knows you fed it.”

  “Then she’ll be really mad when we set it free.”

  Free? Addy looked at the crazy boy.

  He motioned toward the table, then the wall with all the holes. “I bet we can find something on there to either dig a hole in the ground beneath the floor or make one of the holes toward the bottom bigger. You can’t kill what isn’t here.”

  “They’ll just bring another,” Addy whispered.

  He shrugged. “One problem at a time.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “Because I can. Mama would want me to.” His voice cracked at the end. Tears shimmered in his gaze. “She loved animals.”

  Loved. She was dead. Sadness filled Addy as she looked down. “My mom and dad died. My brother brought me here after.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Ten.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Three years.” Addy swallowed as Kristof returned to the spigot and secured the bag in place. He was smart—way smarter than her. She should’ve thought about freeing Bunny. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen.” Kristof moved to the table. “Let’s get to work.”

  “You’ll get into trouble.”

  “It’ll be worth it.” He motioned toward the rest of the bread and the meat. “Eat. I’ll work first.”

  For the first time in a long while, Addy didn’t feel like she was alone. Maybe Kristof could be a friend. She stroked Bunny, then set her down and took half the bread and meat. She chewed slow and rested between bites as she watched the strange boy with the pretty gray eyes use a whip’s grip to dig a hole beneath the rotting board at the bottom.

  “At least you’ll be free, Bunny,” Addy whispered.

  2

  One week earlier

  Moscow

  Cheers and jeers echoed through the small warehouse and deafened the barked orders of tonight’s referee as Addison Rugers stepped into the metal cage. Beer, sweat, and blood tainted her nostrils as her gaze swept the swelling crowd as they surged forward for a better view of the final battle. She’d either defend her reign on the un
derground fighting circuit or be carried out. Alive was an option, but so was death.

  No rules.

  “This is bullshit,” Beast thundered in the com. “We never agreed to cage matches.”

  None of her Arsenal team was on board with her decision to fight in the underground circuit to reaffirm her cover as Iriana Duprinsky, but they’d agreed because it was the best way to not only reestablish the persona within Kristof Lavrov’s network, but to also hunt for anyone in Yesim’s splinter cell.

  Yesim and his small band of followers who’d broken off from their former syndicate had proven difficult to find, but thanks to the past week of fighting she’d done, The Arsenal had tracked them to a small apartment in the Maryino District. Because of Addy’s fights, they now had a target location to surveille.

  With any luck, they’d be able to grab one of Yesim’s crew tonight and interrogate them because the final combatant in tonight’s battles—the victor she’d fight to a possible death—was a henchman in Yesim’s former syndicate. Someone within his crew would show to watch. Addy hoped Yesim himself would show his paranoid ass and they could finally find out where the hell he’d hidden the biochemical weapons The Arsenal was hunting down.

  “Addy can handle this,” Jesse Mason said in the com. “Fan out within the crowd. Cracker, be ready to disperse drones if necessary. Shep, position yourself near the chained cage entry in case she needs backup.”