7

The patrol car seemed to crawl like a snail on purpose to give me the maximum enjoyment of the grill that separated the front and rear seats.

As Egor said, me and Kristina with Vanya were asked to drive up to the prosecutor's office by ten in the morning on a voluntary-compulsory basis.

None of us were officially charged with anything, but I knew it was only a matter of time. Diamonds were picked up only by a runaway courier, but on the bag that the woman delivered along with the flowers, in addition to Arthur's prints, there were also mine.

My brother also played against me, whose last name was in the Cop database. And we couldn't count on Christina and Vanya if we all failed to escape. We were mated, but by and large, each was for himself, and if they found out about my brother’s arrests, then without remorse they would have blamed everything on me and Arthur, they say, they had an affair and so on.

Egor's promise... Hmm... He did not respond to my offer to leave, and the phrase "I'll see what I can do" sounded too vague. The incident in the store, even with the presence of blood, was not weighed down by a corpse or corpses, so the homicide department was not involved in the investigation, and Egor, in principle, could not do anything.

While signing the testimony and leaving contact details, I caught a wolf smell. Maybe it was Angelov's wolves, who already knew what had happened and were on the trail of the robbers, or maybe it was a courier who did not go far and watched the fuss from a safe distance in order to report everything to the owner later in the hope and plea that he will not tear his throat out for allowing the theft.

That the latter took place, I had no doubt. I was, of course, not quite myself when the shooting ended, but the case into which the courier managed to transfer most of the diamonds was nowhere on the floor.

I didn't regret helping him. This did not bring any benefit, because the remains of the diamonds still ended up in the material evidence, but maybe, albeit with a stretch, the good deed done will return to me in difficult times.

Somehow I got out of the car and hobbled towards the house. My mouth was dry. I haven't eaten anything since morning and my stomach hurts. All the cuts hurt like hell. In general, everything hurt, but there was no time to relax.

Patrolmen, chained to my back, followed me to the entrance doors. The lights of the car flickered, and she slowly crawled away, or rather, only pretended to leave.

The patrol must have been ordered to herd me, and Christina, and the guard, so that we would not run away, and they would sit somewhere behind the house so that the yard was visible.

Nothing, I knew my slums very well and I also knew how to get out of them without being noticed. If only the brother was at home, because the cops were not the only problem. There were still wolfhounds, personal hounds of the owner of the city.

Half-breeds, like my brother and I, they did for Angelov the work that he himself and his close, pure-blooded entourage had long disdained to do. Most likely, it was their smell that I caught at the store.

- Crap! - I swore, stumbling in the entrance.

The darkness was impenetrable. I took off my shoes to avoid unnecessary bruising. Forces and so was not enough, and the night was coming long.

I tried so hard to get my brother out of crime, to keep him from communicating with wolves, but now with my own hands I pushed both myself and him to such a sharp edge that no matter how it was not cut, but fatally.

Even when Arthur had just appeared in the store and made it clear that the course of the business would change dramatically, I should have quit, but I hesitated, figured out for too long how many chances an unmarried girl with no education, not burdened with children and endless sick days, get at least a secretary in a reputable company, and then the new owner raised the salary, and I didn’t even have time to look around, as I ended up half-naked on his table.

After each time, I resolutely told myself that this was the last, that I would not be the one who does not respect myself, but the bills kept coming, my brother got into debt to sponsor his ideas, and I slid down until my own compromise with conscience did not begin to crush completely and the words "I will achieve everything myself" did not settle along with the dust of desires set aside for eternal "later".

Feeling for the handle and the keyhole, I inserted the key, but the door, as in the morning, was not locked. A wolfish smell, tinged with fear and iron, hit his nose.

The air seemed to shrink around me, the blood froze in the veins and arteries. Convulsively breathing in and out, I sat down, pulled out a pistol from a niche, automatically removing it from the safety lock. Leaving my bag and shoes on the floor, I walked slowly into the light that poured from the only room my brother and I shared.

His heart was beating hard in his chest, but his hand was firmly gripping a pistol with a clip full of silver bullets. Somewhere in the depths of my soul, I already knew what was waiting for me in the room, and the tentacles of sticky fear, approaching from all sides, which seemed tiny as never before, squeezed my throat more and more confidently, but I continued to walk.

If I was right, then I should have fired right away. It doesn't matter if I hit or not, the main thing is to buy time, taking by surprise those who have lost the habit of resistance and do not expect anything but a paralyzed victim.

His pulse accelerated to the limit, his own heavy breathing rumbled in his ears. One more step and one more and one more...

The pain hit suddenly. The wrist of the hand holding the gun cracked and I released it. The ribs were severely compressed.

- And here comes my sister! came a nasal voice in his ear.

Its owner smelled strongly of cigarettes. He must have been in the kitchen smoking and I didn't notice him or even smell him, focusing all my attention on the room.

- And what a militant she is! Wow!

The ribs squeezed even more and I seemed to be rocked.

- And the muzzle is nothing like that! came the second voice.

I limply hung in someone else's arms, driving away the dark spots that danced before my eyes. When I finally managed to focus my eyes, the first thing that opened up in front of him was my brother: his face was smashed and bloody in the trash, in his eyes there was wild horror and a glimmer of hope in connection with my brilliant appearance.

Behind him stood, apparently, the one who appreciated my "muzzle". His knuckles were covered in blood, with one hand he held Sasha by the collar of his shirt.

Standing at the window was the same courier whose blood was still under my fingernails. He changed his clothes and looked like a fossil, even his eyes, which seemed to look through me, did not move.

There was another one by the sofa with a ponytail of dark hair and my pistol in his hand. His shirt was not buttoned up to the end and revealed a tattoo of a wolf's head on his chest, the eternal brand of the master of the city's wolfhounds.

I did not have to think long about the one who was sitting on the sofa, because Boris Angelov, the unspoken master of the city, needed no introduction.

The blue shirt, tightly fitting the bulging muscles of the chest and arms, set off the dark skin and sandy hair, elegantly combed back, and emphasized the coldness of the ice-flecked eyes that studied me carefully.

- Is it Alyosha?

The voice was low-pitched with no emotional undertone.

“She,” the courier immediately replied, involuntarily touching the torso, in which there were silver bullets just a few hours ago.

- Hmm... - Angelov bowed his head thoughtfully, slightly leaning forward. - A benefactress, Arthur's bedding and the eldest daughter of Valery Stanislavsky. Curious...

I shifted my gaze to my brother, who meekly lowered the corners of his bloodied lips.

“That's right,” Angelov said casually, following my gaze. - Alexander told us a lot of interesting things, but don't blame him. Even the strongest wolves reach their limit of pain, it's just that your brother got it very quickly.

My body was torn from pain, my head was seething, trying to turn off all systems every second, but I kept myself conscious, trying to think soberly.

How is it that Angelov himself came to my house just a few hours after the robbery?

Maybe he found Arthur and he, as Yegor said, without shame or conscience, dumped everything on me? But why me? He did not know who my father was and did not know about his brother's arrests.

Or Yegor turned out to be right about something else, and Sasha blabbed to everyone a long time ago that we were the children of the former owner of the city, Valery Stanislavsky, and Angelov decided to personally check whether the children had gone after their father and risked robbing him, and thereby challenge him to return the former greatness of the family and wolf blood?

In this case, as in any other, literally everything was against us: father's blood, and work in the store, and connection with Arthur, and Sasha's drives, and the very presence of Angelov in our house was akin to a sentence without trial or investigation.

I stole a glance out the window. Empty hope that the patrolmen could help us. Well, if Angelov personally came to us, then the cops will not dare to bark in his direction.

Angelov noticed this look of mine as well. Ice flared in his eyes. "No one will come to your aid," he seemed to say.

I remained silent, continuing to fight the pain and his now testing gaze. Such an obvious question was not voiced, but hung silently, waiting for the right moment.

Finally, Angelov took his eyes off me and ran across the room, clinging to a photograph of my mother that stood on the small table on which I usually ironed.

It was one of the few photographs that survived. On her mother was very young and in love. You could see it in her eyes and beaming smile. Sasha and I both looked like her, but her brother was bigger, and she often said that I, as the first-born, took a lot from my father, apparently a man who was far from deprived of nature by external data, but transmitted to me with feminine charm.

“I knew him,” Angelov said in a somewhat bored tone, still looking at the photo. - Your father. True, I was still a boy then, but I already admired him. He was a real wolf, strong, brave, smart. No one even guessed that he had a family, and now, - he returned his gaze to me, - I understand why he hid it so much. Family, love is a weakness, and any weakness for a predator is an unaffordable luxury.

Angelov rubbed his heavy chin, continuing to stare at me with an impenetrable, icy gaze as I looked at him.

To say that he was in danger was an understatement. His features bore no resemblance to those of an angel and were crudely hewn. The embossed body, powerful and filled with wolf energy, even at the slightest movement looked graceful and therefore even more deadly.

Having met such a person in a narrow alley, you involuntarily regret that you are not a small midge and cannot fly past unnoticed, and once you are in the same room, you can only hope that everything will end quickly.

- Where are my diamonds? he asked after a pause.

- It's not me! - whined brother. - That's her! All she!

The wolf, holding him by the collar, swung and hit Sasha with force, but did not let him fall and swung again.

I twitched towards him, but they held me too tightly and from the sharp movement of the rib there was a sharp pain, knocking the air out of my lungs.

- Leave him! I choked out. - I do not have them! We don't belong here at all!

Angelov gave Sasha a contemptuous look and looked at me again.

"Arthur says otherwise," he objected.

- Lie! He would say anything for mercy!

Angelov barely perceptibly changed in his face and got up from the sofa. The wolfhound put my pistol into his outstretched hand.

“I see you are a smart girl,” he said very ingratiatingly.

- Give them back, Kira! - pleaded brother, pouring blood from swollen lips and nose. - Give it back! Let it all end!

Angelov paid no attention to him and took a few steps towards me.

- You said everything right, - he continued, removing the fuse with a sliding movement of his thumb, - but I have news for you: there will be no mercy.