Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Between the concussion, the pain meds, and the stitches, I was moving at maybe half speed. My vision blurred at the edges with each jarring step, and I could feel my sutures pulling tight with every movement. It had to be enough.
Still, I moved through them like the grim reaper himself, claiming lives and carving a path of death and destruction as I made my way toward my woman.
When I got to the large open area, I expected one, maybe two men.
There were closer to a half dozen. They were armed, and they were waiting for me.
Fuck.
My heart pounded in my chest, adrenaline raced through my veins as I took cover, running through a hail of bullets and praying I didn't get shot... again.
I had my back pressed against an old metal desk, but the guns that they were using weren't the greatest, so its thick metal sheeting made halfway decent cover.
At least it would, until they turned it into Swiss cheese.
Beads of sweat moved down my brow as I checked my magazine, making sure I was still loaded. The sour taste of fear coated my tongue, mixing with the copper from where I'd bitten through my cheek.
I had a few more shots left and then I'd have to switch magazines.
I wasn't doing that until I absolutely had to.
There were too many men for me to waste bullets. I was unprepared. For the first time in my life, when it mattered the most, I hadn't brought enough supplies.
Fuck.
I couldn't panic. Fear was clawing its way up my throat, but I couldn't panic. Zoya needed me.
I had to be smart, make this shit work.
Peeking over the edge of the desk, I tried to map as many of them as possible.
I barely got back behind cover before the bullets started again.
From what I could see, there were six men on the ground level with me. The metal door to the stairway behind them leading to the upper-level offices was open. There was no telling how many men were on the other floors. They could come in at any moment. At least the catwalk was empty, for now.
The second the hail of bullets stopped, I surged up from behind the desk, muscle memory taking over as I acquired targets. Two quick squeezes—center mass, center mass. The first man's chest exploded into a fountain of red, his body spinning like a broken marionette before hitting the ground. The second caught it in the throat, his gurgling scream drowning in his own blood as he clawed at the gaping wound.
I got off another shot then ducked just before bullets chewed up the air where my head had been a split second before, metal fragments from the desk cutting lines across my cheeks. The taste of copper and cordite filled my mouth as I pressed deeper into cover, warm blood trickling down my jaw.
I knew I killed at least two. From the swearing, I would say I hit another, but I couldn't be sure.
The air was filled with the odors of motor fuel and gunpowder. Sweet and cloying to my nose and I was pretty sure it was killing brain cells.
"Tell me where the girl is," I yelled.
"Tell us where the money is," another one yelled back.
Money? What money?
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just here for the girl."
"Well, that girl has millions stashed away. We need to know where it is. We want our cut."
"How the fuck should I know? Have you thought maybe she put it in a bank?"
Of course, this was about money. Not even money they were owed. Lazy fuckers.
I popped up again, but this time from the other side of the desk and fired four times.
At least two dropped before my gun made that sickening click sound, telling me there was nothing left to fire.
I ducked back down behind cover as I switched to a new magazine.
Crawling over to the other side of the desk, I peered around the corner and tried to get an idea of how many were left.
Two too many and more were coming.
"Come out, come out, little bitch," Mateo called, and the grating sound of his slurred words was followed by the rapid pop pop pop of an AK-103 assault rifle.
Being outmanned was one thing. But being outgunned—by a fucking Russian gun, no less—was different.
Mateo was likely high, which made him unpredictable.
The surrounding men seemed to rally with his presence.
"Don't worry boys, when we show that bitch this man's head, I'm sure she'll give us what we need. Assuming she doesn't bleed out first."
Bleed out?
I checked my watch. It was a little after ten p.m. It had been about twenty-four hours since the doctor gave her that IV.
If he hurt her...if she was bleeding...I could be too late.
Fuck.
I popped up once, took a couple shots, and then hit the floor again as quickly as I could.