Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
He finally stands and looks around.
I recognize him. His name is Igor, and his father is the dead passenger. I remember him as a kid. He’s about three years older than me and has always been an asshole. Lifting a phone to his ear, he speaks too softly for me to hear.
The phone has to be a burner.
Tucking it into his front pocket, he looks around and lights a cigarette. Not only is he an asshole, he’s a moron. Even if I reclaim ownership of the local Russian mob, I don’t want this guy.
We’re close enough he should be looking up to make sure he’s not being watched. He doesn’t bother. I pull the Makarov to the side, balance the weapon on the edge of the roof, and fire twice.
His head explodes like a melon, and he falls.
I wait a while longer, but there’s nobody else out there. Even so, I crouch low as I turn toward the ladder to climb down, again keeping my prints safely covered by the oily rags. Just as I reach the bottom, I turn and see Rosalie standing in the road, her jaw slack, her face pale, and her eyes wide as she stares at the man I just shot.
Well. Shit.
FOURTEEN
Rosalie
Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow rapidly, trying to keep lunch in my stomach. It’s impossible to think clearly right now. I won’t say my upbringing was sheltered, but I haven’t seen violence like this. The body by the road doesn’t move. His head exploded like he swallowed a grenade.
No way is he still alive.
There’s no expression on Alexei’s face as he stares at me, a gun in his hand. I blink. This isn’t happening. Slowly I start to back away. He releases the ladder, his gaze intense as he prowls toward me.
I trip over uneven gravel and kick my foot back to regain my balance, my left heel hitting a concrete block. I want to run, but I can’t move. His eyes are dark pools with no emotion. Not a speck of blood mars his dark jacket.
“You killed them.” I try to shake myself awake.
“Get back to the bike,” he orders.
The bike. I’d forgotten all about the bike. “No.” I look frantically around for an escape as adrenaline floods my body through the shock.
He shoves what looks like dirty dishcloths into his pocket before slipping that gun in the front of his waistband. “Rosalie, we have to get out of here.” Without waiting for a response, he grabs my arm and starts pulling me back toward the car of death, his grip relentless.
“No.” I panic, pushing against him, kicking him. His stride doesn’t shorten, and I have no choice but to follow him before I trip. If I fall, he’ll just drag me. I push loosely against him. “Alexei, you killed three men. You’re not even supposed to have a gun.” I haven’t secured him a new trial yet. He’s not a felon since the court overturned his conviction, but I bet that gun is not registered.
“We’re lucky I have one,” he says grimly, so much taller than me that I feel truly vulnerable for the first time.
We reach the vehicle, and he stops before finally looking me over head to toe. “What did you touch? You’re covered in blood.”
“Everything,” I explode. “I was trying to find a phone.” I checked the two men in the car who were dead and couldn’t find any sort of phone to call for help. The images of their wounds and so much blood will haunt me forever, and I try not to look at them now.
Alexei’s gaze sweeps me. My hands and white shirt are covered in blood since I tried to stem the bleeding chest of the man half out of the car. Trying to help him had been an instinctual response. When I realized he was dead, I tried to run, keeping close to the warehouse buildings. I hustled toward the main road, hoping I was running in the right direction. I saw the man standing, smoking a cigarette, and then two shots echoed from above me. From Alexei.
He’d killed so easily. So expertly.
He drops his head for a moment and closes his eyes. “You touched everything? You mean your fingerprints are all over that car?”
“Probably.” I punch him as hard as I can in the arm, and his grip remains tight.
He waits until I look up at his eyes before he releases me. “Why the hell were you looking in that car? They’re obviously dead.”
I had tried to save one guy first. “I was looking for a phone to call the police.”
Alexei blinks once, very slowly. A pit of dread drops into my stomach.
“The police?” He slowly shakes his head. “Goddamn it, Rosalie.” Red spirals across the top of his finely cut cheekbones and fury lifts his eyes, but his voice remains deadly soft.