Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
It takes us almost twenty minutes before lights appear between the trees, and as we get closer, I catch sight of Sokolov’s hunting lodge.
Andrei lifts a hand, stopping between the trees, and as we surveil the premises, I count four guards.
He indicates four with his fingers, and when I nod in agreement, we keep low as we leave our cover and run closer to the lodge.
When he suddenly drops even lower, I do the same, and we wait again.
Andrei watches the nearest guard like a fucking hawk, and the instant he turns his back to us, my friend darts away and runs across the snow. Coming up behind the guard, he clamps a hand over his mouth while plunging the K-Bar twice into his chest. The fucker’s body jerks, then goes limp, and Andrei lets him drop to the snow before indicating for me to move.
We barely make it another twenty feet when the second guard comes around the corner of the lodge, freezing at the sight of us. His hands tighten on the machine gun, but before he can raise it, Andrei grips the K-Bar by the tip of the blade and throws it. The knife sails through the air before slamming into the man’s throat, his eyes flaring wide as he staggers and gurgles before falling backward.
My friend keeps himself between the remaining guards and me while we make our way to the side of the lodge.
Again, he indicates for me to wait before sprinting away. Striking like a fucking cobra, he locks an arm around the third guard’s throat, wrenching his head sharply to the side and breaking his neck.
The action gets the last guard’s attention, and as he runs toward us, the fucker bellows, “Volkov is here!”
Shouts erupt from inside, and knowing we’ve lost the element of surprise, I mutter, “Fuck it. Let’s finish this.”
I break out into a run, and when my body collides with the fucker, he grunts. Using the butt of my gun, I slam it into his face, and as he stumbles a step back, Andrei ends him with a shot to the head.
“I said let me handle the guards,” he mutters.
“Yeah-yeah, I was getting bored.”
Just as we come around the back of the lodge, a door slams open, hitting the wall loudly. The next second, Sokolov bursts outside, running surprisingly fast across the backyard for a man in his seventies.
“Blyad’!” Andrei snaps as I take off after the old man while tucking my gun into the front of my pants.
The bastard already has a good start as he heads straight for the row of snowmobiles parked behind the house. Throwing himself onto one, he revs the engine, making snow spray into the air as he speeds away in the direction of the woods.
There’s no fucking way I’m letting him slip through my fingers.
Andrei and I reach the snowmobiles seconds later, and grabbing the nearest one, I straddle the seat and start the engine before opening the throttle all the way.
Just then, more guards pour out of the house and open fire on us.
The fact that Sokolov left the house without his guards right behind him makes me think Junior is in there and he’s leading us away from his son so that he can make a clean getaway.
Oleg Jnr isn’t my target right now, and I focus on his father.
The machine surges forward, almost throwing me backward, and as I set after Sokolov, I hear Andrei returning fire right behind me.
By the time I reach the tree line, Sokolov is already weaving between the pines, his brown coat flashing in and out of sight. I push the snowmobile as hard as I can, ducking beneath a low branch as the skis bounce over the rough terrain.
The wind is fucking freezing on my face, and I tuck my chin lower, my eyes narrowing to slits.
Engines roar behind us, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see two of Sokolov’s men coming after us. One fires a shot at me, the sound cracking in the air, and just as I swerve around a tree, pieces of bark fall onto the snow from a bullet hitting the trunk.
“Kusok govna!” I shout, ducking lower over the handlebars while swerving around another tree. Drawing my weapon again, I manage to fire several shots while ducking and weaving to avoid bullets and branches.
Andrei swerves wide, trying to keep the second guard from getting alongside him, while the first comes racing straight at me.
Realizing he plans to ram into me, I wrench the handlebars sharply, but his machine clips mine hard enough to send me fishtailing through the snow.
My breats are ragged as I fight for control of the snowmobile, narrowly missing frozen shrubs before managing to straighten out just as he circles back for another attempt.
A gunshot cracks behind me, and the fucker jerks before slumping over the handlebars. His snowmobile shoots forward and races onto the frozen river, where the machine spins sideways the second it hits the slick ice. I watch as the vehicle comes to a crashing halt against an embankment and snow buries the fucker.