Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“I’m not worried about him being put away. I don’t want to protect him,” Viktor confides quietly. “I’m worried for all the men he’ll take a knife to while he’s in there. I want to protect them.” He inhales deeply then exhales slowly. “Do me a favor, yeah? Whatever beef you got with Maxim, leave me and Anika out of it.”
The dial tone hums in my ear.
Shit.
No luck.
Maxim Nikulin is going to be a pain in my ass.
One week later…
“I need a gun,” I shout at Black as his soldier boys scatter around the waterfront property owned by Neo Metaxas.
I’m more than a little pissed. There is no point in me bringing down these men if I can’t enjoy my life because I fucking died trying to achieve it.
Black is being an asshole. “You don’t need a fucking gun! Stay back, away from the action.” He grabs the front of my shirt, shaking me. “We had a deal!” he roars, and spittle sprays me. “You don’t get to make orders. You fucking take them!”
So that’s how it is, ‘ey? We’ll see about that.
He releases me, and I stumble while he jumps into the fray. Neo’s men pull their guns, but Black’s soldiers are quicker. Shots are fired, and I stay back, my goddamn baton in hand.
With my helmet and half-faced mask on, no one is going to recognize me, and it’s a good thing because Neo and I were friends. His men know me.
The now-interrupted poker game scattered all over the floor of the mansion, I watch as red stains splatter onto the pristine white velvet sofa.
Neo’s going to be pissed. He always did have a thing for white furniture.
When I spot one of Black’s men crying out, a hunting knife sticking out of his thigh, falling to the floor in a heap, clutching at his leg and groaning in pain, I don’t think too much about running in the middle of an all-out war to get the guy someplace safe. Placing my hands under his arms, I pull with all my might, because this guy is a fucking tank. I manage to drag him into the empty kitchen and sit him up against the fridge, out of sight.
He moans, and I shush him. Not in a soothing way, more of a shut-the-fuck-up-and-don’t-draw-attention-to-us kind of way. He groans some more and places his shaking hands on the handle of the knife. I know what he plans to do, but I push his hands away and grip his sweaty face. “You take that out now, and you’re gonna bleed to death. Right here. In this house.” He doesn’t seem to be listening, so I shake him. “Is this where you want to die?”
The man shakes his head, and it’s then that I realize he’s young, maybe in his mid-twenties.
Somehow, my thoughts wander to my son and my heart squeezes.
I gentle my hold on the man-boy and grip his shoulders lightly. “Don’t touch it. Stay here. Don’t make any noise, not unless you want to die, understand?”
Sweating bullets, he nods as tears stream down his face. I reach for the pistols at his thighs and take them out of their holsters. Holding them up, I tell him, “Now, I’m taking these, all right? And I’m gonna shoot some bad guys.”
“Take ‘em down.” Speaking through gritted teeth, he pants out, “Take ‘em all down.”
I grin, although he can’t see it through my mask. “Oh, I plan to.”
Just as I make to back out of the kitchen, the solider wheezes, “Behind you.”
My feet turn me at lightning speed and time slows. In the blink of an eye, I see the guy pointing a gun at me, and I know him. The man is Neo’s brother. George the fucking Greek, we called him. He has a wife. He has kids. He’s got people who depend on upon him, and right now, in this moment, he’s coming at me. Coming to kill me.
I go from semi-startled to furious in a second flat.
This is the man I used to be. I was a man who thought only about money and himself. But this guy, George, he has a family, and the fact he is throwing it all away for a couple mil is revolting.
I suppose some people take what they have for granted, but being away from my son for so long… nothing on this earth could make me go back to being the greedy, egotistical jerk I was before, not when I have him to live for.
Aiming for his heart, I remember Black’s words.
“Maim, injure, mutilate… but do not shoot to kill, goddamn it!”
My aim lowers, passed his groin, lower still and when I’m there, I pull the trigger.
As his bullet flies past my arm, mine meets its mark, and I watch in complete satisfaction as it pierces his knee, tearing him apart. With a shocked yelp, he falls to the ground and, shaking, still aims his guns at me. Before he has a chance to shoot again, I run toward him, and my steel-toed boot connects with his face. The back of his head smashes into a kitchen cabinet and his eyes turn dull as his consciousness fades.