Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Erik screams for us to help him. He’s pinned beneath twisted metal, writhing in pain, his leg pinched.
“Fuck,” I mutter. Sirens wail in the distance. Someone’s called emergency vehicles. We have to get out of here.
“We’ll have to pull him out,” Yakov says with a grimace. The pinned metal could be working as a makeshift tourniquet, and removing him could make him bleed out, but we can’t risk staying here. Yakov stands on one side and I the other. Erik’s growling in pain, white as a ghost, and he looks on the edge of passing out.
“Hold fast, brother,” I tell him. “Breathe. We’ll get you out.”
The guy might be a douchebag, but Bratva men defend one another to the death. I’m bound by honor and loyalty to save him, as is Yakov. Yakov meets my eyes and gives me a nod.
“On three,” I say. “One, two, three.”
Erik’s scream rings through the air as we lift the car off his leg. He’s bleeding, and heavily, but thankfully it isn’t as bad as I feared.
“We’ll have to make a tourniquet,” Marissa says. She’s by my side and the blonde is by Yakov’s. I tear off my shirt and wrap it around his leg.
“Fuck!” Yakov growls.
I look up and see Erik’s girl running as fast as she can two blocks away.
“We chase her, we risk cops coming here,” I tell him. “Gotta get you to the compound.”
“Go,” he says through gritted teeth. If Erik survives this, he’ll have to face Tomas empty-handed. I look to the blonde who sits by Yakov and Marissa, who watches everything with wide, curious eyes. They didn’t run.
Sirens wail just seconds away. The car that hit us is still running, and it’s our only means of escape.
“We’ll take his car,” I tell Yakov. Bystanders watch us on this busy street, but we wave off help. We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.
Yakov and I take Erik to the car, then I slide into the driver seat, Marissa sits in the passenger seat beside me, and Yakov restrains the man in the back on the floor, his foot pressed to his back. The man growls and tries to get up, but he won’t move.
“Go, Aleks,” Yakov says. “I’ve got him.” He points his gun at the man’s temple low enough out of the view of any bystander and cocks it. “Call Tomas.”
I call him on my phone and swipe at my head.
“Yeah?”
I tell Tomas what happened as succinctly as possible. I don’t mention to him that Erik’s tribute fled, but tell him we’ve captured the man who hit us and we’re bringing him in for questioning.
“I’ll send men out for recon,” Tomas says. “Get in here.”
We’re ten minutes out from the compound.
“Who the fuck are you?” Yakov asks the man on the floor, but the man doesn’t respond. Yakov kicks him. “I asked you a question. Who the fuck are you?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Question him later,” I tell Yakov. “Keep him secured for now.”
Marissa freezes. I look to where she does as we turn to get back on the highway. Hidden between two trash barrels, crouched to the ground, our escapee hides. I glance in the rearview mirror, but Erik’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t see her. Marissa and I share a look. We stay silent.
Erik can deal with Tomas himself. I saved his fucking life, and he’s lucky I did.
“Yakov, tell me your injuries,” I demand.
“Bruised my leg, maybe sprained my wrist,” he says. “Otherwise fine.”
“Your woman?”
“A few scrapes and bruises but nothing broken.”
“You?” I ask Marissa.
“Gash on my cheek, but alright.”
“We’ll need to see a doctor to be sure no one sustained internal injuries.” I curse under my breath. This is not the way I would have chosen to make our entry to the brotherhood, but it could have been worse.
We survived.
I reach to Marissa and run my thumb along her thigh. The bastard will pay for marring her.
“I want to know how the fuck he knew who we were and how to get to us,” I say. I want a chance to question him myself.
We drive to the compound in silence, and when we arrive, half a dozen men stand outside, arms crossed like soldiers ready for battle. Tomas stands at the very front, the largest and most formidable of the group. He’s well over six feet tall, his nearly-black eyes boring into me. He wears a sleeveless black t-shirt, his arms revealing signature Bratva ink, silver scars mark his battle wounds along his upper arm that goes all the way to his neck.
I park the car and go straight to him.
“Aleks,” he says with a nod. “Tell me everything.”
I tell him about the truck on the highway and the car that followed us. “We have the driver secured in the back. Yakov’s got him. But we need a doctor, brother. Erik’s bleeding profusely. He’s unconscious now, either from lack of blood or pain.”