Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
One of them was almost smart…almost.
While I was exchanging fire on one side, he ducked low and made his way to the other side of the table, flanking me as I reloaded. Too bad he didn't count on my second gun.
One more head shot, but not before he got in a shot of his own.
This one grazed deep into my side. Fucker. At least it didn’t penetrate my stomach. Stomach wounds were the worst. They were messy and if the bullet hit the intestine, the chances of dying from infection went up significantly. It was a slow and painful way to go.
I couldn’t let them get off any more shots.
Viktoria needed me alive.
For her I would live, though I would die before I admitted to Gregor that I now understood his change in priorities.
I slid the second magazine into place and got my feet under me, still crouched down behind the table. The bullet wound in my upper arm hurt like a bitch, but it was nothing compared to the one in my side. I was bleeding from both, far too much.
A man with less to lose would have stayed down, waited them out from behind cover, picking them off one by one and praying help got there in time.
I had something to lose that was far more valuable than my life.
Her life.
I stood and started firing one after the other, watching them all drop. I didn't stop until all of them were dead and I had to lean on the table to stay steady.
The sound of wood splintering echoed through the destroyed room. I sagged, exhaustion dragging me down, not sure how much more I could take. I only had three shots left in one gun, two in the other.
If I had to grab a piece-of-shit rifle to kill them all, that was what I was going to do. I might die, but I was going to take all those motherfuckers down with me.
"Artem, you alive?" Kostya called, and I sighed with relief.
Backup was here. I just needed to make sure none of them had gotten to Viktoria.
"Holy fuck, what happened here?" Pavel said, coming into the room, looking at the bodies littering the floor. "What are you, John Wick?"
"They were untrained and poorly armed, but yes," I answered, unsteady on my feet. "You should see what I can do with a pencil."
Kostya let out a low whistle. "No doubt, brother."
"You need medical," Pavel said.
I held up my hand to stop him from rushing to me. "Clear the house first. And the tunnels."
He looked at me for a moment like he was going to argue, then nodded. "Fine, but you stay here. Mikhail is on his way."
The second they left, I went the other way, heading for the master bedroom.
It took me far too long to reach it, and the room was spinning around me, so it took two tries to type in the code. When I had the door open, Viktoria stood there, tears streaming down her face.
"My god, Artem!" she screamed, rushing to me.
Her hands fluttered over my wounds, pressing hard against the one in my side. Blood soaked between her fingers—my blood—but she didn't pull away.
Her face, always defiant, was twisted with something I'd never seen before.
Fear. Not for herself, but for me.
"Don't you dare die," she commanded, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't you dare leave me."
Those words hit harder than any bullet.
In her panic, in the heat of the moment, she'd revealed more than all our conversations ever had.
Not Stockholm syndrome. Not manipulation. Something real.
I slumped against the doorframe, my strength fading from me, blood pooling at my feet. My response was weak but resolute. "You're safe…that's all that matters."
"No, it's not all that matters, you stubborn bastard," she sobbed, pressing harder against my wounds. "I can't lose you. I won't."
I collapsed under my own weight.
I had lost too much blood.
My eyes never left hers as darkness crept in around the edges of my vision.
If I was going to die, then as long as the last thing I ever saw was her eyes—filled with tears for me, caring for me despite everything—I would die a fortunate man.
CHAPTER 37
VIKTORIA
Artem lay at my feet, bloody and broken.
I stood over him, my heart pounding like a drum as reality crashed around me. He had promised he would let me out, and he kept his word.
They had shot him—twice—and still he came for me, because he said he would.
Now I had a choice.
I could help him—save him the way he saved me—or I could run.
My freedom hung there, tantalizingly close, but the taste of it was overwhelmed by gunpowder and the metallic bitterness of his blood.
Blood spilled protecting me.
The house had descended into complete chaos. Men shouting at each other in Russian and English, occasional gunfire punctuating their threats. This was my chance to disappear.