Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
The girl’s mouth drops open, and she screams.
The guy just runs.
Fine, good enough, as long as they aren’t in the way. I head forward as a car comes screaming down the street, heading the wrong way, and slams on its brakes.
I throw myself to the side. The flames from the van are sending huge plumes of thick black smoke over the area. I cough, hiding behind a beat-up sedan, its front bumper missing from the explosion. My teeth grind, and I want to check to make sure Grigor survived the blast, but I can’t, not yet.
A good fisherman knows when to be patient.
Figures surround the SUV. I’m guessing they came from the nearby houses and from the car that pulled up. I stay low, heart racing in my chest. My hands are steady, and I’m prepared. We’ve gone over this scenario a dozen times over the last six weeks to the point that it’s almost routine.
Only I wasn’t expecting another fucking car bomb.
I peer out and watch men in combat fatigues try to pry the SUV’s door open. It’s locked and partially melted shut, which is what’s giving them trouble. I count to five, making sure they’re all focused away from me, before I step out of my hiding spot.
The man closest to me takes a bullet in the back of his head. It’s an easy shot. His skull cracks, and blood and flecks of brain-splattered bone explode around the entry wound. Two soldiers turn toward me, and I kill another before rushing the third.
He gets his hands up, rifle raising to blow a big gaping red hole in my chest, but he’s too slow.
My shoulder rams into him, knocking him back into the smoking SUV. He shouts in surprise and pain, and I put two bullets in his chest. A soldier to my left attacks, swinging a baton at my head, and I manage to duck just in time. His blow smacks against his former comrade’s corpse, jarring his grip, and I come up with a vicious knee and break his elbow.
He screams in agony as the bone splinters through flesh like the jagged stump of a burned-out tree.
I smash my forehead into his nose, reveling in the blood and pain, before shooting him point-blank in the face.
His skull explodes in a lovely pink mist.
“Kill him!” Seamus McGrath stands at the top of the SUV, lips pulled back in a snarl, as eight well-armed men converge on me.
Bad odds. Really fucking bad odds. A smart man would turn and run.
I’ve never been all that clever.
Instead, I drop to a knee and shoot Seamus in the thigh.
He screams and topples, and suddenly two dozen men come barreling down the block carrying assault rifles and screaming in Russian. Evan is at their head, looking like he’s enjoying himself.
All hell breaks loose.
The Irish try to fight back, but they’re surrounded. Evan and his troops move in, killing the Irish one by one. I get into cover and help where I can, picking off several stragglers until the SUV’s wreckage is a flaming bloodbath. Corpses are scattered everywhere, their flesh torn to shreds by high-caliber rifle shots.
I hurry to the car door. It’s not easy to open, but I pull with all my strength. It starts to bend outward, and it finally cracks and swings wide when Evan adds his strength to mine.
“Grigor!” I shout, reaching inside.
The old guard is alive. He’s bleeding from a wound in his forehead and holding his ribs, but he’s breathing. “About fucking time,” he mutters at me as Evan hauls him out. “Did you get them?”
“That’s a good fucking question,” Evan says, looking at the bodies. “Is he one of these?”
“No,” I say, leaving the injured guard with my brother-in-law. I hop down off the SUV and stroll toward the far sidewalk, following a bloody trail. “He went this way.”
It isn’t hard to find Seamus. He’s trying to escape, but he’s not moving very fast with that hole in his leg. I catch up to him half a block later, whistling as I slowly get closer and closer, savoring the terror in his eyes as he struggles to escape.
“Fuck you,” he snarls, grabbing a chair from outside a café. He throws it at me, but it weakly clatters off the ground. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“Oh, Seamus,” I say and raise my gun. I shoot him in the other leg, and this time, he goes down. “You never should’ve come back for her, but you couldn’t help yourself.”
“Fuck you,” he groans, trying to stem the bleeding, but I must’ve hit an artery.
Poor bastard doesn’t have long.
I crouch down beside him, dimly aware of several bystanders. Cops are coming soon. I’d better finish this.
“You know how I got you?” I ask, savoring the moment. “I realized I was never going to catch you on my terms. I had to offer you something you couldn’t resist to lure you out.” I kick him in the leg. “She was never in the car, Seamus. Not after the first time. You don’t think I can afford a doctor that makes house calls?”