Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Give him your gun,” I order Regan.
“What?” she clutches the black stock tighter between both hands. “No!”
“Give me the fucking gun, you stupid woman.” Petrovich grabs for the gun, but Regan resists.
“Don’t call her stupid, you asswipe.” I barrel up the stairs past Naomi and pull Regan away. “Here, take my gun. You’re the stupid fuck who ran out of bullets.” Regan scrunches her nose and reluctantly hands me the Ruger. “Thanks, fighter.” I give her quick kiss on her lips and push Petrovich in front of us, using him as a shield. What do I care if his bear of a body gets riddled with bullets? I only want to get my girls out of this fucked-up place.
Two of Hudson’s men are barricaded behind the center kitchen island and fire off a series of rounds when Petrovich’s head peeks out.
“Ebanatyi pidaraz,” he roars and then dives out, shooting five bullets quickly. I hear return fire and hold Regan back. Behind me I hear the harsh breaths of Naomi as her anxiety ratchets up.
“Fucking motherfucker,” she translates unnecessarily or maybe for Regan’s benefit, and then she begins rocking on her heels. “Too loud,” she’s saying repeatedly, her hands over her ears. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I yell the last profanity out loud. I have to get them out. Regan’s crying but places a comforting arm around Naomi’s shoulders. I don’t have time to tell Regan that Naomi isn’t a fan of touching before Naomi lets out a piercing scream.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry, Naomi,” Regan says, releasing Naomi immediately. My sister is rocking back and forth on her feet, her hands over her ears.
Petrovich is looking at us like we are a circus troupe. A really bad one that he’d like to shoot to put out of our misery.
Fuck this shit.
“Stay here,” I order, and then I dive out toward Petrovich. More rounds are fired off, and I feel a fire in my side. Fuck. I’ve torn open the glued wound. Army crawling toward the back of the island, I can feel tile chunks and plaster pieces raining down on us. “What I wouldn’t give for some C-4 right now,” I joke to Petrovich, who merely grunts. “You got a plan?” I ask.
“Shoot. Kill. Leave,” Petrovich answers.
“Nice plan. On two?” I point upward.
He nods in understanding.
“One. Two.” We both spring upward and over the counter. Hudson’s men are still looking to the sides, and it is too late for them because by the time I’m over the counter, I’ve shot both in the head. Petrovich shoots another man at the entrance. For a moment, there is silence. Only the echoes of the bullets remain.
“Now,” I gesture toward the girls with my gun, but Naomi isn’t moving and Regan seems uncertain about following my command and leaving Naomi behind. If I didn’t love her before, my heart about seizes now as I see the care that Regan’s showing toward Naomi. Yeah, Regan’s never getting rid of me.
My side is aching like crazy, but I run toward Naomi—only Petrovich beats me there. He picks her up and slings her over his shoulder as if she’s a sack of rice. “Let’s go.”
I don’t wait for another invitation. Grabbing Regan’s hand, we run outside. The caterer’s van is still there, doors completely open and the metal siding riddled with bullets. I throw Regan inside and Petrovich does the same with Naomi. We slap the doors shut, and then Petrovich heads for the hood. He fiddles with something before coming around the driver’s side.
“Distributor cap?” I ask.
He nods, puts the van in reverse, and floors it. The girls fly backward against their seats. “Get down,” I bark. Regan pulls Naomi down as I lean out the door to shoot at the guards by the front gate that is closing. “Don’t fucking stop this vehicle.”
Petrovich grunts but doesn’t slow. I have six bullets left. There are three guards. The van is swaying like a drunk trying to walk on the train tracks. Lifting the gun, I sight the first guard, the one almost squatting. I shoot his kneecap off, and he topples over. The van lists to the side as Petrovich runs him over.
The guard by the gate is next. He gets two shots. One in the forehead. Poof. One in the chest. For surety. The third guard is on Petrovich’s side, which requires me to haul my ass out of the van and sit in the window so I can shoot him over the top of the van. A lucky return shot wings me in the shoulder and makes my first shot go wide, but I correct and the next two take him down as Petrovich slams into the now-closed gates. The force wrenches me forward, and I would have fallen out of the van window if not for Petrovich and Regan dragging me back inside.