Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Climbing back onto the bed, I wedged my feet under Dmitri’s body and kicked him over onto his back. His head lolled to the side, flesh and bone visible, his spine showing through. The blade still protruded from his chest. I yanked it out as my mother stared at his face, as if wanting to be sure that he was truly dead.
I pressed the tip of the knife into the small screw that held the back of the shackle together. It slipped out, and I cursed quietly, then tried again. Once I got the hang of it, I was able to twist it until the screw came loose and the bolt on the other end dropped to the bed. Tugging at the metal, I was able to open the cuff enough to slide my foot out.
“Here.” I handed the knife to my mother. “Work the screw out.” I gathered my clothes from the corner and threw them on as she twisted the blade.
Once I was dressed, I sat next to her and took the knife, working the screw out faster than she could with her shaking hands. When the shackle was gone, she rubbed her ankle, as if it were the first moment in a long time since she’d been free of it. The thought cut me, but I couldn’t dwell on guilt. We had to get out of the penthouse.
I rose from the bed and rummaged through the nearby dresser, hoping for some sort of weapon. “Do you know where he keeps his guns?” I whispered as my mom continued to rub her ankle, a faraway look once again clouding her eyes.
“Not here.” She pointed at the side wall. “In the bedroom next door.” Another tremor shook her, and tears flowed freely down her cheeks.
Shit. We wouldn’t make it two steps out the door without some sort of weapon. Our little knife wouldn’t do a damn thing against the goons with guns right outside.
I darted to the windows overlooking the city. They didn’t have an opening mechanism, just sheets of glass. Not that it mattered, we were thirty stories up, and there was no way down.
I returned to the bed and pulled my mother to my chest. Her tears drew some of my own. It was as if she were letting out all the emotion she’d hid from Dmitri for so long, her body no longer able to hold it back.
“I’m so happy I got to see you.” She pulled back and stroked my cheek. “My beautiful girl. So glad I got to see my Sabrina again.”
“Don’t give up.” I gave her a weak smile. “We are getting out of here.”
She shook her head, her sad eyes cutting through my false bravado. “I wish that were true.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nate
I glared at the closest Russian as Peter grunted in pain. Blood coated my fingers as I tried to stanch Peter’s wound.
The big Russian fucker aimed his pistol at me, a smirk on his face. “Dosvidaniya ublyudok.”
“Fuck you too, cunt.”
I expected a bullet to the face. It never came. The hangar lights went out, the entire place plunged into darkness. I threw myself on top of Peter as the Russian fired.
Then the roar of the rotary gun met my ears as bullets riddled the planes, the equipment, and the squad of Russians who stood in a group nearby. Pained groans and cries rose amidst the ongoing carnage from the bruiser with the modern Gatling gun. It had to be the Butcher. No one else would have bothered to come to our aid.
A smattering of return fire erupted nearby, but David quickly destroyed the shooters with another round of slugs from the rotary gun. When the hangar quieted again, only the groans of the injured remained.
“Boss?” David’s voice bounced off the metal sides of the hangar.
“Back here! Peter’s hurt bad.”
“I’m coming.” David ended the groaning men with a handful of shots as he picked his way to us. When he rounded the Cessna, his gaze fixed on his brother, and a particularly vicious rage fell over his face like a black cloud.
Leaning down, he easily lifted his brother—not a small man—into his arms. “Your neck.” He hitched his chin at me.
“It’s fine.” I didn’t know if it was or not, but I wasn’t in as bad of shape as Peter. “Let’s get him to the hospital. Then I’ll worry about me.”
David set off toward the airstrip, moving quickly as he stepped over the dead. I followed and helped him load Peter into the back of a black SUV.
I pulled myself into the passenger seat as David screeched tires out of there. Digging my phone from my pocket, I dialed Angus.
He picked up right away. “We’re almost there.” His voice was strained tight.
“Too late.” I pressed my palm to my neck and glanced back at Peter, who lay pale and silent in the back seat. “It’s over. But I’ll need my guys to clean up, get our dead and see if we have any wounded, then take the shipment to our warehouse.”