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Tilts. Turns.
Gravity’s non-existent for a split second before the impact hits, jarring every bone in my body. My head smacks against the window. The seat belt is the only thing holding me in place.
We’re upside down.
What the fuck just happened?
I release my seat belt and crawl out of the car. Adrenaline finally kicks in. My heart races. All of my senses heighten. A voice in the back of my mind screams danger!
Quickly looking around, I don’t spot any threat nearby.
I find my phone and text my head of security. I need men here. Now.
Maks. Where the fuck is Maks?
There, in the driver’s seat. He hangs limply, his arms dangling. I practically wrench the door off its hinges to get to him. He’s heavy as fuck, but I manage to pull him from the wreckage and into the road’s median strip. A layer of ice cracks beneath my shoes.
Headlights beam at our ruined car, and I’m temporarily blinded.
“Holy shit! Are you guys okay?” Some passerby has finally stopped. “I’m calling 911 now. Hold on.”
Bang! Bang!
Shots ring out and the guy trying to help us crumples to the ground. His eyes stare lifelessly to the heavens.
I reach for my gun.
“Maks.” I nudge him with my toe. “Wake the fuck up.” It’s no use. He’s out cold. Hopefully still alive. I don’t have time to check as three SUVs screech to a halt around us and men exit the vehicles.
Some of them I recognize. Boris. Anton. A couple of others from the old guard. They’re all seasoned fighters.
Fucking traitors.
My gun raised, I point it at them, swiveling as they fan out and surround me. There are at least fifteen of them and I only have six shots. Why the fuck didn’t I bring a bigger gun? Now I have to pick and choose which of these fuckers to kill.
One thing’s for sure. Boris has to go.
I take aim at him, my finger applying pressure to the trigger. Once he’s gone, I’ll shoot them at random until someone takes me out. Damn, I’d hoped my life wouldn’t end this way.
“Put the gun down, son.”
I flinch. That voice… I haven’t heard that voice in decades. This head injury must be worse than it feels because now I’m hallucinating. The man who belongs to that voice is dead. Long dead.
“I said, put it down. Now.” A figure steps from the shadows and my heart stops. Dread encases me so swiftly it’s like being plunged into freezing water. I can’t breathe.
We stand eye-to-eye, though his frame is not as built as mine. But those dark green eyes are all too familiar—they stare back at me in the mirror every morning. Grey streaks his hair. He’s older now, but there’s no doubt it’s him.
Father.
I’m frozen in place by a tsunami of emotions and thoughts. He’s alive. He’s been alive all this time.
He sold and abandoned me in Moscow.
He faked his own death.
He’s a fucking piece of shit. Why is he here?
Something hard whacks me in the back of the head and my vision dims. My knees give out, hitting the ground as I lose my grip in the gun.
