Just before the driver jerked the SUV to a halt, I turned toward Mikhail. “Get back to Russia. You will become Pakhan in my absence.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mikhail searched my eyes.
“You will follow my orders. Period.” I didn’t give him or anyone else time to object, jumping from the vehicle before it came to a screeching halt.
There were four vehicles, masked men dressed in dark clothes, jumping from every door. I didn’t waste time, firing off several rounds. I’d learned at a very early age how to do anything to survive. I’d also been taught every man had a threshold of pain. Every man except for me. Given my penchant for violence and love of brutality, I threw myself into the fight, firing with my years of training.
Mikhail was out and behind me, guarding my back. He’d also been trained, although I wouldn’t call him a crack shot.
Yet he surprised me by striking one of the assailants between the eyes.
There were almost twice the number of assassins, all fanning out to try to box us in.
We moved in formation as the soldiers had been trained to do, but it became obviously very quickly the bastards also knew what they were doing.
When I was attacked from behind, tackled to the ground, we wrestled. My gun was almost knocked from my hand twice, but I outweighed the motherfucker by fifty pounds. I threw myself on top of his massive body, smashing my hand against his handgun. As it went flying off in the distance and with my weapon in both hands, I shoved the barrel under his chin.
Agony tore through my shoulder the second he drove the blade of a knife into my muscle, but pain had never prevented me from doing my duties. We rolled back and forth, fighting for control.
A quick kick of his foot knocked me backward, but not before I got off a single shot. The aim was off, a rarity for my precision. Instead of wasting another bullet, I issued a brutal kick, tossing him backward by several feet. From there, I stomped on his neck, delighting in the loud crack that could be heard over the savage fight.
His vacant eyes were a silent reward.
“Pozadi tebya,” Kirill yelled.
Behind you.
I spun around to face yet another asshole daring to come under the radar. With no time to fire off my weapon, I smashed my handgun against his face. The man froze, staring at me even as his body betrayed him and he went down hard. His look of shock was the last thing he managed before I pumped two bullets into him.
While I ripped off his mask, doing so told me nothing. The assailants weren’t eager to expose their identities.
A hard kick to my arm and my Sig Sauer was finally pitched from my hand. Lamenting my fortune wasn’t on the menu. I yanked my second weapon free, flicking open the sharp blade. The man had come for a fight, removing his mask himself.
There was always a particular look in man’s eyes when the moment was personal. While I didn’t know him, it was apparent he knew me, determined to become the hero of the day.
As if that was going to happen.
He shifted from foot to foot as a boxer would do, the ridiculousness of the moment bringing amusement as well as annoyance. However, I’d grown weary of games. With a single lunge, I fisted his hair and dragged the edge of the blade from one side of his neck to the other.
There was an art to using a knife, the personal weaponry often my favored choice.
His actions were stilted, slowly reaching for his neck even as the slit on his throat sprayed his life’s blood against my chest. I dropped his lifeless body to the ground, taking gasping breaths before snatching my weapon.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mikhail. Goddamn it, he was in a physical fight with one of them. I lunged toward, tackling the assailant to the ground. Even as I did, a shot rang out.
My brother’s agonizing cry fueled a deep rage. I wasn’t prone to outbursts of anger, using my strength and training to calculate every move, every shot taken.
Not this time.
I bashed the man’s head in, issuing blow after blow before bringing my boot down in the center of his face. There was no time to reflect. I dropped to my brother’s side, pulling him behind one of the SUVs for cover.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Another one of my soldiers was down, half his face blown off. That left Grigor and Kirill. We weren’t going to win the fight.
Fuck. Mikhail was only semi-conscious. “It’s going to be okay, little brother.”
He moaned in response, blood already soaking his shirt. “Kazi-mir.”
