“There has te be more,” Arran muttered, checking his weapon as we moved down a second long hallway.
Movement ahead of us had us both ducking into alcoves opposite each other. I hugged the wall and peered around the corner, just as a bullet whizzed by me way too close for comfort.
“You ready?” I uttered almost silently to Arran.
He held his gun in both hands, raised and ready to go. Knowing the drill, I ducked out again and started to fire. As soon as I stopped and took cover, Kozlov’s men popped out to return fire and Arran was ready. He took them both out in a heartbeat, before they even got a shot off.
“Christ, this isnae any fun,” he complained as he walked down the hall and kicked at the lifeless bodies, both with a shot perfectly centred on their foreheads.
Arran was the best shooter I’d ever seen. His accuracy was like no other. He’d once told us it was because his father had put a gun in his hand before he even started walking. By three he’d been learning to shoot. He’d been raised to be an assassin or something equally as terrifying. Even with his skill though, he favoured a knife, and his accuracy and efficiency with a blade was more terrifying still.
“Stop complaining. You can’t go home to Cara injured. She’ll lose it,” I reminded him.
“Fine, but we’re gonna have te hit the gym when we get back. I need to work off this buzz somehow.”
We followed the sound of movement to the end of a long corridor. A vast set of closed double doors awaited us. Knowing Kozlov had to be behind them, I didn’t hesitate. I kicked them open with one violent hit.
“Excellent entrance, pal,” Arran announced as he strolled into the room like he didn’t have a care in the world. Sometimes I forgot how insane he could be when he was riding the adrenaline high.
Kozlov stood at the far side of the room, with just one of his men beside him. They were both armed, Kozlov with his gun in a holster at his hip, and his guard holding it loosely at his side. The second he started to raise the gun in panic to our entrance, Arran fired and dropped him fast. Another perfect head shot. At this point I was fairly sure he had made a game of it to entertain himself.
“Dario, isn’t it? Rafe’s second?” Kozlov asked calmly as he turned from the window to face us. It was as if he had been expecting us.
He was dressed in dress trousers and a button up shirt, which was odd considering he had been in hiding for weeks. He nursed a tumbler of clear liquid in his hand, and he didn’t even try to go for his gun.
I stepped forward slowly, gun steady as I took him in. The room around us was likely once an office, but now it was devoid of everything but empty shelves in the walls, a desk, and a single, well-worn armchair.
“You’ve been hard to find,” I told him, ignoring his question. He obviously knew who I was.
He smiled faintly as he looked me over, not even sparing a glance to Arran, who had moved away from me, covering more of the room.
“I was hoping for your brother,” he said, and I didn’t correct him. It was a common misconception among the families that Rafe and I were actual brothers, and we never corrected anyone because Rafe felt it made us look stronger for people to believe that.
“He’s busy.”
“Recovering? I heard he met with a bullet.” Kozlov tilted his head. “Or is he hiding? Shaken after the shooting, is he?”
Arran shifted slightly beside me, obviously as pissed off as I was with this bastard’s bullshit about Rafe.
“Can I gut the prick yet?” he asked me as he sent a stone cold, chilling smile to Kozlov. He looked unhinged, and if the heavy swallow Kozlov took, was any indication, it was working.
Kozlov seemed to shake himself, setting down the glass he held on the windowsill behind him, then he looked to me again.
“Such a shame. I really did think that Rafe would come himself,” he piped up. “A man like him… you’d think he’d want to face me.”
“He wanted you dead,” I specified.
“And he sent you instead.” Kozlov’s smile sharpened. “Doesn’t say much for his strength or integrity.”
I didn’t react. That was what he wanted, but he was talking crap and I knew it. Arran knew it. If we’d have let him, Rafe would have dragged his half-dead-self there to end this thing in person, in a heartbeat.
“You know why I did it,” Kozlov continued, just like some trite villain, monologuing. “Your family tore through ours. Took our leaders, our brothers. You made an example of us instead of fighting like real men.”
“You attacked first.”
“And we paid for it!” he snapped. “So I returned the favour.”
My grip tightened on the gun. I was so close to just putting a bullet through his smug face, but it would be too easy. He had to die much harder than that.
