Page 46 of Savage Little War

The impact stuns me, making me fall off his back and hit the floor next to Dmitri, who struggles to even roll over to get up.

The guard roughly clears his throat as he glares down at me. “You little bitch.”

His voice hits me like a fist, cigarette breath, the lazy cruelty of his laughter.

Chain Smoker.

No doubt about it.

I grit my teeth and hold the knife in front of me, pointing it toward him as I use the wall for support to help me stand. “You’re going to die tonight.”

“Because of you?” He laughs, then coughs wetly. “You don’t know how to do anything but cry and bleed.”

I lunge forward, trying to drive the knife into his stomach.

He sidesteps the knife and grabs my shoulders, slamming me back against the wall hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. He slams my wrists above my head, forearm crushing my throat just enough to steal air.

“I should’ve killed you down in that basement, you worthless little whore.”

Fear pounds through me, but anger still burns within me. It’s enough to make me spit in his face in response.

The guard grits his teeth in fury, his fingers sinking into my arms at a bruising pressure. “You’re fucking dead.”

A gunshot suddenly rings out, a bullet tearing through the man’s shoulder.

Dmitri’s still down, gun raised one-handed, eyes feral.

The guard stumbles away from me, grabbing at his shoulder as blood pours down his arm. My instincts kick in, and I drive the knife into his gut with a sound I don’t recognize, rip it free, and stab again, blood spilling onto my hand.

The guard screams and his legs give out, causing him to crumble to the floor.

Blood drips off my hand as I back away, breathing heavily as the red puddle around him expands. My body shakes, shock, adrenaline, and beneath it, a colder fear: Did any of this hurt the baby?

Dmitri grabs the wall to pull himself up to his feet, grimacing as he presses his hand against the back of his head. “That motherfucker.”

I don’t flinch when Dmitri puts one more bullet into him.

Dmitri makes his way over to me and pulls me into his arms. “Are you okay?”

I wrap my arms around his waist and nod, breathing in his familiar scent instead of all the blood. “I’m fine.”

Dmitri presses a brief kiss against my temple before taking my hand. “We find Ferro,” he says, voice like a blade. “We end this.”

“How?” I ask him as we sprint down the corridor toward the front stairs, gunfire echoing below.

“We might have to comb the whole place. I wish Luca was here. We could’ve done the radio trick to draw Ferro out,” Dmitri replies before opening another set of double doors on our right. We stumble into a living room space. Two Italians are already there, one tending to the other’s wounds.

Dmitri raises his gun and fires once. The uninjured man drops.

The injured one shouts in anger, scrambling for his gun.

Dmitri kicks the gun away, then drives the man flat with his boot to his chest. “Keep quiet or you’ll end up like your friend.”

I move to Dmitri’s side, staring down at the Italian as blood stains his shirt from an injury to his left side.

“You’re all going to die,” he spits out. His eyes land on me, and they immediately narrow.

He recognizes me.