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Approaching the cover of the fence, I stopped, picking a small rock up from the uneven ground beneath me. I threw the rock over to my right, hearing a thunk as it struck brick. Alarmed shouts from what sounded like two men, mere meters from where I was, drifted towards me.
I took a deep breath and sprung up onto my feet, aiming the revolver over the fence. Two men were aiming their guns towards the noise of the rock I’d thrown. I shot them both in the head in quick succession, the snap of the recoil light in my tensed forearms.
I hurdled the fence a moment later, landing lightly on my feet. A sudden flare of pain erupted in my left arm as I was shot, the bullet ripping through the flesh of my left tricep.
One of the Russians in the ground floor of the house had spotted me, his pistol blazing rapidly as he fired off rounds in my direction. The angle was tight, his view obstructed by the narrow window he was shooting from.
I jumped the wall and landed next to a Russian body as I leaned into the corner of the wall, where it met the outside of the farmhouse. I flexed my left arm, looking around for movement, but seeing no one.
I glanced at my forearm. Just a flesh wound.
Confident I was safe from danger, I quickly tied a bandage tightly around my left arm, staunching the blood flow somewhat. I edged along the wall of the farmhouse in silence, eyes scanning my surroundings.
I figured there were at least two Russians on the ground floor, and at least two upstairs. Alexandra would be upstairs, likely against the back wall where there were no windows. I had reached the back of the farmhouse and poked my head around the corner. Still, no one in sight. I guessed the two men I’d just shot had originally been stationed on the far side of the building.
Suddenly, I heard a woman’s scream from upstairs.
Alexandra, I’m here. Hold on, doll.
Chapter Seventeen
Alexandra
The Russian gang leader had me by the hair. He was talking quietly, likely issuing orders at his remaining men.
I heard muffled voices from outside of the building, the scrape of movement.
A gunshot sounded from outside of the house. Two more gunshots sounded, and I heard a grunt from nearby.
An automatic weapon suddenly exploded from downstairs in short bursts. It was deafeningly loud, followed by deathly silence. Then two more gunshots rang out from off to my left, nearer.
The sound of rapid pistol fire cracked from the ground floor. I heard a triumphant shout from one of the men dow
nstairs.
The leader, still holding my hair, ran towards the stairway, shouting down. I screamed in pain.
Then I heard a window smash from the ground floor. Another two gunshots sounded below me.
Guess you didn’t get him, I thought with relief.
My captor flinched as a Russian suddenly started screaming in pain from the ground floor. I could hear the blood curdling agony in his voice as he carried on screaming in a pitch even I would struggle to match.
My heart swelled with pride at the thought of Cruz and his cold blue eyes as he took out my kidnappers one-by-one.
Cruz
She was definitely upstairs. I had two bullets left in my revolver. It was time to finish this.
I looked up and saw a window above me. A plan sprang into my mind. I executed it immediately.
As I stood, I smashed the window with the butt of the Tokarev as I drew it from my waist. I pointed the revolver into the room, shooting two bullets blind.
There was a second of silence.
And then a high-pitched scream pierced my ears. I heard pure agony in the Russian’s voice as he cried out in pain, probably for his God or his mother.
I threw the revolver down at my feet, ammo spent. I raced around the wall, ducking below the high, narrow windows. The screaming masked my run.
