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“What’s happening?” my mother cries out, collapsing to the floor. “Where’s everyone else?”
More shots fire, and I push my mother and Natasha against the wall. “Get down and stay here. Don’t move.”
Nikolai and Dima grab their guns as a large window shatters behind us from another spray of bullets.
“I don’t see the shooter,” Nikolai yells over the din of alarmed voices.
I scan the foyer for any sudden movement. Speaking of movement, where the hell is Dmitri? He disappeared right after the first shots were fired…and before he could finish his threat about repayment of my family’s debt. I almost choke on my next breath as my eyes zero in on my target in the crowd of penguin suits that just parted.
His gun is pointed in our direction. He’s so close. Too close.
“Get down,” I yell to everyone at the same moment that the bullets explode from the barrel of his gun. I lose track of the number of shots fired as I empty my own mag at him. But the guy ducks around a nearby column just as a few of the guests move into my line of fire, effectively blocking my shot.
“Goddammit,” I growl, snapping a full mag into my gun.
“No,” Mom screams. I jerk my head around, an invisible noose choking me. “Viktor! Dima!”
Fuck, no.
Dad and…
Dima.
My mother crawls out from behind the column, dragging herself toward the spot where my father lies crumpled on the floor. Deep red stains spread, soaking his starched white shirt. She collapses on top of his body, weeping as she presses her face against his chest. A piercing wail slips from her lips.
Dima is on the floor a few feet away from my father, writhing and grunting, but alive. Danil drops down next to him, pulling off his jacket to keep pressure on the wound.
I’d have let him bleed out.
A man in a black tuxedo races past. He makes a beeline for a nearby hallway, running like a thief with what looks like a revolver hanging from his right hand.
There is no time to search for the rest of my family, no time to pray for their lives.
“Nik, call an ambulance. I’m going after the shooter.”
I dart after the guy, my leg muscles tensing with every step. He slows down enough to turn and shoot at me. I dart around a corner to avoid being plugged by one of the rogue bullets. I work my legs harder, moving faster and faster until I get close enough to tackle him to the floor. He takes a sharp left turn around a corner and escapes by the skin of his teeth.
I can’t let him get to the exit door. If he gets away, if he jumps into a waiting car, I’ll lose him and any chance to figure out who planned this deadly ambush.
The guy throws himself against the door, his shoes skidding along the concrete when he scrambles out of the country club. A black van screeches to a stop at the top of the driveway. The doors swing open, and all he needs to do is jump inside. But the asshole decides to take a final shot at me instead.
He looks back at me, still running. His foot catches on a shrub and he stumbles forward. The back of his head smacks against a row of stone pavers when he hits the ground.
The driver of the van guns the engine, and it tears around the circular driveway, away from the country club. I fall to my knees next to the shooter. His breaths are stilted, blood trickling out of the side of his mouth.
Sonofabitch.
I touch the back of his head. It’s sticky and warm. My fingers are stained a deep red when I hold them up in front of my face. The shooter stares up at me, his dark eyes glassy and unfocused, his chest moving up and down in short, hollow pants.
“Tell me who sent you. You have a small chance to do the right thing now.”
His breathing becomes more labored as the seconds tick by. No words come out of his mouth.
“Do you know where my sister is? Was this attack about her?” I struggle to keep my hands from shaking him since he’s on the brink of death and I need information.
His mouth struggles to form the words. The sound is barely audible, so I bend down close to his face, trying to catch every syllable.
“I…would…never…betray…my…family…like…like…”
