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“There are explosives in that bag, aren’t there?”
My attention rivets to Pavel who has stood quietly throughout this. When he grins, that soon changes. “You know me well, brother.”
My mouth parts in understanding because I was right to be suspicious of the bag I saw Pavel carrying back at the house. There aren’t clothes in there, as he claimed there to be, but instead something which will give us half a chance.
“Just in case?” Saint asks with a smirk.
“Just in case,” Pavel confirms with a nod. “But if we’re doing this, we’ll have to move. From what I can pick up from the bugs, things haven’t started to get messy. Yet.”
This must mean Alek’s mom is there. Or they have moved to Oscar’s lair.
“Why are you helping him?” Saint asks Pavel.
But what Pavel says next confirms his loyalty will always be with his friend. “I’m not helping him. I’m helping you. Just as you’ve helped all of us. That bastard deserves everything we’re about to inflict, and inflict slowly.”
Max and Sara have joined our circle, and I can’t help but wonder why they would risk their lives for us as well. But being thrown together with a bunch of strangers and enduring the most gruesome acts have created a band of misfits who formed a bond that cannot be broken.
We are loyal. We are strong. But most importantly, we are a family…a family who fights together.
Saint peers around at each of us with something I haven’t seen reflected in those depths for a very long time—hope. Even though the future is uncertain, we want this future. When Saint’s gaze lands on me, everything falls quiet.
Whatever happens, I am thankful for it all because a life half lived with Saint is better than living a long lie.
“If we get out of this alive, you’re in so much trouble.” Saint tongues his upper lip. The delicious promise has my heart skipping a beat.
With that as my incentive, I smirk, a winner’s grin because regardless of my ending, that’s what I am. “Let the trouble begin.”
IRONIC, ISN’T IT? Driving toward danger feels more like freedom than when I was headed for the airstrip. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. Yes, I wish I’d realized this days ago, but I didn’t even know what I wanted until Larisa spoke her words of wisdom. I just needed a push.
And push she gave.
We’re all in agreement about what has to happen—Oscar and Astra must die. Anyone who stands in our way will meet the same fate.
Max, Zoey, and Sara are following us. Ingrid, Saint, Pavel, and I are in the van, mulling over our plans. The last we heard, Serg told Zoya to stay in the car. Ten minutes later, gunshots were heard. Pavel was convinced it was Alek because one of Pavel’s contacts who needed the money was able to amass a small arsenal for him.
That was thirty minutes ago.
Zoya’s transmission is dead. We don’t know what that means other than the fact we no longer have tabs on the place. We don’t know what we’re walking into, but that isn’t anything new.
Google Maps hasn’t updated Alek’s newly blown to smithereens house, so we’re working off the original blueprint. There really is no way to know where the perimeter of men will start, so we’re going off logistics.
Alek let it slip to Pavel that he’ll be attacking from the east of where his house once stood because there is no longer any road access. He doubts Astra would fancy trekking through the dense woodlands surrounding the property, so she’ll take the main road, which is still standing.
She will require her band of men to protect her, so Alek’s thoughts were that the area wouldn’t be saturated with guards. We can only hope.
I don’t know how many men he could take down before being disarmed, but when we reach my former prison site, it won’t be long until I find out. The headlights have been turned off, so we’re relying on the moonlight to guide us through.
“Stop here,” Saint commands, looking from left to right to ensure the coast is clear. “Not too close. We will have to walk the rest of the way.”
I can’t see much of anything out here because all that surrounds us is a thick blackness, contrasted with a casing of white snow. I wasn’t nervous—until now.
“Remember, go slow. Be quiet,” Pavel instructs, reaching for his revolver from the glove compartment.
The duffle bag sitting by my feet is our holy grail. It’s filled with the guns, the knives, and our gold mine, the explosives. The plan is simple—arm up and don’t die.
Saint, who is sitting in the back with me, opens up the bag and hunts through it. I can’t see very well, but it’s evident from his rummaging that he’s looking for something specific. I find out what that is a moment later.
“Put this on.” I’m about to ask what it is, when he places something heavy over my head and chest. I don’t have time to argue before he’s fastening the straps into place.
