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Once everyone is in position, we decide to walk.
Driving down the long dirt road to the house is too noisy and will draw too much attention. Walking is better because we can stay in the tree line until the last moment when we need to cut across the large lawn that surrounds the house.
Plus, on foot, men can actually take up position at every point around the house and ensure that no one inside can escape without us knowing it.
The only problem is that walking, especially across uneven ground, puts a lot of pressure on Luka’s leg. He puts on a brave face, clenching his jaw and walking tall, but I can tell he is uncomfortable. And the closer we get to the house, the worse his limp gets.
“Are you ready?” I ask him. What I really mean is,Are you okay? Can you do this? Will we make it out?
But I don’t say any of that.
Luka looks down at me, grabs my hand, and smiles. “We are ready.”
Just as a shadow of peace begins to creep over me, the crack of gunfire fills the air.
Luka yanks me behind him and stops moving, his entire body rigid and on high alert.
“Where did that come from?” a man yells.
We all look around, but aren’t sure.
Then, it becomes obvious.
Bullets fly from the second floor windows of the house. They whiz past us, exploding into tree trunks, wood shrapnel flying.
Luka throws me on the ground and sprawls over me. “They were ready for us.”
“Who?” I ask. I can’t imagine Rian Morrison and her parents taking up position in their bedroom windows to shoot at us. They wouldn’t fire; they would run.
“The Irish,” he growls. Then, he turns back to his men. “Fire back. But restrain yourself when you can. We don’t know where Milaya is.”
My heart stutters in my chest at the thought that Milaya could be caught in the crossfire. Surely the Morrisons would be smart enough to keep her far away from this shootout, right?
“She is fine,” Luka whispers into my ear, lifting himself up to his good leg.
I scramble up quickly and help him up. “We need to get in there and make sure.”
Luka nods and then positions himself in front of me as a human shield. I want to argue, but I know it would do no good. That is one battle my newfound independence will never win. There is no chance Luka will let me take a bullet for him.
The Bratva spread out behind us, taking up position behind trees and small outbuildings around the ranch. They fire up at the house, and based on the frequency of return fire, I guess some of their shots are finding their targets.
Unfortunately, the Irish are finding their marks, too.
When I look back over my shoulder, I can see several Bratva members facedown in the grass.
I turn away and try to push the thought from my mind for now. There is nothing we can do about it.
Mourn later. Fight now.
Luka waves a few men ahead of us, instructing them to lead the way into the house. As soon as they run past us, we pick up our pace and follow after them.
“We stick together!” Luka yells over the shots ringing out. “We get inside and search room by room until we find them.”
I begin to nod, but then I see something at the far-right corner of the house between the sunporch and the garage.
A flash of movement.
