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Fuck.
Slowly, I rise with my hands up in surrender. That’s the second time tonight I’ve allowed myself to be snuck up on. If only my hearing were better, I would have heard the guy coming.
“Any last words?” the Salkov brute asks me.
I take a deep breath. I don’t see Alina. All I can do is pray she has enough sense to leave me behind. “I sure as hell wouldn’t waste them on the likes of you.”
“Fine by me, asshole.”
I hear the cocking of his gun, the pull of the pistol’s hammer. This is it. My only regret is that I didn’t get to spend the rest of my days with Alina and our child. I could have given our family a good life, full of laughter and love. What I wouldn’t give to hold her in my arms one last time…
“Do svidaniya, Antonov.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the inevitable pain. The nothingness that follows.
It never comes.
“Get your fucking hands off my husband!” Alina screams, as she raises her pistol and points it at his chest.
Chapter 37
Alina
It was a shitty idea and an even shittier plan, but I wasn’t about to watch him blow my husband’s brain out.
I pray the man can’t see how shaky my hand is, the gun heavy. My finger is on the trigger, and I will pull it if he makes me.
“Listen,” he begins, a smarmy smile on his face as he raises his hands. “I’m going to turn and walk away. I won’t turn back, and I won’t tell the others where you are.”
I sense a trick, but before he can do whatever he’s thinking about doing, Pytor rushes at him, slams into his body, and tosses him over the ledge. He almost goes with him, flailing his arms to keep his balance. I race over and grab his shirt, yanking him backwards. We both hit the ground hard.
The solider screams as he falls over the edge of the building. He screams and screams and screams until—he comes to an abrupt stop.
Several gunshots rip through the air, and luckily Pyotr and I are huddled on the ground. He quickly asks if I’m alright, I nod, and we get back in the fight. We dispatch with the few men on the roof. I feel sickened and guilty, but I know it’s us or them. I can’t lost Pyotr or the baby inside me, so I push the guilt away.
We stand together, panting, thinking the situation is over for the moment, when a lone gunman rushes out from behind where he’d been hiding, bullets flying as he shoots wildly. Pyotr pushes me behind a wall, his arm lifted as he squeezes the trigger. The man falls with one shot.
“Alina, are you alright?”
My heart is pounding as I run my hands over his chest. Nodding, the relief I feel is overwhelming, manifesting itself in shoulder-shaking sobs. I cry his name, clutching his bloody shirt. He wraps his arms around me, my own personal safety blanket as he peppers my face and hair with kisses.
“Fuck,” he grumbles.
“He was going to kill you!” I counter.
“I love you, Alina. So fucking much.”
I’m not sure whether I laugh or cry or if the sound out of my mouth is an odd combination of both. “I love you, too, Pyotr.”
There’s no telling how much time passes. It all seems rather moot at this point. All I care about is the fact that we’re both alive—albeit battered and traumatized. As I look around the rooftop, I see the four remaining Salkov thugs still and unconscious. We won our little battle.
“Any news from your brothers?” I ask shakily.
“No.”
We struggle to our feet. My legs are jelly. I think it’s going to take me a while to come down from this particular thrill ride. Only a few seconds ago, I was about to make peace with my own death.
I stumble over and pick up the binoculars I dropped. My hands won’t stop trembling, which makes it difficult to gather my bearings. Once I have the warehouse in view, I take in the chaos. The building is up in smoke. Bodies litter the ground. The flash of red and blue lights and the wail of sirens draws ever nearer.
