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We pause near the top of the stairs as Archer steps in front of me, rifle raised, and he kicks open the door with a powerful clatter. Wood splinters around swinging hinges that fall loose as we charge inside, and a large crash from the other side of the building indicates our men have entered from the rear as well. Over the threshold, we take the stairs to our immediate right and climb them two at a time. Archer takes point and as we reach the top of the stairs, he opens fire. A body hits the ground with a grunt and yells erupt from behind the closed doors, followed by a scream from two doors down.
A man comes flying out of the room on our immediate left, and Archer doesn’t hesitate to gun him down. As his body hits the floor, a groan rises from my friend.
“Shit,” Archer mutters, stepping over the body.
“The driver?” I ask, stepping over the man. He’s dressed in a cheap pantsuit, crimson blossoming rapidly over his chest.
“Yeah,” Archer sighs.
Probably for the better.
Archer darts down the hall and I follow, gun raised, as we crash through the locked door. As Archer opens fire, I drop down to my haunches and roll out from behind him, coming to a stop on my knees and shooting the first two people I see in the head as Archer and my men shoot the other three. I’m loose with the bullets, I want them dead, and I don’t give a shit about beingclean.
Their bodies fall like dumbbells, crumpling to the ground as blood splatters over the pale blue walls and soaks into the dirty gray carpet.
Grigoriy is cornered by the window and a woman, I presume to be Yelena, scrambles naked from the bed and into the waiting arms of one of my men. He swiftly escorts her from the room as I stand, my gun trained on Grigoriy as he takes in his dead men and the blood seeping through the fibers towards him. Archer begins to close in on him, positioning between him and the window to prevent any possible desperate escape attempts that way.
“Killian,” Grigoriy growls at me, dripping in his thick Russian accent. My heart hammers loudly in my ears as I lower my gun and lift to my feet, trusting Archer’s rifle to remain trained on thisbastard.
“Grigoriy,” I reply cooly. “You had to know this was coming.”
“Perhaps,” He grins at me with a thick, toothy smile and takes a step towards me.
“Don’t move!” Archer barks, and he opens fire, two shots landing just shy of Grigoriy’s left foot. He doesn’t flinch. An injury doesn’t scare these men. My jaw tenses as I stare down at the man that had plotted, schemed, and threatened my family forweeks,and bile churns in my gut.
“You can kill me,” he growls, “but it vill not be ze end. Zer is more zan just me for you to contend.”
“Oh, I imagine you have quite a few rats scurrying about your sinking ship,” I mutter, and it’s taking all my self-control not to attack him right here and now.
I want to tear himapartfor putting Cara in danger. I want to rip him open piece by piece until his screams are nothing more than a beautiful memory.
“I mean, you tried so hard to stop the wedding, to prevent the Irish from joining us, and now look. That has to be such apainfulfailure. I can’t imagine the Pakhan is too pleased with you.”
His eyes darken to black dots set amid his bulky face, and his fat hands curl into thicker fists.
“Vat say we settle zis like men, then we zee who ze failure is!” he barks at me, and then it clicks.
I’m better than him.
Hewantsme to lash out at him. He’s taunting me into attacking him not just so he can get a few licks in, but so he can get confirmation as to how deeply buried under my skin he’s crawled with his actions.
The biggest hurt I can deliver is not with a punch or a bullet; it’s with denial.
I force a deep breath out of my tight chest and straighten my shoulders.
“No.”
“No?” His head tilts, and his beady eyes flicker to Archer and his unwavering rifle. “Vat do you mean, no? Too coward?” Grigoriy’s lips twist into a snarl, but I force a simple, calm smile.
“You are nothing, and I have far more important matters to attend to thanyou,” I state. Grigoriy’s thick brow nearly hides his eyes as he glares at me, red bleeding into his cheeks as rage courses through him. That twisted, toothy mouth opens, likely with another taunt or something to force engagement, but I don’t allow the words to escape. I lift my gun and shoot him square between the eyes.
He jolts in place and wobbles for a few seconds before he crashes forward onto the bed, breaking through a couple of the slats as he lands, dead.
Silence falls, and after a beat, Archer lowers his rifle.
“Damn,” he murmurs, “I thought for sure you were going to tackle him right out that window.”
“I was tempted,” I mutter coldly, “but he didn’t deserve that kind of rise out of me.” Blood seeps out onto the creased duvet, and I fire again, putting three more in the back of his skull now that he’s dead.
