Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
The sound is sickening, the smell of burning flesh hitting my nostrils. Then excruciating pain rips through my hand, tearing through flesh and bone.
Something deep inside me cracks right down the middle, and a darkness I’ve never felt creeps through my soul.
Everything slows down.
Time.
My heartbeat.
My breaths.
The drillbit being pulled out of my hand.
The drops of blood falling from the metal tip.
In slow motion, I blink. I breathe. I watch as my left hand is splayed open over the dirty wood.
Just as he presses the drill bit to the back of my hand, I yank free, shoot up, grab the drill from him and shove it into his eye.
I don’t hear anything.
I don’t feel the pain.
I steal his gun from behind his back and take out a man before an arm comes around my neck, yanking me backward.
I go with the motion, then grab hold of the arm, and when the third man is close enough, I kick up and climb him, flipping over the man behind me.
The moment my feet touch the ground, I run for the door.
I lack speed, and I’m tackled. I fall down a short set of steps, and it jars me out of the trance I was in, but I still manage to turn and shoot the man before he can get to his feet.
The adrenaline fades, leaving me drained of the will to live.
Only one thing keeps me from giving up – my love for my family. Luca. My father.
I somehow manage to struggle to my feet, but this time pain tears through me, and I have to drag my left leg as I try to make my way to the side of a building.
I have no idea where I am or how long it will take for my family to come for me.
My breaths sound strangled, and my vision grows spotty as I keep dragging my leg so I can get away from the room where I was held captive.
The Koslov and Terrero blood in my veins refuse to surrender, and I keep pushing forward.
I take another strangled breath as I use a propane tank next to the building to keep my balance, but the pain in my leg has me falling onto my hands and knees in an open area. I start to crawl, stones digging into my palms.
Keep going.
Just keep going.
Koslovs don’t give up until our last breaths.
I hear howling and maniacal laughter behind me. Easily ten men.
Pushing myself back to my feet, I struggle with the clip of the gun, my eyes still going in and out of focus.
One bullet. Shit.
One of the men lets out a sharp whistle to taunt me.
Go fuck yourself, asshole.
I stumble to the side, push the clip back in and train the gun on the propane tank.
At least I got the past couple of days with Luca. It’s more than I could’ve hoped for.
As the men creep closer, slapping baseball bats against their palms and aiming their weapons at me, a broken sob escapes me.
I’m not ready to die. Jesus. There was still so much I wanted to do.
Another sob bursts over my lips.
I love you, Luca. So much.
Daddy, I hope I’ve made you proud today.
My finger curls around the trigger as I stumble a step backward, and then I pull the trigger.
Chapter 24
Luca
Fuck driving. We took a helicopter to Tijuana.
It’s dark as we touch down a short distance from the building where Mariya’s apparently being held. Everyone is armed to the teeth.
My eyes scour the area below, my fingers flexing around the submachine gun.
“Move! Move! Move!” I roar, and we spill out of the helicopter like the four horsemen of the apocalypse.
As we run away from the downwind chopping the air, I move to the side of the road and head for the building.
Nearing the dilapidated piece of shit, movement catches my eye by the side of the building.
Uncle Demitri lifts his rifle and checks through the scope, then says, “It’s Mariya. Faster. She’s got men on her tail.”
Viktor shoves his weapon to his side and runs as fast as he fucking can, shouting, “Mariya!”
Fuck this.
I throw the weapon to the ground and push myself harder than I ever have, sprinting past Viktor for the first time.
With my eyes locked on my wife, I watch as she stumbles, pushes herself back to her feet, and turns to face the men creeping out of the shadows.
Horror rips a shout from me as she trains the barrel of her gun on a propane tank. “No!”
She’s too close.
Her body jerks as she takes the shot, and I swear my soul up and leave my body as the seconds tick by.
She misses and stumbles backward, letting out a wail before dropping the gun.
“Mariya!” I shout again, and this time her head snaps in our direction.
The sight of us has her dropping to her knees, extreme pain and relief mixing on her face.