Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
“Not so fast, Mink,” the mousy man says. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Several questions run simultaneously through my mind. Why didn’t he help Dimitrov? Who the hell is he? Why isn’t he shooting me already?
I’m contemplating the answers, trying to piece together a puzzle while searching for a way out of this new dilemma, when my gaze falls on the broken bottle on the floor. I can knock the gun out of his hand and stab him with the bottle before he knows what’s happening.
Another gunshot.
Lifting my hands, I play for time. “Don’t shoot. I’ll do what you want.”
He chuckles. “I doubt that.”
My muscles tense and my body draws tight, preparing to attack. I’m about to move when the wood around the doorknob explodes and the door falls into the room.
A tall figure appears in the frame, and everything inside me goes still, the earth seeming to stop moving. Even time itself stops as Yan stands there with a cold, fierce look on his face. He’s covered in blood and aiming a pistol at the man, perhaps one he took from the guards.
My heart at a standstill, I shift my gaze from Yan to the mousy man and the gun in his hand. His finger is curled around the trigger.
The trigger indents the slightest fraction. The spring being pushed back is amplified in the silence that rings in my head. Maybe it’s imaginary, but what’s real is the bullet in the barrel.
My world starts turning again when Yan speaks.
“Let her go.” His gaze sharpens, his eyes tightening. I recognize the intent in those jade-colored pools as he calmly keeps his aim and says, “Now.”
The man snickers. “I don’t think so. Throw down your weapon or she’s dead.”
“You’re not going to shoot her.” Yan pulls his lips into a thin smile. “She’s your only ticket out of here.”
Yan doesn’t look at me, nor at the now-quiet-and-still Dimitrov, who’s lying on the bed half-naked, his flaccid cock exposed. All of Yan’s attention is focused on the man pressing a gun against my head.
“Let her go,” Yan says again, “and I’ll kill you fast.”
The man laughs. “You’re making premature assumptions. I’m not dying today, and I’m not letting her go. As you said, she’s my ticket out of here.”
Yan’s smile turns condescending. “Do you always hide behind a woman’s skirt?”
The man folds his fingers around my upper arm, holding me in a tight grip. “She doesn’t count for a regular skirt. I’ve seen her in action.”
It’s then that Yan looks at me, and what I see in his eyes chills me to the bone. He’s going to shoot the man.
The message passes between us. It’s an unspoken language only two people who are as in tune with each other as we are can understand. There’s the slightest flicker of a smile in Yan’s eyes, a smile that’s meant just for me. With that single look, Yan tells me everything he showed me this morning. The sum of my life is condensed in that look. Everything I’ve ever wanted is distilled into this single moment.
Now.
Moving fast, I shoulder the man hard before ducking. He loses his footing, taking a step to the side. The barrel of the gun swings up into the air as he lets me go and tries to find his balance with flailing arms. The shot goes off, the stray bullet hitting the ceiling. Bits of plaster sift like snowflakes to the ground. Before he finds his equilibrium, Yan fires.
Click.
A blank.
I stare at Yan in incomprehension while horror transforms his face. Cold realization settles in my stomach. The chamber is empty. The man registers the knowledge at the same time. A mocking grin splays across his face as he takes aim again, this time pointing the gun at Yan.
Yan’s body tightens. He’s like a wound-up coil, ready to lunge, but no man is faster than a bullet.
I don’t think. I pounce. I grab the man’s arm and try to wrestle the gun from him. Yan’s voice calling my name reaches me as if from under water. The sound is muddled, distorted. I want to tell him it’s all right, to call for help, to get Ilya, but another shot goes off.
For a moment, I’m utterly confused. I’m not sure why a raw, savage cry tears from Yan’s chest. I’m not sure why the man’s head explodes and his brain splatters over the carpet. Vaguely, I’m aware of Ilya rushing into the room with a shotgun in his hand and sirens blaring in the distance. I’m aware of Yan catching me, easing my body to the floor. I’m aware of his strong hands and the inconsolable sound he makes as he kneels over me. I’m aware of his anguish as he presses his hands on my side and roars, “No. Fucking no. No, no, no.”