Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Thompson’s voice was so irritating, and the drug in her system just amplified it, creating a disturbing echo that grated on her nerves to the point that she nearly brought up her knee with the idea she might break his neck right there in the church with the preacher looking on.
Thompson’s bodyguard inserted himself between them as the groom stepped back and waved at the preacher. “I think my lovely bride will be much more cooperative. Get started.”
* * *
“This is some bullshit right here, Steele,” Master snapped, adding more weapons and ammo to his vest. “Who does this kind of thing? That son of a bitch is going to marry this woman after he kills her parents? Her fuckin’ lawyer just hands her over?”
“They doped her and she’s still fighting them,” Lana whispered, admiration in her voice. “We’ve got to get in there and shut this down. They injected some kind of shit into her neck. I saw the big Russian do that to her after her loving groom smacked her in the face twice, punched her in the ribs a couple of times and kicked her when she was down.”
“She’s a hell of a handful. What is she? All of five foot nothing? He’s like a foot taller and he’s going to knock her around?”
Master was so pissed he wanted to go in and start shooting before Czar and Steele gave the go-ahead. He couldn’t say he was the best with women, but he could say he didn’t beat the shit out of them. Like Lana, he admired the bride. Even drugged, she was ready to do her part to kill the bastard who had kidnapped her and murdered her parents.
“It’s a go. Kill every single member of the Ghosts. They’re lethal. Don’t miss,” Steele cautioned. “Go in hot.”
Master didn’t need a second order. He walked right into the little church, shot two of Walker Thompson’s crew in the head as he sauntered past them and went right down the aisle where the pastor was reading the vows to the bride and groom. At the sound of the gunshots, all hell broke loose. Master kept moving, eyes on the prize, gun spitting bullets. He didn’t miss.
Thompson tried to grab his bride, but she resisted, pulling away from him. His men surrounded him, urging him toward the preacher and the door behind him. Master shot one of the bodyguards, and beside him, Ink shot another. The two dead guards dropped right on top of the bride. She hit the floor like a stone, her gorgeous dress now soaked red. She didn’t make a sound, and Master hoped she hadn’t taken a hit. He didn’t have time to check because Czar’s team had sealed off the escape route and Thompson’s men and the four Ghosts were fighting in earnest, trying to find a way out.
Ambrielle tilted her head slightly to calculate the distance between her and the nearest exit. She had the weight of two dead bodies on her, and they were heavy. It was difficult to assess what was happening. Gunfire was loud, and it seemed like everyone was Russian. The preacher had crawled behind a pillar. Dobbs was behind a pew, still alive. She worked her way out from under one of the dead men and yanked the veil off her head. Her train was caught under the second body. She tried everything she could think of, but it seemed she was trapped by the material.
Finally, she took out Dobbs’ old pocketknife. It looked rusty, but she didn’t care. She began to saw through the tulle and embroidery. Sometimes she could rip it, other times she hacked and sawed as fast as she could, all the while staying low to the floor, hoping Thompson didn’t see that she was alive, and neither did Denis or Gleb.
She could hear gunfire erupting all around her, and Thompson snarling at his bodyguards to get her. She heard him calling her name, but she stayed low to the floor of the little chapel, hidden behind the two dead men with her rusty, tiny blade, which could barely make it through the tulle and embroidery. She yanked and tore and then, with one last desperate roll, found herself free of both dead bodies.
From the bloody floor, she tried to assess how far it was to the nearest exit. She didn’t want to go anywhere near Thompson. He appeared to be trapped between the closest door, just behind where the preacher had been standing, and a mob of shooters. She couldn’t tell who was at war, but as far as she was concerned, they were all the enemy.
Ambrielle located an exit some distance from her, but she calculated she could make a run for it. There were four dead or dying bodies strewn in her path, one hanging grotesquely over the back of a pew just near the door she had spotted. The body moved once, so she gripped the small pocketknife in one hand, her trumpet skirt in the other, and rose to her feet, already running in a low crouch. She kept her gaze fixed on the door, weaving in and out of all obstacles, refusing to cower down when the gunshots sounded close and one burned right past her ear.