Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Jing helped me to my feet, and as we struggled, it was suddenly easier. Arden was there, propping me up, tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked at me.
“I could just shoot that guy if Dante could get clear,” Arden suggested.
But Dante getting clear would require us yelling at him to move out of the way, and that momentary lapse in focus, a second of distraction, could get him killed.
“I couldn’t even lift a gun,” I confessed as I saw Fang seemingly rise in the air and hurtle toward my friend. Dante dived forward as Fang’s foot came whistling within an inch of his head. Fang was so fast, so lethal, I wanted to yell at Dante to get out of there, but he looked as he always did in a fight: calm and controlled. When I saw the grin on Dante’s face, I knew he had him. When Fang lunged at him, I caught my breath. A second later, I saw the glint of steel in Dante’s right hand before he scythed upward with his knife, slamming the seven-inch blade of his KA-BAR into his attacker’s heart. Fang’s mouth opened wide in disbelief as he fell to the ground. He clutched desperately at the hilt as his life slipped away from him. Dante watched, panting, until the man ceased to move, then pulled the knife out and returned to my side.
“Impressive,” I told him.
He shrugged. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”
As he pulled my arm back across his shoulders, I sighed deeply. “You did that so quickly, and I couldn’t even hurt—”
“Was it one-on-one, like that, you and him, out in the open?”
No. It hadn’t been.
“Honest combat is man-to-man,” Dante said. “You know that.”
I did. I’d told Fang as much.
Isaak came over to us then. “I have Owen secured in the vehicle. He looks much like you,” he said, and then amended, “Perhaps you look a bit worse.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I appreciate you being here.”
He put up his hand. “We will not have this.”
Heaven forbid I showed him any gratitude.
He passed his AK-47 to Jing, and then had her move so he could ease my arm over his shoulder and bend to grip behind my thigh. Dante mirrored his movement, and in seconds, they were carrying me toward the Laplander.
“I saw you dispatch that man,” Isaak said to Dante. “You still have moves, starik.”
“Go to hell,” Dante told him. Starik meant old man in Russian.
“I wonder, are you winded? Should I have Mercer help carry you?”
Dante shot him a look that should have killed him dead.
The Laplander was parked twenty yards away. The Volvo-made, high-ground-clearance rough-terrain military vehicle looked like it had seen better days.
“What is that, a sixty-three?” Isaak sounded horrified.
“It’s a sixty-eight,” Dante snapped at him.
Once I was inside, in the very back with Owen, he leaned sideways, wrapped his arms gently around me, and broke down, sobbing against my shoulder.
“No one is ever leaving the country again,” Arden told us all, and then said it again in Cantonese, just in case that helped. “I have spoken.”
Looking outside as we left, I saw that the courtyard was surrounded by a series of small buildings flanking the main one where we’d been kept. It looked like a military compound, and I was impressed that such a small band of people had taken such a large installation. I would ask for the play-by-play later.
At the bottom of the hillside, there was a road leading away from the compound. Dante took it. The steep, rough slope wasn’t a gentle ride.
“How far is it?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“At least two hours cross-country until we connect with a main road,” Dante replied from the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry.”
“Bumped around beats the alternative,” I assured him.
The massive 4x4 wasn’t built for comfort, every jolt and bump in the road exacerbating the pain from welts and bruised ribs.
“Here,” Jing said, turning around in the seat in front of me. She held out 800 milligrams of ibuprofen and a large metal bottle of ice-cold water. Apparently, she had packed many in ice. “I know your stomach is empty, but that fever needs to come down,” she told me as she passed Owen a similar bottle. “You too, drink. Don’t cry, it’ll just dehydrate you.”
“Thank you,” he husked out and reached for her hand. She grasped it tightly, and suddenly they were both struggling not to cry.
Looking at all the people in the vehicle, I was overcome by a feeling of gratitude. “Everyone, I just want you to know that—”
“Zamolchi,” Isaak ordered, which meant we should shut it for now. “Close your eyes. Rest.”
Dante’s phone rang, and since he had to drive with both hands—calling what we were on a road was pushing it—Isaak answered.
“Yes, yes, we have him. Think before you speak. What kind of question is that.”