Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I spat, raising my hands. Two men leaped from the SUV and patted me down quickly, finding the Glock 26 holstered in my shoulder harness.
The henchman handed my gun to Flat Nose, whose revolver was leveled at me. “This kusok der’ma is what you carry?” the man sneered. “Given your fancy suits and car, I expected more. My wife’s piece has more balls.” I had never gone in for chrome or gold plating, pearl handles, or engraved anything. I was a fan of dependability, something that fired quickly and reliably. And God keep me from guys who had to comment on everything. I’d much rather be taken by silent thugs. Remaining quiet, I checked for the weak link, listening and observing, the wheels turning for any chance of escape.
“Get in the car, Maks.” The thug gestured with the revolver.
There was no gentility as they shoved me in the back seat of the Lexus.
The ride downtown, near the Loop, was a short, silent one, even with three other men in the car with me, and my plan was to stay calm and try to talk my way out of it, offer them more money not to kill me, offer them jobs even though anyone who knew me at all could be certain that was a lie. Any person who could turn on his or her old boss could turn on a new one just as easily. Once a traitor, always a traitor was one of the many truths I took to heart. Another I lived by was that the longer you were held hostage, the less chance you had of survival. When we made a turn and the men started talking, certain we were far enough away not to be followed, I knew I had only one chance.
It was risky because no one had said who they were taking me to. But it wasn’t to talk—they would have said that right off. Wherever I was going, I would be killed. That much was obvious. They were showing me their faces, unconcerned that I’d be able to identify them later. I was a dead man, and I was outnumbered, and everyone had a gun, but it was better to be shot than tortured at the hands of God knew whom. At least if I’d seen an enemy I knew, I would have been prepared. A new player was just bad.
“You’re bein’ awfully quiet there, Maks. Lev says you love to talk, but now you’re all fuckin’ quiet.”
It took a second for that to register, since I was absorbed with escaping.
Lev said?
My brain stuttered on the name.
Lev said?
“He promised us this would be more entertaining.”
Lev. My best friend. Lev had told them that kidnapping me would be fun?
“Sorry?” I barely got out.
I couldn’t wrap my brain around the words. There had to be some mistake. What the hell was happening? Lev and I had been inseparable for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t begin to wrap my brain around whatever this was.
“He told us you would fight, and we’d get to hurt you, and—”
We were hit then, broadside. The car spun around and around, and then another car hit us and we flipped over. It was strange, everyone floating in space for seconds before we hit the ground and there was glass flying everywhere.
Once the car came to a full stop, I saw the guy who had been in the passenger seat was now embedded in the windshield, half of his body in the car, the rest outside.
There was so much blood. I was covered in it. Glancing around, the others were either dead or unconscious. I couldn’t tell which. It felt like years went by as I sat there.
“He’s alive!” I heard Adrian yell, and then there were pops I knew was a gun with a suppressor. I was familiar with the sound. I’d fired one enough times myself.
I was terrified that Adrian would be killed because I was certain there was a second car, following us, and now he and Stas would be murdered as well.
“You said they’d kill him so we wouldn’t have to,” Adrian called out, and all at once I was gutted. I could actually feel the air leave my lungs. Between Lev and him…I had no idea how I could have been so wrong. And Lev was one thing—more a brother than anything else—but I’d thought, since my father put me in charge at eighteen, that my men and I were friends. I’d always counted them as such.
“Just leave him in the car,” Lev answered him. “He’ll bleed out in seconds. I can see the glass in his side.”
“It’s not enough,” Stas argued. “The old man wants to be sure.”
The old man.
My father.
I turned my head, trying to see any of them, but my left shoulder exploded and I fell back, too weak to move, eyes staring up at the lights of the buildings I could see out the window. There was a flash, which I knew was someone taking a picture, proof for my father.