Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
And yet here’s this dumb bastard, cooking away.
I stay behind the dumpster and observe. He knows what he’s doing. It takes him only a couple of minutes before he’s slumped back against the wall, the needle hanging loosely from his hand, his mouth open in bliss.
“Couldn’t wait until you got somewhere more comfortable, could you?” I sit back on my heels in front of him.
Yuri’s expression narrows. He squints at me. “Who are you? What’s this?” He’s slurring, deep in his high, but he’s still a gangster. Some part of his brain knows there’s danger.
“But you can’t go anywhere better, can you?” I tilt my head, considering. “If any of the other Morozovs knew you were shooting up, they’d kill you themselves. That’s why you’re stuck using in some dingy alley.”
“I don’t know you.” He sighs, eyelids fluttering.
I slap him lightly to keep him awake. “You made this too easy. But I have a wife back home now. I shouldn’t complain.”
He groans when I wrap my hands around his neck. There’s no fight in him as I squeeze, cutting off his air supply, putting all my weight onto the bastard. Under different circumstances, if he weren’t completely wasted, he might’ve made this difficult.
Instead, it’s like killing a fish. He flops weakly against me, sighing and grunting, spittle drooling from his lips. His face turns red and purple. His eyes bulge. He’s smiling the whole time. Like he’s on the greatest trip of his life.
I watch him go still. I watch the light fade until Yuri’s gone.
And I feel nothing.
Which is fucking bizarre.
I wait, still holding his dead throat, until I finally pull back.
Still nothing.
Normally, I get a flood of bliss after a kill. Probably like the heroin in this dead Russian’s skull.
Tonight, there’s only the dull beat of my heart and the sound of a car door slamming nearby.
Oh, fuck.
I turn sharply. There are headlights at the end of the alley. Another car’s back. I hear voices as men come toward me.
Three of them, all speaking Russian.
Fucking shit.
I hide behind the dumpster and pull my gun. They’re joking with each other, but I’m not fluent enough to understand. One of them laughs as the group comes closer. “Yuri!” another calls out.
Come on. Keep going. If they walk past me, I can slip out behind them when they find the dead body.
Instead, they don’t move.
“Yuri, damn it, time to go!” They talk to each other again, and finally one of them storms forward, looking annoyed. I shrink back into the shadows, keeping myself still and quiet. “Yuri, what the fuck—”
He stands over the body, all his muscles rigid, and slowly turns to his friends.
I squeeze off a round.
The gunshot sounds like a direct lightning blast. The bullet rips through the young Russian’s head and splatters skull and brain matter against the wall. He makes a strange squeaking noise as he teeters sideways and collapses against Yuri, two corpses piled like logs.
The other two start yelling. I come out from my spot, staying low, but they must be experienced soldiers. One’s already in cover with his gun drawn, and he fires at me the second I’m exposed.
Bullets ping off the ground as I roll. I come up shooting, blasting through the pallets he’s trying to hide behind. They break apart, shattering wood splinters in his face. He gasps in pain and I clip his throat, sending a splash of blood into the air. I shoot him two more times, chest and guts, before my magazine clicks empty.
I reload as fast as I can. The third Russian’s already running. I jam more bullets into my gun and fire a couple of shots as he disappears around the corner.
Fucking shit. He’s getting away. If he saw my face, there’s going to be hell to pay. I sprint after him, gun at the ready, but I’m blinded by high beams as I come out after him. The SUV roars in my direction, hopping the curb, and I have to throw myself sideways to avoid getting run over.
The Russian clips the side of the alley and nearly loses control. Car debris scatters across the road. Glass and plastic glitters in the lamplight. The SUV roars, tires burning, and manages to right itself as it speeds off into the night.
Leaving me behind.
I stand there breathing hard. Sweat pours down my back. Behind me in the alley, there are two dead soldiers and a murdered Bratva captain.
No time to get rid of the bodies. The third Russian’s going to be back with friends.
I sprint to my car and get the hell out of there.
Chapter 16
Bianca
I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep.
The couch feels all wrong. I toss and turn, thinking constantly about that stupidly comfortable bed upstairs and how it’s totally empty right now just waiting for me to get under the silky sheets.