Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I turn fearfully to the door, expecting to see Karl there with a smoking gun. Instead, I’m stunned to see Kynan with a grim expression and a gun leveled at the mass of legs and limbs on the floor. Behind him, Cruce and Saint move into the room, sweeping their guns and gazes left and right to ensure there’s no hidden threats.
“Griff,” I cry helplessly. I whip my head toward Kynan. “Help him, please.”
Cruce moves to me, holstering his gun, then his hands go to the knots at my wrists. My gaze goes back to Griff, and a flare of hope pulses within me when he rolls off Bogachev with a loud groan. I scan his body, but I can’t see anything other than the dark blood spreading even further over his chest.
Kynan moves carefully toward them, his gun leveled at Bogachev, who lays utterly still on the floor. I can’t keep my eyes off Griff, though, who is now on his back and staring at the ceiling while seeming to gasp for breath.
Cruce removes the last piece of rope from me, releasing me from the chair, and I try to spring up to get to Griff. Cruce’s hands come to my shoulder, holding me in place. “Just wait a minute.”
I struggle against him, and he orders again, “Just give Kynan a moment.”
Kynan?
My gaze goes back to him as he inches carefully toward Bogachev, gun still aimed at him. I take a breath, focusing on the supine man. His eyes are closed, and I can’t see if his chest is rising and falling. I can see a bright red bloom of blood in the center of his chest, and it’s the first time I understand… at least one of those gunshots I heard had been reserved for Bogachev.
Kynan squats, puts his fingers to Bogachev’s neck, and holds still for a long moment. His gaze comes to me, and he gives a slight shake of his head.
That asshole is dead, and I can’t find it within myself to care.
Cruce’s hands go slack on my shoulders, and I bolt from the chair. I fall to my knees at his side, hands on his cheeks as I bend over him. “Griff… please, please, please don’t die.”
His eyes are dulled slightly, but he manages a smiling sort of grimace. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” I hear Saint say from near the door, but I don’t take my eyes off Griff.
Kynan moves in beside me, pulling Griff’s shirt up so he can survey the damage. There’s a single bullet hole just below his collarbone, mercifully high above where his heart lays.
“Are you hit anywhere else?” I ask, distinctly remembering I’d heard three gunshots.
Griff shakes his head and then coughs, a slightly gurgling sound that alarms me. “I’m pretty sure you’ll find three bullet holes in Bogachev.”
I’m immediately relieved he has that presence of mind. That he counted the same gunshots I did—and knowing Bogachev is dead on the floor beside him and he only has one wound—and that the others hit their mark.
Griff’s gaze moves from me to Kynan. “Thanks, man.”
Kynan doesn’t respond. Instead, he casts a worried glance over at Cruce.
“What?” I ask Kynan, my fear already compounded by what just went down and the fact the man I love has a bullet in his chest.
Kynan doesn’t respond. He takes my hands from Griff’s face, then places them over the bullet hole in his chest that’s leaking blood. “Keep pressure on him. Ambulance will be here soon.”
Without looking, Kynan pushes to his feet and moves over to where Cruce and Saint wait by the door. I gaze at Griff, who seems to understand the current of unspoken emotion swirling around everyone.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
“Kynan just killed a man,” he replies, his voice surprisingly strong given his injury.
“Good,” I reply shrilly. “Because he was getting ready to kill you.”
Griff’s smile is wan. His hand comes up to cover mine where it’s pressed onto his wound. “He has no authority here. No jurisdiction. He’s a civilian—”
I lean in closer, putting my face near his. “I don’t care. Bogachev was getting ready to kill you. Kynan was defending you and protecting me. Surely they’ll see—”
“Ambulance is here,” Saint says, cutting over me. The sound of the siren gets closer and closer.
I give a confident smile to Griff. “No more talking. Let’s just get you taken care of. We’ll worry about Kynan later, okay?”
He coughs again, grimaces, and nods.
There’s a flurry of activity. Paramedics come in first with a gurney and bags of gear. They dress the wound and start an IV while one of the paramedics gets on the phone with an emergency room doctor to apprise them of the situation. He tells me they’ll take him straight into surgery.