Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
The least assuming one.
He’s faster than the others. I underestimated him.
His weapon is aimed at my heart but before he pulls the trigger, I shift right. It’s not far enough but it’s not my heart. I stagger backward, my arms linked around Petrov’s head, zip-tied wrists stopping me from falling back.
Pain shoots through me. I glance down at the bloody circle, the bullet lodged in my shoulder. It’s not my shooting arm and I get a shot off before he can. My aim is a hundred times better. The bullet puts him on his knees, eyes still open before a second one between the eyes drops him face first onto the dirty tile floor.
The sound of a gun being cocked comes from the one I got in the stomach, and I turn. We pull our triggers at the same moment. My bullet takes him out but not before his is lodged next to the first in my shoulder.
Pain shoots through me, the room spinning. Petrov moves and I lean closer, stretch the arm of my injured shoulder around his neck getting under the layer of fat that is his chin. I squeeze my eyes shut momentarily to manage the pain in my shoulder, forcing in air. I need to finish this. If I pass out now, I’m dead.
I open my eyes and look down. He’s still somehow sitting in his chair, hands on his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. He’s close to death but not close enough. I force his head up, forearm tight under his throat. Sweat drips from my head onto his face and nausea leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
The knife I used to stab him with is lying at his feet. It’s a steak knife. I don’t miss the irony. I used a steak knife to pin David to that desk.
But now’s not the time to revisit that night. I shift my gaze to Petrov.
“Which of your boys fucked her?”
He groans, and I squeeze my forearm.
“Which. One?”
Nothing.
“Tell me or I’ll kill them both.”
No answer. But to be fair, I’m not sure he can speak judging by the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
I don’t give a fuck about that though.
“Both it is then.” I set my hand on the side of his head and give one hard jerk, the snapping of bone satisfying even if his death is too swift. “That was for Mara, you sick fuck, you sick son of a fucking bitch.”
15
Dante
Petrov’s body hunches to the side, his bulk pulling me along, making me stagger. I draw my arms from around his broken neck. For a moment, his head hangs at an odd angle just before he goes crashing down, the chair tumbling after him.
I breathe, look around. I’m left with four dead bodies in this hole. My shoulder is pouring blood down my arm, seeping through my shirt and coat. I raise my bound hands to touch the area and wince.
Feeling dizzy and too hot, I take an unsteady step toward the counter, pain making my vision go black for moments in time. When I get to the counter, I set the gun down and grip the edge, looking for what I need. I find a small sharp knife and pick it up, turning it to slice through the zip-ties. It takes a full minute to do it but when it’s done, I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face.
“She tasted wonderful. Have you had a taste yet? Something about eating a nice, young, virgin pussy.”
I look over at the dead man as I pull a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and wipe my face then check his pistol for bullets. Two left.
“Tell me have you felt her tight cunt squeeze your dick yet? Or hear her scream when you take her ass?”
I walk toward him, look at his still open but empty eyes. I spit on the side of his face before walking toward the smaller man. I pick up his gun, check the chamber and tuck it, too, into the waistband of my jeans. I take off my bloody coat and switch it out for the one he was wearing. It’s a tight fit but it’ll have to do. I also take his hat and put it on my head. I’m recognizable enough with the patch so I’m hoping this will give me some cover.
Because I’m not finished here yet.
If his sons are upstairs, I’ll have to kill them too.
So, I make my way back up the stairs, gripping Petrov’s gun at my side when I open the door. There’s no one here. I smell cigarette smoke, though, and glance at the door that leads to the alley. It’s cracked open and the smell is coming from that direction. I guess Petrov didn’t let them smoke inside. How conscientious of him.