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The air between us is much heavier than it was when we first stepped outside, but I find myself reveling in the idea of finally getting to participate in something dangerous.
Ivan looks around the corner again with his binoculars. “There’s no way to know for sure, but I know he’s a scout. He’s got a rifle and he’s driving what appears to be a decommissioned police vehicle. It’s stripped of all the decals, but that’s what the Red Hitters like to use when they’re off the clock.”
I hesitate for a moment, lowering my gun. “What if it’s just a civilian? A farmer checking out the commotion?”
Ivan looks back at me and shrugs. “Could be. That’s a risk we’re going to have to take, though. Alternatively, we could wait for backup, and Donovan will be the one blasting a hole through his chest, but then you wouldn’t get any practice.”
I purse my lips, weighing my options. I want so badly to prove to Ivan that I’m capable of holding my own in his Bratva. If Dimitri could do it, then why can’t I? Our blood runs the same color, after all.
“I’ll do it,” I say after another moment of thinking. “But how are we going to ambush him? We can’t get around the shack without being seen.”
Ivan grins, clearly in his element as he breaks down his new plan. “We draw him here with bait. Scouts are sent to sniff things out, then they report back to the leader with information. Right now, he doesn’t have enough to go on, but if we can convince him to leave his car and come toward the shack, he’ll be exposed from all sides. An easy target, if you know how to shoot in the dark.”
“How are we going to do that?”
Ivan shrugs. “A damsel in distress, perhaps?”
“You want me to step out there and call for help?” I ask a bit too loudly.
Ivan presses a finger against his lips. “Tone it down, darling. I just want you to attract him away from the car. He’s not going to think it’s a trap if it’s a woman. Believe me, they’ve been trained to look for big, burly men like me.”
“Fair enough,” I reply, licking my parched lips. “But if he starts shooting, I’m not playing the damsel in distress any longer.”
“Of course not,” Ivan replies, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll gun the bastard down if he shows any sign of aggression toward you.”
His casual confidence is reassuring, but the edge of tension that’s entered my body won’t leave completely, especially not as I step out into the open and wave my hands to get the attention of the man standing by his car with a rifle.
I feel like I’m committing suicide, but I stick to the bit as Ivan instructed. “Help! I need help over here! Please!”
The scout jumps to attention, his hands on his rifle, but only as a precaution. He doesn’t aim it at me.
“Please!” I shout, trying to sound like I’m in pain. “I can’t walk. I think a snake bit me!”
Ivan gives me a thumbs up from behind the shack, clearly happy with my performance so far. I must say I’m also quite proud, because it lures the scout right out into the open. He walks toward me with caution, but his pace is fast enough so that he doesn’t take long to get close.
If I don’t get him on the first shot, there’s a very real possibility that I’ll be the one dead at the end of this ambush.
So, before I even attempt to pull my gun on him, I take a deep breath, steadying myself and looking for strength inside of me. I think of Dimitri and all the work he’s done for the Bratva. I imagine myself on the range, nailing the target and impressing Ivan with my aim.
Under pressure, things are different, but I’m determined to prove that I can still hit a target with relatively good accuracy.
“Please hurry,” I call out to the scout. “I’m… Oh my god! What’s that behind you?”
The scout turns, and I can’t help but let a laugh slip through my teeth at his gullibility. That has to be the oldest trick in the book, and this idiot really fell for it.
But he’ll learn his lesson in a moment, and that will be the last time he ever falls for a stupid trick again.
I pull my gun, pointing it at his back and waiting for him to turn around before shooting him. I’d rather not shoot a man in the back. It feels a bit cheap, but then so does ambushing him.
The first shot hits him, but he doesn’t go down. Instead, he reaches for his rifle, and panic sparks within me. What if he’s wearing a bulletproof vest? Do I have to shoot him in the head to kill him? I never trained for this.
I squeeze the trigger again, still aiming at his torso, and a second shot rips into his torso. This time, he falls to his knees, clearly affected by the wound. I keep firing until he collapses, but he’s still groaning in pain.
“Watch out,” Ivan growls from beside me, jumping out and pointing his gun at the man. He walks toward him, firing shots until his body stops jerking, and no noise can be heard from his mouth.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, taking a step back.
“Good job,” Ivan says, turning around and winking at me. “Your first kill.”
