Page 79 of Savage Don

The stunned soldier shakes his head. “I came running as soon as I saw you get out of the car. I didn’t see what happened…”

“Sir, I saw where he went,” another one of our failed guards shouts. “Across the road, into the underground garage.”

Fuck. If he gets in a car, this is all over. We might never find him again.

“Take Maksim,” I repeat, buckling his limp body into the passenger seat. “If he dies, it’s on you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hang in there, buddy,” I grumble.

Feeling under my belt, I make sure I have my gun on me, and then, with one last look at my melting friend, I take off.

Artuzov, you idiot, I might have taken it easy on you if you were willing to talk. Now? I’m going to rip your heart out and make you watch as I tear it to shreds.

Pushing through the ever-growing crowd, I make my way across the street, towards the huge parking complex.

Fuck. This is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. But I have to try. Plus, how far could an old man like Artuzov actually get?

With rage propelling me forward, I race through the sea of parked cars, keeping my head on a swivel for any sign of the sneaky Russian.

But the longer I look without seeing him, the tighter the knot in my gut becomes.

This is bad. He knows that we’re after him now. This fucker survived the collapse of the Soviet Union. He knows how to disappear.

Without him, I’ll be back to square one, and I don’t have the time to make up for losing such a valuable lead.

The desperation pulls me deeper and deeper into the parking lot. Even as I begin to lose hope, I keep my eyes peeled and my feet moving.

I won’t let it end this way. At the very least, I need to pay this fucker back for what he’s done to Maksim.

But there’s no hint of him anywhere. Even as hit the very back of the lot, where things are quiet and dark, I find no signs of the slippery Russian.

“I know you’re here!” I roar, bluffing. “Show yourself, and I might take it easy on you.”

We both know that’s a lie, but I’m willing to do anything just for a sign that I haven’t lost him yet.

Suddenly, right up ahead of me, a pair of headlights turn on. They blind me as the engine erupts, filling the stale dank parking lot air with a deafening rumble.

I smell the burning rubber before I hear them screech towards me. Somehow, I manage to jump aside just in time.

The passing car whizzes by me as I hit the cold cement ground. But I’m not about to sit around and wait for the police to show up.

Artuzov.

He just tried to run me over. The bastard.

Pushing myself off of the ground, I feel a twisted smile come over my face.

I’ve found him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s in a car. The coward could have stayed hidden beneath the dashboard and I might never have seen him. Now, though, he’s in my line of sight. And that’s bad news for him—even if he is behind the wheel of a burly black Escalade.

I’m already running after the SUV when the tire screech again. Up ahead, Artuzov is trying to make a tight turn. But he doesn’t do a good job.

The trunk of his getaway car smashes against a line of parked bumpers, causing him to slow down just enough to give me a real chance at catching up.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t slow him down a little more myself.