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Gun in hand, I scan the surroundings. Our men have spread out to check the perimeter. I find Igor standing with his back turned to me.
“Igor?” I growl, checking the scene before I reach him. Two men, similar in age to us, lie on the ground, their dead eyes wide open in surprise. Since their brains are blown out and their expressions fixed, I can safely guess that the cause of death wasn’t a heart attack.
“Who are they?” I ask, not recognizing either of their faces.
“They’re not ours,” Igor says. “Why would Gargarin kill his own men?”
“I don’t think he did,” I mutter, my heart dropping into my stomach. Shit. “Someone else did this.”
“No.” Igor shakes his head in denial. “No, that can’t be true. I would’ve heard the whispers. My intel’s always right.”
“Forget about that,” I half-yell angrily. “Face the facts. The bar’s burning. The dead don’t belong to you or me. There’s someone else we didn’t count on.”
Igor turns to me, a question in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out as a gunshot echoes, and he falls to the ground.
“Fuck!” I curse, and duck low, looking blindly around, trying to figure out where the bullet came from. The wind distorted the sound, and the echoes made it seem like the gunman could be anywhere around us.
Igor’s lying limply on the ground. He’s bleeding heavily from the side of his head. I’m not sure if he’s alive, and I don’t have time to check because another gunshot resonates.
Someone cries out.
“Sniper!” Ivan yells. “Get down!”
“Where the fuck is he shooting from?” I ask no one in particular. I can’t even be sure I’m safe behind the car.
Blood starts trickling from the corners of Igor’s mouth. I squeeze my jaw, ready to slam him against the car door for not being cautious, but before I can do that, another sniper bullet rips through the air, cracking loudly. I plug my ears and look blindly above me.
Shit.
Without stopping to think, I slither on the ground toward Igor. As much as I hate the bastard for all the pain he’s caused me, I can’t let him die. Not when there’s a chance that he might live. Katarina loves her fool of a brother.
When I reach him, I can see he’s struggling. I glance at his face, his half-closed eyes meeting mine. I can practically feel the tension leaving his body, and I shake my head at him. I touch blindly around the bleeding spots, trying to pinpoint where the bullet hit him. It must be in the head.
Suddenly, the unmistakable scent of gasoline wraps around me, making it impossible to breathe. The fire has spread to the surrounding cars. One small flame flickers dangerously close to a gas tank.
In the heavy silence that falls around us, I realize the shooting has stopped, and there’s a white van speeding away.
Now’s the time to take the risk.
“You!” I point at one of Igor’s men. He straightens up, waiting for orders. “Get Igor to a doctor. He’s your responsibility now. You better hope he survives.”
The man clenches his jaw and nods. Then he and his friend carry Igor to their car.
“The rest of you, get in your cars,” I order, raising my voice so everyone can hear me over the sounds of the burning building. “We have to find that van!”
FORTY-ONE
NIKOLAI
As luck would have it, there aren’t many unmarked white vans on the road we’re on.
I signal to Ivan to follow the one just a few cars ahead of us. He doesn’t need to worry about getting too close. We want them to know we’re onto them.
He nods, and the chase is on.
“We have to find out who they are,” I tell him. “Push them off the road. Bring them to a stop. Do whatever you have to.”
“On it,” Ivan replies with a wicked grin.
